Galen plucked the darts from his shoulder, rolling them between his fingers. He studied Haern, a smile on his face. “You’ve done well. Most people aren’t willing to subject themselves to this sensation for very long.”
“How many times?”
“How many times what?” Galen asked.
“How many times did you?”
Haern propped himself up on his elbows, looking Galen over. Galen’s eyes took on a distant look. What must he have experienced? His training had been brutal, and while Haern didn’t know anything specific about what he had experienced, he knew that whatever Galen had gone through during his assassin training had been quite awful.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. My mentor continually subjected me to attack after attack, and even if I had wanted to stop, he wouldn’t have allowed it.”
Haern stared at him for a moment. Even if he had wanted? Then Galen had wanted to stop?
“We will keep this up until you no longer feel the same effect from terad. It’s an easy enough poison to acquire, which makes it commonly used, especially by those like me.”
“The antidote?” Haern didn’t trust himself to speak too much, but if there was an antidote, didn’t it make sense for him to have it on hand?
“There is an antidote, but it’s better not to need it.”
“Then why did you have it?”
“I told you why I had it.”
For information. The only reason Galen had the antidote was to bring back the people he interrogated.
Was that what he was willing to become? It was more than learning about medicines and how they could be used. This was about learning how to torment people, to use those medicines to acquire information.
But then he thought about the Forgers, and it was difficult for him to feel any sort of remorse. If it came down to it, and if he needed information from them, how could he not use the methods Galen used?
Galen watched him for a moment, and then he flicked another dart.
When it sank in, Haern readied himself for the experience. It lingered, filling him with dread, but he pushed it away, focusing on keeping his mind calm. There wasn’t anything else he could do. And if Galen was right that he would eventually develop a tolerance, then he needed to remain calm as long as possible. He stared at Galen, forcing the other man to watch him, but Galen didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seemed almost intrigued. There was no sense of concern. But then, why should there be? He had an ability to counteract the toxin, so Haern was in no real danger.
As Haern started to fade, Galen got to his feet. “I think that you have developed enough immunity.”
He started away.
Haern could only watch him as he disappeared. He couldn’t even call after him, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t move.
As his vision began to black out, the sight of Galen’s back heading deeper into the forest was all that he had.
Panic set in.
What was he doing? Why wasn’t he giving him the antidote? He hadn’t started to develop any real immunity. How could Galen think he had?
Was this some other part of the training that he didn’t fully understand? Maybe he wasn’t gaining ground as quickly as Galen had wanted. Maybe he had decided that the type of training necessary was more in line with what Galen had been subjected to.
His vision began to fade completely. Sound disappeared, leaving him with only a pounding in his head.
And he had experienced this a few times already. This was how death felt.
He tried to push back the rising sense of alarm but didn’t know that he succeeded. There was no evidence that Galen had returned, and as his mind started to slip, he wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake in trusting the other man to work with him. Maybe Galen thought he was further along than he was.
But he wasn’t. There was no way he could be. He had no real abilities. It had been a mistake to think he could learn what Galen knew. How could he, when Galen had trained with a sort of urgency that Haern couldn’t have? How could he, when he had never struggled as Galen had?
Pain throbbed in his head.
It took a moment for him to realize that he wasn’t dying.
Slowly, the blackness began to disappear, and the colors of the forest once again resolved around him. He heard a ragged breathing, and it took a moment to realize that it was his own.
Had he survived?
He took an intentional breath, and then another, and then another.
Haern propped himself up on his elbows, looking around.
Galen was gone. He hadn’t even stayed to watch.
What would have happened had he not recovered?
Was Galen really willing to risk that?
Maybe that was the point. He had to be prepared for the possibility that he might die, and he had to be ready for anything, even if it meant that he might not come back. With what they were facing, and the real possibility that he might come across more of the Forgers, Haern had to be ready. Galen wouldn’t always be there for him.
Getting to his feet, he shuffled toward the village within the trees. He would find Galen. He would force him to continue his training.
19
Haern
Haern made his way around the inside of the clearing. It was late, and he’d been working with Galen long enough that he thought he had enhanced his skills, but it was time for him to try and work on his own. He might not have the same ability to throw darts, but he could push and pull on metals, and the more he practiced, the more certain he was that he would be able to use that ability when it came down to it. The Forgers might be able to overpower him, but all he needed was a few lucky blows. Nothing more than that. If he could manage that, then he wouldn’t have to worry about any other attacks. He could be prepared.
“What have you been doing?”
Haern turned. Bailey watched him. He was only a few years younger than Haern, and his dark green eyes suggested he had considerable abilities, though Haern didn’t know the extent of what he possessed. Probably Sight, considering the way he looked at Haern, and there came a faint fluttering in the back of his mind, enough for him to suspect that Bailey used his abilities on him.
“I’ve just been out, why?”
“Your father is looking for you.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
Haern followed the direction of Bailey’s gaze. He had turned his attention toward the forge at the center of the clearing. Smoke streamed from the top of it, a thin trail that was visible even in the darkness of night.
What would his father be doing in the forge at this time? Usually he spent time here earlier in the day; for him to be here late at night like this suggested that either he couldn’t sleep—which sometimes happened, and he found himself working at the forge—or there was something important he was working on.
“Have you heard anything from her?” Bailey asked.
Haern shook his head. “They haven’t returned. When they do, I’ll make sure they find you.”
“I just didn’t think she would be gone this long.”
“I didn’t think so either,” Haern said. A part of him expected Lucy—and Daniel Elvraeth, he had to remind himself—to return at any moment. The fact that she hadn’t even tried worried him. And then his father had gone looking, searching for evidence of Daniel and Lucy in Asador, but there had been no sign of them. Where would they have gone?
Lucy still struggled with whatever enhancements she had, and she needed training, but would the Binders be able to help her?
Coming here wouldn’t have been much help. His father might have been able to offer some sort of protection against what had happened to her, but it was just as likely that his father could have done nothing, leaving Lucy no better off than had she simply stayed with the Binders, learning to control her abilities.
And Daniel had stayed for Lucy. His interest in Lucy made sense—he had always wanted that pairing—but Haern didn’t think
that was the only reason he’d been willing to stay. The longer they were gone, the more Haern began to wonder whether they would even return. What would keep them out of Elaeavn this long?
Something else bothered Haern, though he didn’t know how to express it. Part of him was jealous about Daniel and Lucy being gone. They got to experience a part of the world that he didn’t. With their ability to Slide, they weren’t restricted in where they traveled, either. He would be dependent upon others like them who could Slide him, or forced to travel by foot.
Then again, Galen had once traveled by foot, and he had managed to explore quite a bit of the world before returning to Elaeavn.
The more time he spent with Galen, the more Haern wished he could be more like the man. He was fearless. Even with only enhanced eyesight, Galen didn’t fear the Forgers the way Haern did. He didn’t need to Slide in order to withstand an attack from them, and even the most powerful person Haern had ever met respected Galen and his abilities.
He waved to Bailey as he headed toward the forge. Inside, the coals glowed softly, crackling with warmth. It was a familiar sensation, one that Haern had grown accustomed to growing up, though he had never loved it as his father did.
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” he asked his father.
“Preparing,” he said.
His father worked at a massive piece of lorcith, a size that was rarely used anymore. With his ability to work on lorcith with only his connection to the metal, he rarely needed to heat it. It surprised Haern that he would do so now. But then, there were other metals involved here, too.
An alloy.
His father knew more about alloys than almost any other man.
“Is it for the Forgers?”
“I’m always trying to understand the metal they use,” Rsiran said.
His father rested his hammer on the ground. It was a large hammer and would have made a thunderous sound as he hammered the metal, but the walls of the forge had been layered with lorcith, buffering the sound, preventing it from escaping. Others within the forest didn’t need to hear his father hammering at all hours of the night. The only sign he was even here was the trail of smoke that escaped.
“When it comes to the Forgers, there are times when I know exactly what they’re doing, but there are other times when I can’t tell. With this one, I still can’t tell.” He held up one of the slender rods.
Haern had seen a weapon like that before, and from what he’d heard, it was the same kind of weapon that had been used to attack Lucy.
“Are you trying to replicate it?”
“If I can replicate it, I can try to understand what they are using it for, but even that eludes me.”
“How do you think that’s possible?”
“It shouldn’t be,” his father said. “When I listen to lorcith, I can usually hear the call of it. When it comes to this,” he said, waving the rod in the air, “I can’t hear the lorcith in a way that allows me to make out the song. Whatever they’ve done to it has silenced it.”
Haern took a seat on a stool near the forge. “You’ve mentioned that before.”
“Mentioned what?”
“The song of lorcith.”
“It is a song,” Rsiran said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “The longer you listen, the clearer the song becomes.”
Haern glanced over at the stack of lorcith. He could feel it tugging upon him, but he didn’t hear any music from it the way his father described. Did that mean that his connection to lorcith was weaker than others? He didn’t think it was. He could push and pull on the metal just as well as nearly anyone other than his father. And perhaps if he had any inclination to work at the forge, he might be able to develop the connection further, getting to the point where he could use it as well as his father.
In all that time, there had been no sense of a song coming off the metal. For that matter, he didn’t hear anything.
“What does the song tell you?”
“If you listen, you can hear where it comes from. Lorcith has a story. This piece here tells me about the part of the mountain where we mined it from. It sings of Ilphaesn, and of the other stones near it. It was willing to be freed, and it is willing to be a part of what I’ve asked of it.”
“And what have you asked of it?”
“A dangerous purpose.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“For now. Until I’ve learned whether it’s even necessary.”
“And all lorcith has a song?”
“We talked about this before, Haern.”
His father glanced over at the metal lying on the coals for a long moment before turning his attention back to Haern. He pulled on a pair of knives, sending them floating in the air. They hovered. Haern wondered if he could do something similar. He rarely simply held lorcith in the air like that. When he pushed or pulled on it, he had to have that force, but in order to hold something in place, there had to be a very different level of control.
“These knives came from a small section in a shallow part of the mine. It’s a part that I have visited many times over the years, and they were quite pleased to be freed from the mine.”
“You can tell that just from the knives?”
“From listening to the metal. As I said, there is a song to it. The longer you listen, the deeper the connection you can have. That connection is important, especially as we begin to try and understand everything we can about lorcith. In this case, I need to understand how lorcith was used to make that weapon. The way they use lorcith is different from the way I use it, the way most within Elaeavn would. They don’t listen to the song. They don’t listen to the direction that lorcith would take them. All they do is force it, suppressing it.”
“It sounds like that angers you.”
“It angers me to know that there is a different way.”
“What happens if you need to use the lorcith in a way that the metal would refuse?”
“Then you don’t use it.”
“It’s metal, Father.”
“It’s a metal that has a preference. Not all metals do. We can work with iron and silver and copper and gold, and none of those have much of an opinion about what form they take. There are only some metals that matter in that way. Lorcith is one.”
“And heartstone?”
His father nodded. “Heartstone is quite a bit different. It’s rarer than lorcith, though there was a time when I believe lorcith was rare.”
“Rare? All of Ilphaesn is filled with lorcith. The city is practically built with it.”
“It is. And there was a time when the Elvraeth wanted us to believe that it was rare. It was how they controlled us.”
“You still don’t think very highly of the Elvraeth.”
His father took in a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh. “I try, Haern. Really I do. It’s difficult letting go of old grudges. The Elvraeth didn’t want to be involved when it came to facing the attack all those years ago. They let others handle it, going so far as to make an allegiance with the Hjan, an allegiance that nearly destroyed the city.”
“But the people who rule now aren’t those people.”
“They’re not. Much like those who rule the guilds aren’t the same as the guildlords of that time. Things change, but they are much the same.”
His father watched him for a moment before picking up his hammer and beginning to work at the lorcith. He hammered steadily, a rhythmic approach that he didn’t really need, especially knowing his father’s talent with lorcith.
As his father worked, Haern leaned over, watching him. “Why are you using it like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Hammering. I know you don’t have to do it in order to shape the metal.”
“I don’t have to, but there is some advantage in connecting to it like this. I can listen to the song as I modify it. It gives me a finer control. Now, I also push and pull on the metal as I work, supplementing what I do, but it�
��s not only a connection to my ability that I use.”
“Why not?”
His father glanced over. “You can grow too dependent upon one thing. And honestly, I find it relaxing. The longer I work with the hammer and the metal, the closer I feel to it. There’s something that just feels right about it.”
“Does it bother you that I’ve never felt the same desire?”
“I never wanted you to do the same as me. You had to find your own way.”
An accusation hung within the words. Part of it was the question about whether Haern had found his own way, especially as it didn’t seem as if he had, not yet. If he stayed in the city, what would he do? Could he really spend time as a blacksmith?
“There was a time when I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be,” his father said. He tapped on the metal as he spoke, several of the words punctuated by a hammer. “When I first met your uncle, I didn’t know what I could do. Your grandfather wasn’t thrilled with me, and at the same time, I wasn’t necessarily thrilled with him. We were different people.”
“Different? I think you’re more alike than you realize. Both of you find peace in standing in front of a forge.”
“We do, but we go about it in a different way. Your grandfather tried to suppress his connection to lorcith while I never learned to do that. He tried to convince me to do it, and he tried to help me hide from it, but then—”
“Then he sent you to work in the Ilphaesn mines. I’ve heard the story.”
His father nodded. “I should have terrible memories of that time, but for some reason I don’t. It was hard. Those were some of the darkest days I’ve ever experienced. And yet, had he not sent me there, I never would have understood my connection to lorcith, and I never would have known about the song. I think it made me stronger, hardened me—turned me into something like lorcith.” He smiled. “Or maybe that’s nothing more than my desire.”
“Even then, you wanted to be a blacksmith,” Haern said.
“I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be a blacksmith then. Working at the forge offered me an opportunity to be useful, but I didn’t know if that was what I wanted.”
Shadows Within the Flame (The Elder Stones Saga Book 2) Page 21
