Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Things?”

  “I was concerned Erivan might slip into old habits. I was certain the Miralyith were going to start eating their own for a while.”

  Not Miralyith at least.

  “But that doesn’t look like it will happen. Not now, not after the prince told his father the whole thing was orchestrated by Nyphron. It appears the fane will take his rage out on the rebel, his Galantians, and the Rhunes who support and harbor him. I’ve heard he’s set plans in motion to build an army. The first time that’s happened since the Dherg War. I don’t think he trusts the Instarya to handle such matters. I do have a question, though. One that I’m surprised hasn’t crossed Lothian’s mind.”

  “And that is?”

  “How did he do it?”

  “How did who do what?”

  “Nyphron. By all accounts, he is hundreds of leagues away, just him and a handful of Galantians, living in rough, remote, places with the natives. How did he manage to cause a Miralyith insurrection?”

  “Many of those killed—those who called themselves the Gray Cloaks—were, as I’ve heard the tale, friends of Nyphron. Apparently he planned this whole thing out in advance, setting it up when he and his father were allowed back for the Uli Vermar.”

  Trilos nodded with a smile. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that, too. And Mawyndulë learned all about it during his visits to the meetings under the bridge.”

  “I do believe that’s what he said, yes.”

  “Odd, don’t you think? How is it that the son of the leader of the Instarya, who hadn’t set foot in Estramnadon for centuries, had so many friends here, and in the Miralyith tribe, no less? You would think, given his father was killed by one, they wouldn’t exactly travel in the same social circles. But what do I know?”

  What indeed, Imaly thought.

  “Oh, well, circumstances can make odd bedfellows. Isn’t there a saying like that? Still, we should be grateful, I suppose. Everything worked out in the end, unexpected, but very convenient, very tidy.”

  “Who are you? And what is this really about?”

  Trilos gave her a surprised, innocent look, one she didn’t believe in the slightest, even though it was excellently played.

  “I told you. I’m Trilos, and as I said, I’m pleased to meet you, Imaly. Anyway, where was I…oh, yes, as I was saying, I don’t think the war will be.”

  “Will be what?” she asked, confused.

  “Tidy,” he said. “Wars never are. Wars are chaotic and full of surprises, most of them unpleasant.”

  “I suspect it won’t be much of a war, more of a hunt, really. And I don’t expect it will last long,” she said. “The Miralyith have ways to locate who they are looking for, and they can be very efficient in getting what they want. Now, who are you? Who are you really? I know almost everyone in Estramnadon, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

  Trilos stood up. “No…no, you haven’t. A pity, I think. But I’m so glad we were able to bump into each other this fine day. And I do believe that from now on I’ll be watching you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Nature of Dwarfs

  I have already mentioned my disgust for the vile creature that is Gronbach. If given the opportunity, he will lie, cheat, and deceive to get what he wants. He is everything that is evil in the world condensed into a despicable little fraction of a person.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  They never found any trace of the raow. While no one had actually seen it happen, the consensus was that the dragon had eaten it. Persephone liked to believe it was so and that the dragon had started with the raow’s face.

  From that point on, the dragon followed the party. Large as it was, it had no trouble doing so. The stairs of Neith, while built by a diminutive race, were wide and the ceilings high. The passages were big enough to accommodate giants, a pretension the dwarfs likely regretted after the appearance of Balgargarath. The raow attack put newfound energy into the group, and they pushed on without pause, climbing flight after flight until they reached the remains of their first camp. Their shields, blankets, and food bags were still there. Starved, they paused to eat and rest, but little was said. Moya found energy to practice once more with the bow and the arrows they had salvaged. With a dragon escort, Persephone didn’t think Moya was concerned for their safety. The woman had simply taken a liking to the device, and she reveled in her own ability to use it.

  Once done, Persephone called for them to push on. Nobody wanted to tempt fate by sleeping there again. When they reached the top of the final stairway, Suri and the dragon hung back. Persephone stopped the group, returning to find out why. The others followed.

  “What’s wrong?” Persephone asked.

  “I don’t know,” Suri replied, looking at the dragon, who sat on her haunches. “She won’t go any farther.” She addressed the beast. “Come. That’s a good girl, come on.”

  The dragon put her head down.

  Suri stared, confused.

  “She can’t go any farther,” Roan said.

  “Why?” Persephone asked.

  Roan looked ahead of them. “We’re almost out. She can’t leave Neith. Suri used the table spell from the Old One.” She looked at the mystic. “Did you change anything?”

  Suri shook her head. “Just the name.”

  “Balgargarath couldn’t leave, either.”

  “That’s right,” Brin said. “The creature would live forever, denying the dwarfs access to this place and preventing anyone from entering. He gave it rein to roam Neith, to punish the dwarfs, but denied it the freedom to go beyond so it couldn’t become a curse on the rest of the world.”

  Moya pointed at Frost, Flood, and Rain. “How come she didn’t eat them? Wouldn’t she have to? I mean, if she was following the same rules?”

  “The rules apply to the nature of its existence, not its actions: what it was, not what it did. Or maybe she would if Suri wasn’t around,” Brin said.

  Frost tugged on his beard, pulling harder than usual, his face twisted in frustration. “So we destroyed one monster just to make another?”

  “She’s not a monster!” Suri raised her voice. Her harsh tone caused Frost to retreat a step.

  Moya sent Frost a big-eyed glare—silently shouting at him. The others stood by, waiting and watching the mystic.

  Just a fourteen-year-old girl, Persephone reminded herself. Maybe fifteen by now. Sometimes it was easy to lose track of that fact, hard to believe that Suri was so young. Even harder now. The mystic hadn’t grown an inch. Physically she was the same girl who had come with them into Neith. But in every other way, she was different. Her eyes were no longer as bright, not as sunny. The same with Brin. Both of them had lost their brilliant bounce of childhood innocence. In its place, Persephone saw the hard-won maturity of two people who understood that dreams came with a price. Survival meant learning to live with setbacks, disappointments, and heartache. She had no doubt that when the need arose, these two would be willing to push on, to overcome, and to help those around them do the same. Persephone was looking at women, and she couldn’t be prouder of them.

  Suri petted the dragon on the nose. “She’s not a monster, and she would never hurt anyone.”

  “Made short work of the raow,” Moya said. After a sharp look from Suri, she added, “Given half a chance, I would’ve done the same. Well, maybe not eaten it, but you know what I mean.”

  Persephone said, “But what will she do? I mean, if Suri’s not here? Would she hurt the dwarfs if they tried to return to Neith? I don’t think we can be certain. We don’t really know, do we?”

  “I do.” Suri ran her knuckles up and down the bridge of the dragon’s nose. “She killed the raow to save me, because that’s what Minna would have done, and Minna never had a problem with the little people.”

  “Maybe you should tell her to go back down anyway,” Persephone said. “Just to be safe.”

  “No.” Suri shook her head, and when she turned around they could see she was
crying. “I can’t leave her alone… forever in the dark. I can’t do that to her. Minna hates being alone. I won’t leave her that way. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “You can’t stay with her,” Brin said as she, too, started crying. “She’ll live forever, but you won’t. Eventually she will be alone.”

  Suri didn’t seem to hear; she was sobbing too hard.

  —

  More than a dozen well-armored dwarfs were waiting outside the gate to Neith. With pointed spears and rounded helms, they were lined up in three rows, shining a brilliant silver in the morning sun. Persephone wondered if Gronbach had received reports of their progress in the same manner that he had known about the general whereabouts of Balgargarath, or if he had ordered guards stationed there since they’d entered. Knowing Gronbach, even as little as she did, she guessed both.

  The leader of the troop spoke directly to Frost in their language. Frost replied, and the soldier appeared shocked.

  “He asked if it was dead,” Frost volunteered to Persephone, but she’d already guessed that much.

  The soldier looked them over, taking particular interest in Arion, who remained unconscious in her sling, carried between Flood and Rain. The Fhrey’s condition hadn’t changed. She continued to breathe, but her eyes hadn’t so much as flickered.

  Once more, the soldier addressed Frost.

  “He says we’re missing one.”

  “Tell him he’s wrong. We’re missing two.”

  Persephone looked back into the dark gate of Neith. Suri was still inside. They hadn’t been able to convince her to leave—not yet. Persephone hoped that given a little time, Suri would accept the need to leave Minna. After reporting to Gronbach, Persephone would return and fetch the mystic while the dwarves loaded the weapons on the ship. She no longer had any concern for Suri’s safety. The girl had a dragon for a watchdog.

  Frost relayed Persephone’s message. The soldier accepted it. She knew he would. Easy to think they’d suffered casualties. What would be difficult to accept is there had only been two. The hardest thing to believe would be that they had succeeded. She saw that on the soldier’s face as well, an amused little smile wreathed in mustache and beard that proclaimed, “Sure you did.”

  The group’s leader insisted they follow him back to Caric, though follow was less than accurate; his squad of metal-clad warriors surrounded them for the entire journey. The downhill trip took no time at all—or at least it felt that way to Persephone who spent the walk marveling at the warmth of the sun and the feel of the wind. They had only been underground for a few days, but in more than one way, Persephone felt risen from the dead.

  Gronbach received them in the great hall they called the Rostwell. Before being allowed inside, their loaned weapons were reclaimed. A studious dwarf inspected each for wear. Moya had a disagreement with a guard over her bronze sword until she pointed out it was Fhrey-made. A second look ended the argument, although the dwarf still insisted she leave it outside the hall. Arion was taken to a room with a bed, where Roan—never one for crowds—volunteered to stay with her.

  Inside the Rostwell, tables had been shoved aside and stacked up, along with scores of little chairs. Everything had been cleared out to make room for their arrival. The Master Crafter and Mayor of Caric occupied the only remaining seat, which had been set up on a box, apparently so he could look down at them. He wore full battle dress, with a heavy silver breastplate and a pointed helm that appeared a size too large. Surrounding them were another dozen dwarfs in armor, holding pikes and shields. Persephone hoped the amount of metal in the hall was in honor of their victorious return. The stern looks beneath the helms gave her doubts.

  “I have been told you destroyed Balgargarath,” Gronbach said, leaning forward. “Is this true?”

  “It is,” Persephone replied, and nodded respectfully.

  “And the Fhrey? How is she?”

  “Wounded. I don’t know how severe. Time will tell, I think.”

  “I’m told she is unconscious, barely breathing.”

  “That’s true.”

  Gronbach nodded. She didn’t see any hint of concern in those flinty eyes, but at least he didn’t smile.

  “Have you finished making the swords we agreed upon?” Persephone asked.

  Gronbach pushed back in his chair, an irritated grimace squished his lips, and she knew bad news was coming.

  When he remained silent, she asked, “So you haven’t started? How long will it take?”

  “What swords are you speaking of?” Gronbach steepled his fingertips. His face took on a forced expression of innocence that appeared as awkward on him as a smile on a snake.

  “What swords?” Moya asked, stunned, and Persephone knew she wasn’t done.

  She stopped Moya by holding up a hand. “We had a bargain, sir. One thousand gray-metal swords in return for killing your demon. We killed Balgargarath. Now we—”

  “Do you have his head?” Gronbach made a show of lifting himself on the arms of the chair and stretching his neck. “I don’t see one.”

  “He burst into dust and air.”

  The dwarf leader settled back on the cushion of his seat and looked at her with a skeptical, pitiful shift of his brows. “Now isn’t that convenient.”

  “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  Gronbach did smile then, a horrible, dismissive grin. “Three Rhune women, two Rhune girls, a Fhrey, and three criminals go into Neith…it sounds like the opening of a joke, doesn’t it? You go after a demon that has effortlessly destroyed armies of well-armed, well-trained Belgriclungreian heroes. Then you poke around for a few days, and then come out with this…this story…this claim that you destroyed something invincible.” Gronbach held his hands out and made a show of dusting them off. “He’s dead, you say. Balgargarath is vanquished, you proclaim. All done, all taken care of, no problem.” He leaned farther forward with a smile of amused condescension. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  She pointed at Frost, Flood, and Rain. “Your own people will confirm what I say!”

  “Of course. Criminals will say anything to stay alive. Besides, we had no bargain, you and I, no deal. I am not in the habit of giving dangerous weapons to foreigners. There’s a law against that.”

  “What law? You have no king. In Caric, you’re the law.”

  “Yes, I am.” Gronbach grinned. “As such”—he raised his voice, speaking to the room—“I hereby decree, by the power vested in me by the Caric Crafters’ Association and the citizens of the City of Caric, that these Rhunes and the Fhrey with them, as well as the felons Frost, Flood, and Rain, be executed for the high crime of unlawful trespassing on Belgriclungreian lands and the defiling of our most sacred city of Neith. Sentence to be carried out immediately.”

  “What? You can’t be serious!” Moya erupted, advancing on Gronbach, who jerked back in his chair. “We killed that thing. I did it myself. Arion nearly died. She may yet. Suri lost Minna in the battle. We can take you down there right now and show you that it’s—” Two dwarfs grabbed Moya by the arms, pulling her away.

  “He’s lying, Moya,” Persephone said as she, too, felt the hands of dwarfs upon her. “He knows we killed it.”

  “The bastard is just refusing to keep his end of the bargain!” Moya shouted.

  Persephone struggled to break free, but the hands of the dwarfs were as strong as their metal. “You never had any intention of giving us those swords. And now that Arion is hurt, now that she’s no longer a threat, you think we’re helpless.”

  Gronbach smiled. “I’m pleased you understand the situation so well. Take them to the yard. Have Kirn put shackles on. We’ll toss them back into the sea from whence they came. Better that way. Less mess, and if anyone asks, we can honestly say they drowned.”

  The dwarfs hauled each of them toward the exit. Moya put up the best fight, kicking one of the two holding her to the ground and nearly getting clear of the other before she was grabbed again.

  “Break t
heir arms if they resist!” Gronbach shouted as he stood up on the edge of his box.

  “You still have a problem,” Persephone shouted. “A big problem. A dragon problem.”

  This caught Gronbach’s attention. “What? Did you say dragon?”

  “I did.” Persephone was hauled toward the door. “In our fight against Balgargarath, Suri, apprentice of the Miralyith, created a dragon. It’s still in Neith and is just as formidable as Balgargarath.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Send a runner. It’s easy to find. The dragon is right inside at the top of the stairs. It’s on guard there with the ninth of our party, Suri. The dragon does as she commands. Do you think we are so foolish, so naïve as to trust you and your ilk? If we don’t come back, Suri has orders to come down here with the dragon and find out why. I’m not sure you’d want that.”

  The dwarf pulling on her stopped. Persephone didn’t think most Dherg understood Rhunic, but it appeared the majority of those in Caric—or at least those in that room—did, as with no comment from Gronbach, the efforts to force them out the door ceased. The dwarf holding Persephone still gripped her elbows, forcing them behind her back and keeping her off balance, but he no longer made any effort to drag her away.

  Gronbach nodded to a dwarf near the door, who ran off.

  The Master Crafter slowly sat back down. He looked at each of them, making a study of their faces before coming back to Persephone, whom he studied the longest.

  Can’t tell if I’m bluffing, can you, little worm.

  “Assuming there is a dragon,” Gronbach began, “what do you propose we do about it?”

  “I’ll get rid of it for you. Destroy it.”

  “In return for what?”

  “For one—” Persephone jerked against the hands restraining her, then glared at Gronbach.

  The Master Crafter nodded, and the hands let go.

  Persephone took an irritated breath, rubbed the marks on her arms, and reclaimed a step back into the hall. “For one, you will not treat us poorly. In fact, I would say it’s in your best interest to provide us with the finest rooms, baths, food, and drink. Doing otherwise would make the dragon sad. You don’t want that.”