by Eric Vall
The lane wasn’t as deserted as it used to be, though, and the last house was lit with the same small orbs of light while several warriors came and went. Everyone who left had their arms full of Halcyan swords or daggers, and one passing elf carted ten freshly forged glaives on his shoulder. This place seemed to be more heavily guarded than even the entrance to the village had been, though, and at least twenty dogs trotted around the perimeter as well.
When we made it to the house, the first thing I smelled was heated metal, but there was something else I didn’t recognize, and my curiosity peaked as I realized Dragir used his old house as a shop these days.
Then the guards let us pass through the wooden door, and I stopped in my tracks.
The old house wasn’t an empty room with racks of weapons and a couple tables any longer, and every wall was lined with strange vats that either steamed or radiated heat trails. There were more racks on the walls, too, but instead of displaying Dragir’s personal collection, they were being used as cooling racks while elves carted swords over from a long table in the far corner.
Dragir was working at the table with a hefty black stone in his hand, and he raked it over what looked like a new Halcyan blade while he muttered orders to the other elves here and there. I couldn’t resist taking a detour to get to him, though, and I marveled at the system he had going on in here while I made my way toward the strange iron vats.
There were five elves working in the front corner to carve and sand wooden rods for new glaives, and stacks of various moldings were piled in every available space, so I had to step carefully around the room. It looked like Dragir melted down the Halcyan in three different stages with each process creating a more translucent product, but the iron vats didn’t appear to need flames to heat them. Instead, the process was controlled with runic engravings, and none of the vats had the same markings on them. I noticed the two cauldrons with silver in them had different engravings on them as well, but the cooling vats on the other side of the room bore one identical rune on each.
Some of the elves I passed were pouring molten Halcyan into standard molds while others were forging hilts, and the crew who pried the finished pieces loose brought them to Dragir in the back corner.
When we neared his work table, I realized the stone Dragir was using could actually change the shape of the Halcyan he moved it against, and I furrowed my brow as I watched the simple sword gradually reform into a more intricate saber with every stroke. Then he set the stone down to grab a wooden file instead, and I stared as he drew the file through the solid Halcyan like butter. No shavings fell to the floor during any of this, though, and while Dragir deftly serrated the edge of the blade, he turned a smirk my way.
“You see the bullshit I go through?” Dragir snorted.
I grinned. “Dude, this is fucking awesome. Is that file runed?”
“It is.” Dragir nodded. “The stone as well. Neither will work on metal, though. Only the Halcyan. My grandfather designed the runes himself. It took him over a decade to do it.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I eyed the rest of the shop, and that’s when I saw an elf head into a shadowy corner I hadn’t even noticed. My eyes ached as I tried to look directly at it, though, and I wondered if Dragir had used rune magic to conceal this area. Then the elf reemerged with a stout white boulder he struggled to carry, and he foisted it into one of the first vats I’d passed.
“Is that the raw Halcyan?” I asked, and I couldn’t resist heading over.
Then two more elves emerged out of the shadows to block my path, and I froze as they held their daggers within an inch of my throat.
“Yes, and you may not touch any of it,” Dragir muttered.
“I was just gonna look,” I sighed.
“You may not look, either,” the silver-haired elf informed me.
His two guards remained as they were, and after I tried again with no luck to see into the shadows, I backed off and returned to the work table with aching eyes.
“Who is the scared boy you brought with you?” Dragir asked.
“He’s not a boy,” I snorted as Markus didn’t even notice we were talking about him. “He’s nineteen, and his name is Markus. He knows as much about magery as you do about rune magic, and he’s here to help me try and track the Master’s portals.”
Dragir looked over at Markus while he continued serrating the blade, and he eyed the Terra Mage up and down for a long moment before he refocused on his work.
“Let me finish this blade before we discuss your plans,” the silver-haired elf said, and I nodded as I casually headed back to the vats of molten Halcyan.
The guards near the shadowy corner trailed my every movement with narrowed eyes, though, and I raised my hands to show I wasn’t about to try anything.
Then I compared the three stages taking place in the process, and I realized the middle vat cooled the Halcyan while keeping it in a liquified state. The resulting substance was an opaque shade of blue I’d never seen on Earth, and the elves manning this stage of the process kept a six-foot distance between them and the iron. When I inched closer to get a better look, both of the elves grabbed my arms to pull me back, and they vigorously shook their heads while they said something I couldn’t understand.
“What happens if you touch the middle vat?” I asked Dragir.
The silver-haired elf let out an unnerving chuckle while he double checked his work on the saber. “You really want to know?”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
Then Dragir handed the blade off to the elves who were cooling hilts, and he swiped his brow with an old rag as he came over. The elves beside me began backing away as they shook their heads some more, and Markus quickly did the same while I just cocked a brow at Dragir.
“This is what happens,” Dragir chuckled, and every elf in the room shouted in frantic protest as he chucked his rag into the middle vat.
Chapter 6
Blinding white light burst from the liquid as the elves around us lunged to the other side of the room, and after only a few seconds, I felt an icy draft kick up and blast over me. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet into the arctic range all at once, and the heated vats steamed so much, clouds formed in the small space to make everything feel more hectic.
Then Dragir grabbed an iron rod to reach into the vat, and what he removed was glowing the same peculiar blue as the liquid as it gave off a low-frequency drone that hit me beneath my temples and made me wince involuntarily.
I was about to ask what happened to the rag when Dragir let it drop to the floor, and the glowing rag shattered into pieces as every elf in the room screamed and crushed each other and Markus against the opposite wall.
I dove backwards, too, as every shard that hit the wooden planks began to smoke, but then the wooden planks of the house began to melt away, and when I looked at Dragir, he just shrugged.
“We rune the iron rods and the ladles because of this,” the silver-haired elf explained, “but when a living being comes in contact with Halcyan in this form, the resulting death is an excruciating one.”
With that, Dragir turned to his cowering workers, and I eyed the smoking planks while he gave a few exasperated orders in Elvish. As soon as he finished, he clapped me on the arm and gestured to the door, and Markus practically threw the elves off him before he made a beeline for the lanes.
“We will talk at the House,” Dragir said as he grabbed a long gray cloak from the wall, “and do not worry about my father. I demoted him, so he will not be able to send the army after you.”
“I appreciate it,” I chuckled as we joined Markus. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Yes, this is a positive development.” Dragir grinned. “I expect the heads of the Elite Houses will be furious to know I cannot be bought any longer, and with a little luck, their anger will make our victory over Nalnora that much sweeter.”
I furrowed my brow. “You didn’t mention any victories over Nalnora. I thought we just had to protect D�
�� you know who.”
“And we will,” Dragir informed me. “At any cost.”
I nodded as I caught the murderous glint in Dragir’s serpentine eyes, and while we passed the bowing warriors of the village, I tried to remember the specific deal I’d made with Deya’s brother. I knew I’d given him my word I would join him in the effort to remove the threats to Deya and my family, and that I agreed to enact his personal plan since he had more experience with elven warfare. I couldn’t recall if he’d laid out any specifics about what that plan might entail, though, and the way he referenced it wasn’t too reassuring.
Unfortunately, Dragir was currently forging weaponry, demoting his father, and readying his army for me, so I was definitely not in a position to back out now. I’d given him my word, and while the three of us ducked into the darkened path beyond the village, I decided I’d just have to be open minded with this one. It was in Deya’s best interest after all, and I’d recently learned the lengths I’d go to for my women were seemingly endless.
So, I brushed the thought off while Markus and I followed Dragir to House Quyn, and when we emerged into the small clearing, every guard turned and bowed low to the silver-haired elf. I couldn’t help smirking as I noticed Dragir was strutting more than usual in his new cloak, and he didn’t acknowledge a single elf as he headed for the house and parted the doors.
Then he led us through the silent stone hallways of House Quyn, and a pleasant smile came to my face as we entered the sitting room with no ceiling. Fog hung low over the quaint chamber, and Dragir’s electricity illuminated the space these days instead of candles. The same velvet seats were arranged around the room along with ornate side tables and bookshelves, and just glancing at the plush couch to my right made my grin spread as I recalled the time Deya sat there and caught me pinning Shoshanne to a wall.
Then I turned around and jumped about a foot when I found Deya’s dad watching me.
Qiran was seated in a velvet chair beside the fireplace, and he kept his hands folded tight against his belly. His dusty gray hair fell in a frazzled mess around his shoulders while his busy brows knitted into a firm line, and his purple eyes bored into mine as if he’d like nothing more than to chop my dick off and feed it to his pack of dogs.
“Hello, Qiran,” I said.
“Fuck you,” Qiran growled.
“Always so grumpy. This is Markus. He’s an Ignis Mage from--”
“Where did you take my daughter?” the old elf demanded as he slammed his fist on the arm of his chair, and I could see Markus’ eyebrows shoot up out of the corner of my eye.
Then the mage inched away until he was on the other side of the couch, and Dragir just rolled his eyes as he headed for a decanter.
“Your daughter is completely safe,” I assured Qiran. “She sends her love, and I know she misses you every day.”
“Of course, she does!” Qiran snapped as his cheeks flushed with fury. “You have some nerve to show your face in my home after what you did. I should summon Aeris here to expose you as the filthy, lustful, backstabbing--”
Dragir interrupted his father so sharply, Markus half-ducked behind the couch, and while the silver-haired elf berated Qiran in Elvish, the old man glared at the fire instead of me without responding.
“Forgive my father,” Dragir muttered as he handed me a goblet. “He is still learning to obey his position in my home.”
I bit my cheek so I wouldn’t chuckle at the way Dragir stressed the word “my,” but seeing how red Qiran got when he said it was surprisingly satisfying. Then Dragir handed goblets to his father and Markus as well, and the mage sniffed the contents cautiously before taking a tiny sip.
I grinned as I recognized the smell of the highly alcoholic juice Dragir used to guzzle all day long, and I swiftly drained the goblet before I headed to a seat on the other side of the room from Qiran.
“You should probably pace yourself on that,” I muttered to Markus as I passed.
“So,” Dragir sighed once he joined me, “I know you intend to ambush the Master’s forces at these tunnels, but where are you at with your plans?”
“Not where I’d like to be,” I admitted, “but I’m on schedule. The ogres are assembled, and the dwarves are prepared to move out. My generals are working to ready our troops, and I’m speaking with the human kings tomorrow about their armies. I aim to have everyone stationed by sundown tomorrow.”
Dragir nodded. “My army will be ready before then.”
“How many elves can you spare?”
“We number one-hundred and fifty,” the silver-haired elf replied, “with twenty of those being fledglings.”
“Fledglings?” I asked.
“Fledglings are the warriors who have not reached their fifteenth year yet,” Dragir said with a murderous smirk. “They fight as fiercely as any other, but their tempers run hotter, so I cannot take responsibility for their actions.”
Qiran spoke up in Elvish from across the room, and judging by the look on Dragir’s face, I could tell he disagreed with his son’s decision, but Dragir only silenced him again.
“Hold on,” I muttered, “we can’t bring a bunch of kids into this battle.”
“Why not?” Dragir snorted. “They are not weaklings like your baby mages. Fledgling elves are agile and easily enraged. They are perfect for this work.”
“They’re inexperienced, though, so they’ll most likely die out there,” I countered.
Dragir lowered his goblet as he narrowed his eyes. “I will have you know I won my first battle in my twelfth year. Are you implying my race is somehow inadequate?”
I sighed as I recognized the challenge in his tone, and when I thought back to the way Rhys’ son held his own in battle, I couldn’t deny Dragir probably was onto something with younger elves. That little fucker fought off me, Dragir, and Rhys all at once, and even though he’d been possessed at the time, I’d seen enough of his skills before to know he could do nearly as much damage without a rune on him.
Still, it didn’t sit well with me, but then I noticed Qiran glaring at me while he waited for a response, and I knew agreeing with Dragir was probably the most irritating thing I could do right now.
“Alright,” I said with a nod. “It’s your army. Bring ‘em along. Do you need any of my weapons for this?”
“No, our blades will suffice,” Dragir assured me.
“Have you ever considered using the molten Halcyan as a weapon of war?” I asked out of curiosity. “The effect it had on that rag was just… mind boggling. You could probably kill dozens with only a scoop of that stuff.”
Dragir nodded. “When my grandfather first taught me how to form the Halcyan blades, I considered this, but there is no means of wielding it with any kind of precision. The risk of injuring our own warriors is too great, not to mention myself.”
“It doesn’t affect the iron you contain it in, though.”
“The runes on the iron prevent it from interacting in the same way,” Dragir explained. “This is another achievement of my grandfather’s. If the vat were to tip over, or develop a crack, the effects would be uncontainable. Even a splatter of the liquid Halcyan would kill a man within seconds, but the amount I keep in that shop would destroy my village and more.”
I nodded as the silver-haired elf rose to refill his goblet, and by the time he got back to the table, I had a calculating grin on my face.
“What is it?” Dragir chuckled.
“So, basically what you’re saying,” I mused, “is it would only take a small amount to kill more soldiers than my 1911s, and you have a way to contain it safely.”
“Within reason… ”
My grin widened. “I want you to work on something for me.”
“Again, within reason,” Dragir snorted.
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “What I have in mind would be something small enough to fit in your hand. A spherical iron vessel that’s been runed and sealed shut with the liquified Halcyan inside. The iron has to be sturdy enough n
ot to break open when you carry it around or if it were dropped by accident, but thin enough that it would break if you threw it at a solid object with enough force.”
“Like your rockets?” Dragir asked.
“Exactly,” I replied, “except instead of spreading fire on impact, the Halcyan liquid explodes on the opposing troops, well out of range of your army.”
A sinister grin twitched at the corners of Dragir’s mouth as he considered the possibility, and I could tell he was about to agree to the idea when his father spoke up once more, and this time, Qiran shot to his feet to argue against his son at full volume.
Dragir’s grin fell as he let out a sigh, and he ignored Qiran’s words as he raised his voice.
“I sent two scouts to House Fehryn as soon as I returned,” the silver-haired elf told me. “If they have not been killed, they should be there by now. When do you meet with Rhys?”
“As soon as I leave here,” I yelled above Qiran. “Do you have a map of Nalnora? We could look at it to get a general idea of where the tunnels are positioned. Markus is going with me to verify their locations after we speak with Rhys, but--”
“We will discuss this with Rhys,” Dragir decided as he stood up.
I followed his lead while Markus stared uneasily at the fuming old elf by the fire, and the mage steadily drained his goblet while I shuttled him closer to the door. Dragir calmly refilled his goblet and drained it again, though, and then he came over to Qiran and gripped him by the shoulders.
Two elvish words silenced his father at once, but the old elf looked more worried than he was irritated this time. Dragir continued speaking with him in a way that sounded consoling, and while Qiran still looked terrified for his son, he responded in a normal tone again.
I waited while the two spoke for a few minutes like this, and then Dragir briskly hugged the old elf and headed for the door. I nodded to Qiran before I turned to follow his son out, and while Markus’ empty goblet clanged to the floor in his haste, the old elf mumbled something to himself I couldn’t understand.
