Steel, Magick and Faith: Book 1 of The Remus Rothwyn Chronicles

by T.P. Grish

   

  * * *

   

  GorNu’Set basked in the glow of the communal fire, as the other dwarves danced and sung his praises.  ‘GorNu’Set has shown the humans!’ ‘They will never forget again!’ rang the shouts in the dwarvish language. The campfire lit up the ceiling, dancing shadows flickering. GorNu’Set was proud as he saw the intense looks in his Clan members’ eyes, as he knew he had inspired them this day. He had reclaimed their pride. He sat eating berries and wild meat, soaking in his moment of glory. A cup skittered across the floor, kicked by an unwary dancer. GorNu’Set awaited the arrival of Dorbuuk, who was in his slumber. He was a wise leader, and a powerful ancient. For the few hours he could be active each day, his very step had gravity for the dwarves. Would Dorbuuk be proud? He must be… GorNu’Set had upheld ancient rites. The cessation of the symbolic Gifts of respect, combined with the unbridled expansion, could not be tolerated.

   

   But King Dorbuuk had a foresight other dwarves could not predict, GorNu’Set wondered if he would scold him and the others in the clan for celebrating without permission. GorNu’Set sank his head back, and half-slept. It was not hard to drift off, as the curse he had created today had drained some energy from him. When he came to, he observed that many dwarves were sleeping, others quietly playing bone-throw and drinking in small groups. Their leader was nowhere to be seen.

   

  GorNu’Set got up and looked around, getting his bearings. Stepping over slumbering bodies, he made his way out of the common hall and down the tunnels. His destination was Dorbuuk’s chamber, at the back end of the tunnels, deep in the mountain.

   

  After some walking, he was approaching the entrance to Dorbuuk’s lair, running his stained hand along the rock walls as he walked. The tunnels in the Clanhome were pitch black unless a campfire was started. The dwarves had the ability to see in complete darkness as if it were day, so this was immaterial to them. As he reached the branching path near Dorbuuk’s lair, he heard a growling sound. At first he was startled, but then he remembered Boruggh.

   

  The creature in question was a crazed dwarf who had been sequestered away from the other dwarves, and kept chained. He had gone mad many years ago, but most people forgot about him, except the dwarves whose job it was to keep him fed and take him on his excursions. This freak had butchered and tortured humans at will, cannibalizing them and showing no balance or discipline. He had taken the lives of several dwarves in blind anger, as well. Taking him on regular excursions in the wilderness was necessary to keep his violent madness under control (barely), and was done with chains and heavily armed guards.

   

   GorNu’Set shuddered a little as he took to the left tunnel, keeping a wide berth from the path that led to the crazed dwarf. Boruggh’s shadow could be seen, reflected from deep in the tunnel. GorNu’Set arrived at the ornate stone door that led to Dorbuuk’s room, and found it firmly shut. He leaned against the wall of the tunnel. He did not want to actually awaken Dorbuuk, as it was taboo to even get this close to his door. Some dwarves did it for laughs, but never got caught. He sighed and decided to wait.

   

  After some time there was a rumbling groan that signaled Dorbuuk’s Awakening. GorNu’Set ruefully realized that the King would be displeased at being disrupted outside his chamber, considering the short length of his allotted Awake time. It was a moot point, as he was not about to abandon his inquiry at this point in time. The rustling scrape of the door opening brought the visiting dwarf to his feet.

   

  The King walked out, his heavily wrinkled yet hardened face offset by arching brows and deep red eyes. His brindle beard was wild. Dorbuuk glanced at the apprehensive dwarf intensely. GorNu’Set stammered ‘My King, I hope your sleep has left you wise and as fortitudinous as stone. I have come to ask if you had heard of my vengeance while you were sleeping, My King’. Dorbuuk looked wrathful, eyes boring into the younger dwarf. He grunted and walked on, GorNu’Set tagging along, an awestruck child.

   

  The King spoke in a voice that reverberated through the rocky tunnels. ‘I was aware of your actions during my Dreaming. The humans are getting bolder and their fear is receding like the ebb of a tide’. The younger dwarf walked reticently, glad at having evaded a chiding; but nursing a quiet disappointment at the lack of praise. The old dwarf continued on, ‘Clanhomes in other parts of this land have Messaged me, the other Kings tell me that the humans have expanded, encroaching on dwarven territory and the unclaimed wild. Their respect for the old agreements is waning.’ Dorbuuk strode through the rough-hewn tunnels speaking off-handedly, but with gravity.

   

  The younger dwarf walked gingerly behind the King, scurrying to catch up whenever he fell too far behind. Dorbuuk continued, ‘The rules of Eldemon are being broken, clans are losing their purpose, many dwarves are running wild and separating from their brothers’. Eldemon was the God of Secrets, he had passed down many edicts and traditions that were religiously followed by the dwarven people. These edicts included rules for interactions between humans and Fey, and painstaking detail about the duty each dwarf would bear.

   

  GorNu’Set felt slightly guilty, admitting the reason for his punishment of the humans was more his bruised ego than avenging his clan.  The edicts of Eldemon were not on his mind when placing his curse. For dwarves, following the edicts and sticking to their word was an irremovable part of their soul. Unlucky and doomed was the dwarf who broke his word. Soon they arrived at the Hall, with the celebrating dwarves rushing to attention.

  Dorbuuk inhaled, like air gushing through cliffs. He surveyed the gathered dwarves. ‘We have to reassert our dominion over this territory. We will get rid of any human travelers we find in our area’. Gleaming eyes relished the idea, as Dorbuuk surveyed the crowd and went on, ‘Humans wandering outside our territory can be watched but ignored, it is up to the Fates whether they reach their homes  before Lefeyhdie claims them’. The mention of the Elven Goddess brought groans of reluctant respect. The above ground forces of Feykind were a necessary and ancient ally to the Dwarves of the deep, but were disliked. ‘Perhaps the humans will recover their senses… and their fear… if we make our position clear.  We will do what it takes to preserve our existence, our ownership. We will not let these devils use their unnatural alchemy to drive us away. We do what we must, for the glory of Eldemon!’ Rousing applause and feral growls drowned the cave, as King Dorbuuk absorbed the will of his people.

   

  * * *

   

  The trio, one gagged and bound, managed to sneak past any townspeople in their path and reach Remus’ cabin, where they quickly shut the door. Closing the shutters, Remus propped Weylin into a chair and sat on the table in front of him. Elaina reclined against a wall, arms crossed and scowling at both of the men. ‘If you scream and shout for help, think of what the town will do to you once they find you’, Remus sneered to Weylin. ‘Cooperate with us, and perhaps we will stop them from tearing you apart’. Remus took off the gag, revealing unstable hatred and emotion in Weylin’s features. Gods, this guy really is a lunatic, Remus mused. Remus sat down next to Weylin, pulling out a scroll of parchment, ink container and quill. He looked in Elaina’s general direction gingerly while doing this, aware that she did not believe he was interrogating Weylin purely to help the local people.

   

  Remus struggled internally for a moment. Did he care for the victim and justice, or was he merely satisfying his own curiosity? He reassured himself by remembering that he had just captured a dangerous criminal, with Elaina’s assistance. He began the interrogation, speaking passively. ‘When did you notice you had… abilities?... That you were… ‘Touched?’’ Remus had only basic lore on the nature of the Touched, knowing that they could manifest powers related to an element; or in rare cases, two elements. They were the only humans who could wield magick in any capac
ity, and they were usually reviled and spurned. There was no pattern that could determine who would be born Touched, no way it could be spread or propagated. Some were just… born with the condition.

   

  Weylin made no response, other than to stare hard at the floor. Tense moments passed. Remus had dangled a carrot by promising to help mitigate the townsfolk’s wrath, and was pondering how to prod him without destroying his chance of getting an answer. Finally Weylin spoke, and his feral demeanor softened into one of resolve. ‘I am not a freak like the both of you. I have this power… I know not how. I… don’t  want it!’ Regaining composure, he went on grimly ‘I will not be punished for something that was not my choice, they… will… respect me!’ Remus bristled at that. Weylin was more than happy to bring trouble upon others who were different, for no fault of their own. But when it was himself on the hook…

   

  Elaina responded to Weylin with clarity, arms crossed and still reclining against the wall; ‘You seriously harmed an innocent girl of this town; and why? Because she did not return your ‘advances’?’ Elaina’s green-blue eyes stared daggers at him, framed by the play of the dimming light on her blue-streaked hair. Weylin didn’t respond. Elaina sighed and left the room. Remus produced a strip of marinated dried pork he had brought along for the search, and held it close to Weylin’s face.

   

  ‘You must be hungry after all that running, do you need some food? I also have a flask of rum’, Remus offered disingenuously. Weylin licked his lips, clearly tempted. How childish this man was, considering what he was capable of, mused the captor. Remus stated ‘I need you to tell me how you use the powers… when you conjured the fan of fire, when you created the burning effect on your skin. Tell me all the details, you have nothing to lose’. Weylin hesitated, balking at the idea that he should divulge the information for food and water. But, he realized there was a far greater threat, that of him being thrown to the townspeople like a fat chicken into a den of wolves.

   

  He replied, ‘Sometimes I feel a surge of power. I can control when I use it, but it is difficult to control the effects… I hear chanting in my head, or maybe I subconsciously chant mentally as a result of the powers. Some spells require a gesture, some don’t. Now give me the food, hermit’. Remus stared at the wall behind Weylin, unblinking. Then he faced Weylin.

   

  ‘How do you know which gestures to use?’

   

   ‘The knowledge just comes, instinctually’.

   

   Elaina re-entered the room with two copper goblets of water. Remus tried to hide the amazement he was feeling at Weylin’s admission, as Elaina placed one goblet on a table next to Remus and hovered back to her corner; other goblet in hand. Remus had just discovered more details about the Touched than perhaps anyone in Corsen. Words and gestures were a part of the magic, so there must be a pattern…

   

  Sure that Elaina must be staring at him, observing his actions; Remus got up and stated matter-of-factly ‘We must bring him to justice now, Elaina’. She arched an eyebrow, ‘So you have satiated your curiosity?’ she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. But Remus was already carefully placing his parchment on the side table, and walked over behind Weylin, bracing to heft the man. ‘You promised me food and drink for that information, hermit’, Weylin rasped fierily. ‘Shut up’, Remus responded, and the robust man handily lifted Weylin up and held him with his right arm.

   

  ‘Your friend interrogated me some more when you were gone, and it was not to berate me for harming the girl’, Weylin spoke darkly.  Remus realized he was speaking to Elaina, and he had her attention. ‘He asked me for details about how I use my powers; it did seem to interest him’. Remus did not bother to look at Elaina, just grabbed Weylin all the harder and headed for the door.

   

  * * *

   

  It was only a matter of time before a townsperson saw the trio heading towards the High Peaks barracks. Ignoring the gawking crowds at their periphery, Remus and Elaina kept on walking. But these stray townspeople alerted others, and a dull roar could be heard as the industrious folks stopped what they were doing and came rushing over. A sizable amount of the Sheriff’s guard also appeared, those who were not searching for the rogue Touched. In front of the crowd were Priests of St. Lusian who hissed and rambled, holding firm to their Church’s symbol, a diamond-shaped frame on a wooden plank. The living wall blocked their passage. Elaina smiled reassuringly and approached the rabble, right palm raised. ‘Remus and I have been successful in finding the criminal, and we have brought him here for lawful judgment’ she orated, emphasizing the word ‘lawful’. A moment passed. ‘They are in concert with the demon!’ one man yelled, audible amongst the rabble. Some peasants grasped their weapons tighter and seemed to slightly surge forward.

   

  ‘Wait!’ rang a loud voice. A peasant, a young man, stepped forward, wearing a well-maintained tunic. ‘Perhaps they are dangerous, but they are here at the barracks. By the Law of Reason, and the Commandments of St. Lusian, let the situation be arbitrated by our own process!’ he spoke. The peasants receded slightly, accepting the words. One woman declared ‘Aye, Larian speaks true, we need not bend our laws for these monsters!’ The man referred to as Larian, seemingly content that no violence would erupt, shot the trio a glance of burning contempt; proof that although he had protected them, he was no friend.

   

  Slowly pushing into the barracks, the wood-reinforced granite gave way to a rustic wooden interior; with a few guards lounging around and the fat Sheriff half-turned to the wall behind his desk, scotch in hand, grasping his other beefy hand on top of his chair. He turned incredulously to the trio as they entered. Remus, feigning confidence, proclaimed, ‘We have captured the knave, to be delivered to justice’. Remus was worried, glancing at Elaina. She seemed calm, but Remus guessed she was internally just as scared of a violent outcome.

   

  He was a decent warrior and Elaina had powers, but the dozen guards could easily overwhelm them. Holding a hand to halt the guards, the Sherriff lumbered over, a consternated look on his face. Grabbing Weylin, he pushed him farther into the room away from Remus’s grasp, facing the other wall. A heavy punch to the back of the head floored Weylin, impacting with a solid thwack. Guards swarmed the unconscious young man, binding him with chains. Several guards moved behind the Sheriff, facing Remus and Elaina, hands on blades.

   

  The Sheriff spoke, ‘And just how did you folks find this knave, quicker than any of the searching townsfolk or guards, who, by and by, started looking before you?’ ‘Because we have more matter between our ears’ intoned Elaina uncharacteristically. Wincing, Remus added, ‘I often venture into the forest for my…’ he let his voice trail off, aware of the contempt the locals had for his lore-gathering. ‘Elaina and I are familiar with the powers of Touched, Elaina by virtue of being one, and I by my receptivity to acquiring information. Our skills could find this criminal faster than any others’ he spoke, emphasizing the word ‘criminal’.

   

  ‘And I suppose you couldn’t have aided the search teams instead of venturing off alone?’ The Sheriff’s question was partly rhetorical, as the man had enough common sense to realize why that would not work. ‘The people of this fine town are not accepting of people they do not understand. Their fury at Weylin would have led them to massacre him on the spot rather than bring him here to face our justice’, responded Remus acerbically.

   

  By now Weylin was locked in a wall-adjacent jail cell, still in chains and comatose. The Sherriff really wasn’t much more tolerant than the average resident, but he had a decent dollop of common sense and realized that Remus and Elaina had a more law-abiding history than many more well-liked townspeople did. He also knew he would not have to worry about them causing trouble… any sign of that, and the mob would have their way.
Smirking at them knowingly, the Sherriff spoke ‘Get out’ and turned around, instructing his men. The duo did not need a second invitation to leave.

   

  * * *

   

  As they sipped Duusil tea, Elaina noticed Remus was more bitter than usual. He had been rambling about how close they were to death at the hands of the ignorant peasants at all times, and how ungrateful their fellow townspeople were for their efficient capture of the fugitive. ‘Cheer up, Reym’ Elaina said, using her unwelcome moniker for him, ‘We caught the man, averting a disaster. Some people will realize that we mean to help. It is like water chipping at a mountain, slow but sure’. Seeing that her words had no effect, her eyes lit up with intrigue. ‘I think perhaps tonight you should see another side of the town. There are a few friends of mine I wish to introduce to you, Reym. We can celebrate our success with them’. Queries garnered no new information from Elaina, so after the tea she led Remus from his house. She walked to the edge of the town, along a lonely meadow.

   

  They walked through a large rocky outcropping on the east edge of the meadow, the lanky Remus stumbling occasionally. The outcropping was wide-spread, made of scattered rocks, pebbles and boulders; and it curved back and forth to the East. Remus made no more complaints, being intensely curious, but was still reassured by his friend’s easy smile. The night was one of wild beauty, chirping insects accompanying the soft blue darkness; the rolling meadows behind them contrasting with the rocky area ahead. In one alcove formed by boulders, the light of a campfire greeted them, as did the sight of humans robed in green and white. They were dancing around the fire, sprinkling herbs and powder into it and singing joyfully. The genuine elation in their voices surprised Remus.

   

  At their approach the robed individuals looked their way, startled. Remus recognized the faces, this handful of people were residents of High Peaks! ‘Witches’, Elaina explained to Remus out of the side of her mouth, though that word did little to ease his curiosity. He knew Feykind had magic powers, as did humans who were born Touched, but surely there could not be this many in their town? ‘Greetings, Elaina’ one man intoned, voice betraying a hint of unease as he glanced at her companion. ‘Peace be with you, Ardharwin. Remus is a friend, he will not betray you to the townspeople’. They pondered this hesitantly then gradually brightened, nodding their heads.