At Storm's Edge

by Logan Petty

  He turned back down the mineshaft. He noticed the soft padding of Mari’s feet behind him. He sighed as she trotted up to his side. He glanced sideways at her smiling eyes, glistening from her tear-streaked face as she signed cheerfully, handing him a torch she pilfered from the camp.

  Sawain laughed for the first time since he left Jordborg. “Fine. MINE tunnel is your tunnel.”

  Mari mimicked a silent laugh.

  Sawain shook his head as he stopped a moment to light the torch with his fire steel and sword. “I already used mine. No playbacks.”

  Mari waved nonchalantly.

  Kyra’s voice cut between them as she ran up from behind. “Are you two done yet?”

  Sawain and Mari jumped in surprise. Sawain felt a little embarrassed about Kyra catching them in their customary word game. “What are you doing here?”

  Kyra smirked. “Ruining your date, apparently. I’m not letting you two go off on your own. There’s no telling what trouble you might find.”

  Mari signed to Sawain, who blushed deeply.

  Kyra placed her hands on her hips and scowled at Mari. “I can read you now, you know.”

  Mari nodded, a sly smile across her face.

  Sawain sighed and returned to his sojourn. “Fine, come along if you want, but I’ll leave behind anyone who slows me down.”

 

  Kyra puffed up as Mari jogged away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The three moved through the twisting tunnel silently until they came upon a fork in the path. Kyra sighed impatiently. “Great, which way are we supposed to go?”

  Sawain studied the paths, scratching at his beard. “I don’t know. She just said to follow the tunnel.”

  “Who did?”

  “The chandler,” Sawain glanced back. “The one who brought us here.”

 

  Sawain furrowed his brow at Mari. “Wait, so you let them bring us in here and seal us up?”

  Mari nodded slowly.

  The chandler’s warning echoed in his bleary mind as he turned back to the tunnels. He chose one at random and began walking. “I don’t really know who to trust anymore.”

  Kyra pricked her fingertip with her dagger and drew a rune on the wall. When she finished, it began to glow faintly. “There, at least now we can leave a trail in case we need to back track.”

  They walked only a short distance before reaching a chamber with more branching tunnels. Sawain sighed in exasperation as he scanned the dark room, turning back to his friends. “Why can’t these things ever be straightforward?”

 

  Mari drew her sword and tapped it on the walls of each tunnel, listening to each one carefully as Kyra marked the path they came from. The bard stopped at the third split and pointed her blade down the darkness.

  “How do you know?” Sawain asked.

 

  Sawain shrugged after taking a moment to analyze her thought process. “Well, it’s a better plan than anything I have.”

  The trio pressed onward through the darkness, following a gradual upward slope that snaked through the depths of the mountain. Sawain’s fatigued muscles ached as the incline stretched farther. Eventually, the tunnel did widen out into a massive cavern just as Mari predicted. There was no exit to the outside that they could see, however. Darkness swallowed the light cast from Sawain’s torch. He thought he could hear scratching sounds all around from the other side of the expanse.

  “I don’t think we’re alone in here.”

  They advanced cautiously as the torchlight crawled across the ground. The orange glow fell into darkness as a sheer edge opened a chasm before them. Sawain halted at the edge and looked down. Even his elven eyes could not see the bottom of the massive gash. He held up his torch to attempt to view the other side. Hundreds of flickering orange-tinted gems sparkled in the darkness for a moment then began moving and shouting in a language Sawain did not comprehend. Their high-pitched shrieks echoed throughout the cavern as dozens of dim-glowing lights illuminated the host of pale-skinned humanoids the size of halflings on the other side of the chasm. Their oversized eyes shone like solid discs of glass as they bared their maws of needle-like teeth. They did not have any hair on their bodies, which were instead covered in animal skins. Their pointed ears jutted out away from their knobby heads.

  Sawain drew his blade with his free hand as Kyra and Mari prepared themselves for a fight. They were vastly outnumbered. Kyra whispered to Sawain.

  “Maybe if we just go back the other way, they’ll let us go.”

  Sawain shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Maybe we can bottleneck them into the tunnel though.”

  “This way! Hurry up!” Banthan’s panicked voice shouted from the tunnel they came from moments ago. Sawain turned to see the remaining Ghosts and drakes charge headlong into the large chasm.

  Another horde of the small creatures chased after them, hurling rocks and spears. Eldingbál turned and spewed a jet of fire into the hallway that halted their pursuers temporarily. The others joined up with Mari, Sawain, and Kyra, forming a tight circle as the creatures from the other side began throwing hooked ropes across the chasm.

  Sawain shouted at Jatharr. “What are these things?”

  Jatharr raised his shield to deflect a barrage of rocks from the other side of the fiery tunnel. “Goblins. They fancy themselves the lords of the mountains. I don’t think they’re too fond of us encroaching.”

  “So what do we do?” Kyra yelled. “Apologize or fight?”

  Banthan drew a throwing knife as the goblin horde closed in on them. “I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

  The blast of a war horn thundered in the massive cavern, causing both sides to stop and cover their ears. The chattering of the goblin tongue ceased as the crowd on the far end parted. A dwarven woman with short brown hair and a grease-stained countenance crossed her arms as she stepped out of a crevasse Sawain had not seen before. She tapped her fingers on the ram horn in her hand as her dark eyes surveyed the intruders. Sawain noticed she wore dark leather armor similar in design to the platemail Axel favored. A dingy red bandana tied around her head kept her hair out of her face. “What kinds of backwater goatherds come traipsing willingly into Goblin-Country so unprepared? You lot have a death wish?”

  Sawain sheathed Giltglim, sensing a shift in tension. He opened his hand in a welcoming gesture. “I am Sawain, the Swerdbrekker. I seek passage to Caer Teallagh. My friends and I have been on the move for a long time and could use a place to rest and restock.”

  The dwarven woman’s eyebrows raised and her head cocked back. “Swerdbrekker, eh? I’ve heard that name before. You’re the one the Grey King’s looking for.”

  Sawain took a step back and rested his palm on the hilt of his blade as the goblin chatter picked up again. The woman spoke a few lines in Goblin, which caused the creatures to shudder excitedly. They jumped up and down, brandishing their claws and closing tighter upon the Ghosts. The woman shouted over the tumult.

  “Welcome, Swerdbrekker, enemy of our enemy! My name is Magina, and this is Clan Uuthri. You won’t find rest in Caer Teallagh, but follow us and we will bring you to a place you can be among friends.”

  Chapter Four:

  Blood trickled from Naralei’s broken nose as she gritted her teeth. The interrogator’s foot crashed into her face one more time for good measure. The impact shot waves of electrifying pain through her head as it crashed back against the wooden pole that held her in place. She spat on the earth she sat on as a warm metallic t
aste filled her mouth. The ranger glared up at the troll defiantly. “You think you should try asking some questions? I thought this was an interrogation.”

  The troll stooped down to her eye level, squatting with his knees jutting out at extreme angles. A malicious grin that held more intelligence than she believed possible for his kind flashed across his maw. He twirled one of her own knives in his grimy, oversized hand. The knife stopped spinning as he grasped it, blade down, and placed the tip on her right thigh. She grit her teeth harder as the point sank into her flesh slowly. The knife twisted in the troll’s hand as she held her breath to keep from screaming. Agonizing seconds felt like hours as the blade bit deeper. Her chest tightened as the pain intensified. The troll’s eyes flashed cruelly as Naralei turned her reddening face away. A groan slipped from her throat as her will wavered.

  “That’s enough, Veksas. We need her to be able to walk.”

  Naralei slumped her head forward as the dagger lifted from her leg.

  The speaker sat up from the pile of furs that served as a bed. Aerabis turned his bandaged head slowly as he heaved his broken frame around to face the torturer and his prey. His terrifying eyes burned with vengeance. “This elf girl is our shining carrot.”

  The troll called Veksas tilted his head and scratched the back of his head.

  Aerabis sighed and placed a scarred hand on his temple. “Don’t you ever listen to the old stories? You know, the shining carrot Gruvris the Wise used to lure out the legendary golden stag of the Fells. It was a treat even the wariest of game could not resist. His hunt made him a legend. Ours will make us rich. Besides, I think I would really like to throw that boy off a mountain and repay him for his… kindness. Go and fetch the captains. Meet me by the fire circle. I have a plan that will put that Thrallborn in chains again for certain.”

  Veksas nodded and slumped out of the tent as Aerabis grabbed a cane that lay on the ground. His bones popped audibly as he grunted with effort to rise to his feet. Naralei could not stop herself feeling impressed by the general tenacity of trolls. He limped over to the pole that bound Naralei. He smirked, nodding his head. “I hope you’re not too bruised, my golden carrot. I would hate for my stag to lose interest in rescuing you. However, from the intelligence I have gleaned from our mutual friend, you would not be the first ally he had abandoned. Ah well, at least if this fails, I can sell you to old Malsivith for enough to outfit new mercs. You and your sword breaking cousin have certainly been a damper on my reserves lately.”

  Naralei lifted her head to launch a blood-laced spittle projectile at his feet. The troll laughed as it splashed. He lowered himself to her eye level and smiled broadly, revealing his rotting teeth. She watched in horror as the bloody gash on his forehead slowly stitched itself together without the aid of magic.

  “Good, Veksas didn’t break you. I’ll need that fire to keep burning, even when all hope is lost. Otherwise, you won’t be worth as much to the Hero Collector.”

  Mixed voices came into earshot from outside the tent, which caused Aerabis to straighten up. He turned to exit as he left her with one final remark. “The hounds are gathering. Tonight, we move to capture your precious Swerdbrekker and end this little rebellion against the Grey King once and for all.”

  She glared silently at Aerabis’s back as he disappeared beyond the canvas doorway. The crowd of voices chattered in brooding tones, though she could not make out any words. The entourage moved out of earshot and silence reigned within the tent. She left out a tentative sigh. I thought they’d never leave. Now’s my chance.

  She kicked at her left boot until the spring-loaded dagger in the toe popped out. With some kicking and pushing with her other foot, she managed to get the boot off. Her body contorted against the hempen rope that wrapped around her body. Minutes passed as she used whatever part of her body she could twist or turn, despite the pain that came along with the movements, and managed to get the boot behind her and into her hands. She sawed fervently at the ropes binding her hands. Aerabis or Veksas could come back at any moment. The fear in her belly at the thought of either of them catching her in the middle of an escape attempt made her cut faster.

  As the bonds frayed, she pulled with her arms to break each cord one by one. Soon, the rope from her wrists lay in the dirt as she twisted her hands upward, jabbing at the constraints around her torso. Heavy footsteps and ragged breathing outside the tent announced the arrival of a troll. Naralei willed down her panic as she continued to saw at the ropes, wincing as her arms nearly dislocated to reach the upper segments.

  The footsteps halted at the entrance to the tent as the second to last rope severed. Naralei bit her lip, focusing on that pain rather than the tearing of her ligaments as she worked the last strand. The tent’s doorway opened, letting in a cold rush of wind. Veksas lumbered in, a strange hunger in his simple black eyes. Naralei immediately feared that Aerabis’s analogy of carrots had been mistaken as literal by the interrogator. He stalked into the room, stolen dagger in hand. He grinned, a trickle of saliva running from the corner of his mouth, making him look almost comical if not for the dark intent written clearly on his visage.

  Naralei’s body pressed against the pole, wanting to get as far away from this fiend as possible. The troll’s eyes roamed over the captive’s body as he raised the knife. His gaze stopped on her bootless foot. For one brief moment of hesitation, the troll’s brain worked hard to understand this discrepancy in her appearance. In that moment, the final bond broke, Naralei leapt from where she sat, and pounced on her adversary, rope in hand. Before Veksas could react, she had deftly maneuvered around the dagger and onto his back. The rope in her hands looped once around the troll’s neck, and then tightened without mercy.

  Veksas tried to let out a startled roar, but the rope crushed his windpipes as Naralei pushed hard against his back with both feet, suspending herself nearly perpendicular to him. The troll dropped the knife and tried to pull at the rope at his throat to no avail as Naralei’s grip tightened. He resorted to thrashing, and then threw himself backward onto the ground. The elven ranger was too smart to let such a basic counter stop her. She used her leverage to climb to his shoulders just as they both hit the ground. The force of the impact winded her, but she refused to relinquish her hold on the writhing troll. This fight dragged on for several more minutes.

  Naralei learned that day of how a troll can hold his breath twice as long as any elf or human ever could. She also learned that this time was in fact finite. Veksas convulsed several more times, each one coming longer after the last. She maintained her chokehold on his still corpse for another minute for good measure before she relaxed her body and caught her own breath. As she lay on the ground with the strangled troll, she cherished each sweet lungful of musty air, thanking the gods silently that she was not in her opponent’s position. She sat up a few moments later and put her boot back on. It was likely that Veksas’ thrashing would have drawn the attention of any nearby mercenaries, and even if it did not, Aerabis could return from his war counsel at any minute. She picked up the dagger the interrogator had taken from her and sheathed it. Her remaining weapons had most likely been dispersed as loot by now. Thankfully, most of her gear had come as standard issue equipment from the Rowan Circle. She could use an upgrade.

  She took a moment to rummage around the tent, keeping her ears open for any company. A locked chest sat at the foot of Aerabis’s bed. A sword nearly five feet in length, made of gleaming black steel, sat on top of the chest. A tan colored strip of leather wound around the hilt of the weapon, stopping right below the black cross guard. A row of serrated teeth ran along either side of the sharp blade. Naralei hesitated a moment before she hefted it from its resting place. “Aerabis’s saw…,” she whispered to herself.

  It was much heavier than what she was used to, but a blade like this would make a great trophy. Sawain always got all the fabled weapons. He always got all the glory. She grinned to herself at the thought of being the one to claim Aerabis’s saw
over him. The look on his face would be all she needed in compensation for learning such a clunky weapon. The scabbard lay nearby, so she grabbed it and strapped it to her back. She took another passing glance at the locked chest. Her mind fought against itself as she worked through the temptations and risks revolving within. If I leave the chest, I’m less likely to draw more attention, but I could miss out on something good. On the other side, I risk being caught. The only way to get that open is to bash the lock and that will be noisy. However, they’re distracted by the war meeting. I really shouldn’t just leave without checking. Could be full of gold.

  She worked quickly, making a decision within seconds. She hoisted the saw up and aimed its tip at the lock. She listened a moment for any signs of life, took in a deep breath, and then brought the sword down as hard as she could. The tip stabbed into the wood behind the padlock. She pulled it like a lever, her foot bracing herself against the box. The loud cracks of wood splintering filled the tent and spilled out into the night air.

  Once the lock was off, she quickly opened her prize. To her shock, the chest was full of books and scrolls. She never pegged Aerabis as the scholarly type, but it did explain why he was smart enough to run his own mercenary company. She rifled through the scrolls and tomes, hoping to find something of value. One scroll caught her eye as she opened it for a quick glance. The contract was written in dark red ink and the penmanship looked well practiced.

  The following contract is between the Aerabis Mercenary Company; hitherto referred to as Party A, and the Lord High Patriarch Malsivith; hitherto referred to as Party B. Party A agrees to carry out the following contract on pain of death. Party A will deliver the outlaw Sawain the Swerdbrekker alive to Party B.