“What did Eadon hope to achieve in…splitting my mind?” Whill asked.
“He hopes that the Other will consume you. He has planted a seed that will be nurtured by you yourself until it outgrows its shell and devours you.”
Whill tried to mask his sudden horror as images of his inner demon tearing free and his body falling like a discarded husk plagued his mind. He teetered upon the brink of terror as he imagined his Other wielding the blade Adromida.
“I am a fool.” He looked suddenly to the elf, gratitude filling his heart. “If you hadn’t helped me to see this, to recognize the Other…thank you, Watcher.”
“You are welcome, Whill of Agora, and thank you.”
Whill was baffled. “Thank you for what?”
The Watcher leaned forward and patted Whill’s hand. “For needing me.” He smiled.
As Whill walked to the door, the Watcher stopped him with a warning. “Be careful, Whill. The Other within you is very powerful. There will be a reckoning.”
Chapter 10
The Road to Elladrindellia
Roakore and his company made good time the first day. They took the less-traveled road that wound through the Uthen-Arden Kingdom from the Ro’Sar Mountains to the Elgar Mountains. The first of the towns they came upon was deserted as they had guessed it would be. Like so many others, it had been burned to the ground. Human and draggard bodies littered the landscape, rotting where they had fallen. It seemed as though no one had survived to bury them.
They made camp next to a small stream far from the road and the night went by quietly. Morning came and Tarren opted to skip breakfast, determined to fly with Roakore without puking.
“So you think you be ready to try again, eh, lad?” asked Roakore as the company readied their mounts to depart.
“I be thinkin’ I can’t be pukin’ up what I don’t eat.”
“All right, then, mount up and keep your food to yerself.”
Lunara waved happily as Silverwind took to the sky. Roakore took it easy, ascending only high enough to graze the treetops.
“There be a trick to it, lad. You can’t fight it; it ain’t like being on the ground. You gotta just go with it, be one with the bird.”
They flew ahead of the group and checked the road. All was quiet as they flew above the trees in the morning sunshine. The air was crisp with the smells of autumn as they glided along on a soft current.
“How you doin’, lad?” Roakore asked.
“A lot better. I think I got the hang of it.”
They traveled steadily east on the mountain road the rest of the day. Tarren dared a small lunch and managed to keep it down the rest of the flight. Night came and they made camp again far off the road under the bows of the everpine. A thick fog had gathered around the world, and heavy clouds hid the heavens in shadow.
The company of dwarves had brought with them enough food for fifty, and as much ale. The mood was light as they dined next to a blazing fire. Ale flowed freely and laughter spilled out into the night. Holdagozz noticed Lunara’s discomfort and moved to sit next to the elf.
“What is it, lady?” he asked as he offered her a pint. The dark dwarven ale had grown on her during her time in the mountain. She took it with a smile.
“The large fire and merrymaking, it is a bit of a ruckus, don’t you think? We could attract unwanted attention.”
“Bah,” exclaimed Holdagozz. “Ain’t none but trees to be hearin’ us out here. What unwanted attention be there, anyway? That o’ the draggard?” he scoffed. “Bring it on, says we!”
“What’s that, Holdagozz?” asked one of the dwarves by the name of Philo.
“Lunara here be wonderin’ if we be makin’ too much noise and ruckus and such. Says we might attract unwanted attention, she does.”
“Bah!” Philo roared and stood with mug in hand. “How’s this for a ruckus?” he bellowed and guzzled his entire beer. Foam and drink poured down his red-tinted brown beard and he belched long and loud. From the fire he took hold of a branch burning at one end. “An’ if that ain’t enough to attract unwanted attention, maybe this’ll be workin’.” Philo turned and bent at the waist. He put the burning branch at the center of his backside and let rip a dwarven fart of epic proportions. A flash of flame blazed forth and his pants caught fire. The group roared with laughter and took turns lighting their flatulence.
Lunara rolled her eyes and tried hard not to laugh. Holdagozz stood up as if to join in.
“You wouldn’t dare!” She giggled as he reached for a stick.
“Wouldn’t I?” he laughed.
Just then Roakore landed and Silverwind’s wings stirred the fire to leap high and bright. “Shut yer yappers, all o’ ye!” he roared as he slid from his saddle, followed by his son Helzendar, who was nearly as tall. Dwarves grew to full height by age thirteen, but they grew thicker with every passing season. Roakore was twice his son’s width. “I be hearin’ ye for miles and then some. What, you think this is a party?” With the last word he grabbed the mug from a dwarf’s hand, guzzled the contents, and smashed it over the dwarf’s head. “Ye get a chest full o’ fresh air and ye all go bat-shyte, eh? We be escortin’ an elven ambassador o’ Elladrindellia. Have some godsdamned respect, ye buncha dragon turds! Ruby group set a perimeter and quick as quick got ready. Move! Move!”
Five of the dwarves scattered to comply. He gathered the others round. “This be a stealth mission, and don’t ye be forgettin’ it. And ye be in the midst o’ a lady elf o’ the sun. Save the fart-lightin’ for the taverns.”
All were ordered to bed, as they would set out before the coming of the sun. Roakore slept in only short spurts, his ear always on the wind. He had seen something in the moon as he flew with his son after nightfall. Before the clouds captured the entire sky, he had seen a bloodred moon hovering there like the sapphire goddess herself, being swallowed by a wave of cloud.
The prophetic vision had not escaped his son; Holdagozz had pointed it out as Roakore too saw it.
“Sapphirian,” he had breathed in disbelief.
If they had been on land they would have fallen to the nearest stone in reverie. As it was they could only bow forward in their saddles and pray.
“The gods be with us, Father,” Holdagozz said tearfully.
“As they always be, son, as they always be. Such signs are always there for us to see. But ye gotta be lookin’. The gods be with us, all right, and they be warnin’ us. There be bloodshed comin’ on the morrow, best we make sure it ain’t ours.
“Thank you, oh goddess o’ the ancient stone,” he offered to the moon as it was overtaken by star-killing clouds.
Later, as he lay by the hot coals of the fire, he smiled at the memory.
“Bloodshed on the morrow…bloodshed…” Roakore heard Helzendar mumble in his sleep, and he felt the fear that every parent feels. He reached in the darkness and patted his son’s back reassuringly.
“Best we make sure it ain’t ours,” he answered.
Just then a song came to mind, and he sang it softly to the night. Many dwarves heard the song that night, and they sang it for years to come. The voice of the king, deep and strong but hushed as in lullaby, rose up into the night sky, and a tear came to Holdagozz’s eyes.
There be bloodshed on the morrow, best we make sure it ain’t ours.
There be bloodshed on the morrow, I seen it in the stars.
There be bloodshed on the morrow, the bloodred moon doth bode.
There be bloodshed on the morrow, death be somewhere down the road.
Long before the sun took back the heavens, the company was fed and on the road once more. At Roakore’s orders they drove the horses hard into the afternoon. It was not until then that they stopped before a bridge. Roakore led Silverwind to a stream. The horses would have moved away were they not so thirsty.
Lunara stormed up to Roakore and shoved his shoulder. Though he did not move an inch, he understood her meaning.
“What do you mean by pushing the
horses so hard? Are you mad?” Lunara demanded. “Even the sturdiest of dwarven breeds cannot be driven so long. Have you no knowledge of the equine?”
“I be knowin’ ’bout dwarven horses, lady, and I be knowin’ what they can take. Ask ’em yerself with yer elven tricks.”
“One need not ask the obvious, good king, one must simply care to look,” she replied.
“Bah.” Roakore threw up his arms and turned to find food. She stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder. He stopped and looked at her hand with a curious brow. “What be it?” he asked.
“What be it—that is indeed the question,” she said quietly. “What be with you? I know that you would flee from nothing. You are not running away from something, you are running to something. Why the urgency, dwarf, what do you know?”
Roakore looked around at his unnoticing fellows. “Just somethin’ me and me boy saw night last, somethin’ in the heavens.”
“An omen?” she asked, all seriousness and wide-eyed wonder. Roakore often forgot that she was young for an elf at only twenty-one. He took for granted her innocence in the face of her great power.
“Yes, me lady. I see blood on the road before us. Sapphirian has foretold of it.”
“Then let us not ride into it headlong, but with a plan.”
“I got me a plan,” said Roakore.
“What is your plan, to go in axe first, screaming like a wild dwarf?”
Roakore looked at her dubiously. “Ugh…yeah.”
Lunara pet Silverwind’s beautiful shining feathers, startling the drinking bird and causing it to instinctively turn the color of the earth and stream for but a moment.
“Think for a moment of the effort that your goddess has gone to in order to bring you the omen,” she said.
Roakore moved his eyes back and forth. “I’m listenin’.”
“If she went to all that trouble, shouldn’t we too show cunning, diligence, and due caution in the face of such a…dire omen?”
Roakore stared at her until she looked away. “Yer hired!” he said loudly, and walked away.
Lunara was momentarily dumbfounded but ran after him. “Hired?” she asked.
He turned and stopped so that she bumped into him, with her bosom to his face, given his height. He sputtered and apologized but she seemed not to have noticed.
“What do you mean hired?” she asked again.
“It means when one does a service for—”
“I know what it means in human and dwarf custom. What duty would you ask of me?”
“To be me adviser, of course, personal healer and such, and for it all the gold and jewels you could want and all the adventure you could stand.”
Lunara squinted at his description. “Adviser, healer…you sound as though you are describing the elf word for friend.”
Roakore scowled at that. “I guess I be, then, lady, I guess I be. Haha! Well, anyway, yer hired. Would ye lay out a plan for me and me boys? I want to see what you got.” He leaned in close to her ear. “I doubted you would mind signing on with me crew, knowing that Holdagozz be at me side always.”
He winked and walked away in search of his lunch, leaving Lunara to stare at his back, open-mouthed.
The dwarves dined and the horses ate, Silverwind went off hunting, and Lunara sang a song to the horses. Her staff glowed with the sweet melody that was her voice as it sang in Elvish of strength and healing and growth and rebuilding. All who heard the song were affected, horse, human, and dwarf alike. Her words surrounded them all, and all were held in attention and awe. Pulses of energy rippled from the staff and were felt as easily as seen. Like heat ripples above a blazing fire, her spell washed over everyone. And they all shuddered as the energy passed through them.
The belching dwarf Philo stepped forward as soon as the spell was through and raised a fist. “What’s the meanin’ o’ this elven magic-makin’ on us?”
Roakore stepped between Philo and Lunara, who was bent to a knee, recuperating from the exertion. “She be healin’ the horses is all. She can’t be blamed if ye felt a tingle.”
“A tingle!” roared Philo. “It—”
“You be part o’ me elite fightin’ force, and we do things a little different here. Follow me to glory or be on yer own damned way.”
“Sorry, me king—”
“Don’t be sorry, just be sensible. Do ye not feel better than ye have in years? There ain’t no fear to be had o’ this one. She be pure as the driven mountain snows o’ Ky’Dren’s peaks, she be.”
Lunara blushed at the compliment and the dwarves went to mounting their steeds. Roakore took to the sky with his son and they set out once again.
They flew ahead many miles and saw nothing to warrant the previous night’s omen. The day had clouded over once again and a light rain fell, but aside from that, the world was quiet. There was no smoke on the horizon, no dark hordes of marching draggard. Still, Roakore sensed something coming, and he trusted his instincts enough to be weary.
Together with Silverwind and Helzendar he flew farther still, past yet another burned-out town, until finally they came to the fortress of Bhor’Alder. The old trading post had long ago been abandoned, having been used for trade between the Ro’Sar dwarves and Uthen-Arden. It was located perfectly between the Uthen-Arden capital city of Del’Oradon and the Ro’Sar Mountains. Since the invasion of the Ro’Sar Mountains, however, the trading place had gone into disrepair.
Roakore circled the stone structure looking for a sign of trouble. Nothing moved among the stone but long weeds blowing in the wind. The place was quiet, but Roakore’s superstition was not quenched. He and his son landed outside of the stone structure and dismounted.
Helzendar was eager for some trouble, having heard the tales of his father’s many exploits. For the dangerous trek, Roakore had allowed his son to take along the steel version of his wooden half-moon spear-staff. He held it at the ready as he scouted the deserted trading post with his father.
“Quiet as stone, lad. Listen close,” Roakore bade him as he led the way into the quiet fortress.
Through the wide open archway they went into the main trading room. The vast hall had once been the epicenter of bustling activity, a place where dwarves and men traded their wares. It now stood quiet as a tomb, with only the soft moan of wind through its broken windows. There was only faint light here, but to the mountain-dwelling dwarves, it was enough to see clearly.
Roakore had come here many times a year in the early days before the invasion of Ro’Sar. Humans came from all corners of Uthen-Arden to trade food, pottery, ale, and supplies for the dwarves’ masterfully created weapons and jewelry. He knew the fortress well, and using his knowledge of the layout of the stone structure, he led his son cautiously through the chambers and rooms.
They spent nearly a half hour searching for the cause of the previous night’s bad omen but found nothing. Roakore and Helzendar came back to the entrance where they had started their search. There was only one place left to check: the wine cellar.
Roakore walked silently to the door of the cellar. He cursed under his breath as the large wooden door creaked on its rusty hinges. As soon as the door cracked open, a waft of stench assaulted the two dwarves.
“Bwah, what’s that stink, Pa?” Helzendar asked, pinching his nose against the smell.
“That be the stink o’ draggard eggs an’ slime, or I be a bearded turd,” Roakore answered. “Follow me close, lad, and not a sound.”
Helzendar nodded his understanding and gripped his spear-staff tighter.
Roakore led him down the stairs cautiously. When the wine cellar came into view, the dwarves’ eyes widened. It was no longer a wine cellar, but had been dug out for hundreds of feet on all sides. And though Helzendar was looking at hundreds of eggs, he could not help but puzzle over one question: Where had all the dirt gone?
Roakore froze at the bottom of the stair. Helzendar stopped a few steps short, glad that the stairs were stone and not creaking wooden ones. He and his
father looked around the chamber of dirt, taking in the details. Silently the lad and his father returned to the surface and did not speak or make a sound until they were far from the place.
“Holy flaming dragon shyte!” Helzendar exclaimed in a hushed whisper.
His father laughed. “Yer mam know ye be cussin’ like a pirate?”
“O’ course she do, I be learnin’ from the best. She could swear a devil to blush, she could.”
Roakore laughed all the more. But his face fast became serious. “There be nearly a thousand eggs down there. Ye know what that be meanin’, lad?”
Helzendar did not have to ponder long. “A queen be nearby?” He scowled at the nearby tree shadows.
“No,” said Roakore. “Them eggs be not fresh. What I think is there at least be some sort o’ guard round.”
Helzendar nodded his agreement and eyed the land with renewed vigor. Roakore whistled, and soon Silverwind was gliding toward them. As fast as she could carry them, they flew back to the others. Soon they came upon them and landed in a clearing next to the road. Roakore and Helzendar slid off of Silverwind and Holdagozz nodded at his king.
“What do you know? By the look o’ your face, what? It be a dragon ahead?”
Roakore shook his head and grinned. “By the bloodred moon we did see the omen. We found ourselves a li’l den o’ draggard.”
Everyone perked up at that. Roakore pointed a thumb behind him. “There be bloodshed coming, boys. Best make sure it ain’t ours.”
He led them swiftly the few miles to the fortress; they stopped a few stones’ throws away from the structure. The horses were tied off and the dwarves got into a huddle.
“What be the plan?” asked Philo eagerly. As weapons he carried twin war hammers, short and thick and made of steel. The heads of his hammers were as wide as dinner plates, and the handle half his arm length. They hung from straps above his elbows and swung lazily as he bobbed.
“Ye be rememberin’ the ol’ trading post o’ Bhor’Alder? Well, the wine cellar be full o’ draggard eggs, still stinkin’. Me boy and me be figuring that the queen has either moved on, or she be in wait. And there ain’t no tellin’ if any be guardin’ the den. We’re gonna go in fast and we’re gonna go in hot.”
Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords Page 9
