Resurgent Shadows (Successive Harmony Book 1) (18 page)

“Since the weapon was created while I was consumed by such anger and vengeful longings, the weapon took those emotions upon itself. They are sentient creations, to an extent, and Valundnir slowly poisoned the mind of the dverger who wielded it with my own rage.”

Caleb blinked. Thoughts and images—memories—came together in a sudden rush. There was a reason he had felt an immediate connection to Sigvid. They had both passed through the gates of hell and continued on again. That night when Raleigh had fallen, the night that Sigvid had confronted him, that had started him down the path back toward the light. It had started the process for Caleb to realize that hell surrounded him.

“Did you know the dverger that got Valundnir?” Caleb asked, arriving at the question as he asked it.

Sigvid shook his head.

“Then how did the other dvergers know who it belonged to? And, more importantly, how do you know that this one, Faeranir, isn’t just as flawed?” Caleb had just barely started getting away from the hunter, from the primal instincts which had driven him.

Sigvid responded with a faint grin, which Caleb found irritating. There was nothing humorous in the situation. He was about to question the dverger further, but Sigvid raised a hand and forestalled him. Sigvid reached out and pulled an arrow from Caleb’s quiver. It looked unusually long in the dverger’s hands, though it was the perfect size for the bow. He handed the arrow to Caleb and gestured for him to ready it. Confused, but trusting Sigvid, Caleb did so and looked a question back at the dverger.

“I’m answering your question the best way I know how. Can you shoot one of these?” Caleb nodded. It had been a long time since his camping trips, but still, the fundamentals were familiar to him.

“Ok, so the first part of your question is a simple answer. Each Elithalma is created for a purpose, to fill a need. They are holy weapons, imbued by Atelho. The weapons find those who will help them fulfill their purpose. Their powers won’t work for anyone else. You see that stalactite near the mouth of the cave, the one with the crooked tip?” Caleb nodded. “Shoot it. Don’t be afraid of damaging the arrow. It won’t leave a mark on it.”

Caleb drew back in one steady motion. The draw weight, though heavy, was well within his ability to draw and maintain. Almost of its own accord, his right index finger found its resting place in the corner of his mouth and he sighted along the metal shaft. His breathing slowed, as if he were readying himself for firing a long-distance shot with his gun. It the moment between breaths he released.

The string snapped against his left arm, leaving an angry red welt against the flesh, but the arrow shot from the bow with all the force and speed of a bullet. It streaked across the cavern, almost seeming leave a trail of silver light, and plunged up to its fletchings into the heart of the stony spire. Caleb sucked in a sharp breath as a small ring of white blossomed in the stone around the arrow. The ring grew wider, stretching out in thin finger-like tendrils, like a pattern of broken glass. There was a sudden, sharp crack, and the stalactite split along the lines and fell to the sandy ground with a muffled crash, bouncing off the stalagmite below it on its way down.

Caleb shouldered the bow, nursing his stinging arm, and hurried after Sigvid, who was already halfway to the fallen rock. He looked on in stunned surprise as Sigvid rolled the stalactite over to look at the break. The broken end of the stalactite was crusted over with frost, and a narrow rounded groove ran down the center of the rock where the arrow had penetrated the stone. Caleb reached out a hesitant hand and scraped off a thin layer of ice. The bitter cold bit into flesh and he jerked his had away.

“That’s cold,” Caleb said with a low whistle.

Sigvid nodded.

Caleb looked up, expecting to see the arrow stuck to the upper half of the stalactite’s stump, but the break was a mirror of the piece on the ground. The groove in the rock lay where the arrow had been, but the shaft itself was gone.

“It’s back in your quiver, boy. I made twenty-four shafts.” Sigvid said, following Caleb’s gaze.

Caleb furrowed his brow in disbelief, but did a quick count of the arrows in his quiver. There were twenty-four there.

“The arrows always come back?” Caleb asked, stunned.

“Aye, you’ll never run out. Valundnir would always return to its wielder when thrown too, I hear.” Sigvid’s voice had a far-off cast to it, as if he were lost in thought and memory. “Your arrows will freeze anything they hit, though you’re the only one who can hold the weapon without suffering intense pain, even death.”

Caleb looked down at the smith in wonder. A weapon that would never run out of ammunition and that could freeze anything it pierced? That was something worthy of the practice it would take to become proficient.

“I’ll need a sleeve for my arm so I don’t cut it with the bowstring all the time.” Caleb said. The welt on his arm shone a fiery red in the cavern’s gloom.

“Or you could just learn to hold the bow the right way,” Sigvid said with a laugh. “Until then, I think I have something that may help.”

Sigvid nodded and wandered back over to his pack. Caleb followed. The dverger handed Caleb the cask of dried meat and then rummaged around in his pack. He came up with a thick piece of leather and a pair of thin daggers.

“We’ll make you one,” Sigvid said as Caleb took a piece of the spicy meat and tore off a hunk, “and while we work, we’ll talk. I’ll show you how to hold that thing so you don’t need the sleeve later. There are plans to be made.”

“Plans?”

“Aye,” Sigvid said, his voice grim. “There may be survivors and I aim to find out. I’m going into the city-fortress tonight.”

Something in the dverger’s voice made Caleb pause.

“And?” he asked.

Sigvid gave Caleb a hard look. “Someone betrayed us and I mean to have their head.”

“You’re completely insane, you know that, right?” Natalie’s face was a mask, hidden in shadow, but her tone dripped with frustration.

Eric shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

“You’re not invincible, you know. You could have been killed. You’re just lucky it worked. You can’t do everything you think you can.”

“I haven’t found anything I can’t do, actually—with sufficient time and dedication that is.” Eric said, but even to his own ears the words sounded arrogant and somewhat hollow.

“The foundation of hubris is insecurity, Eric.”

“My hubris? If we’re going to start analyzing people that means you’re fair game too, my dear. You’re just upset that I’m leaving and you’re taking it out on me because I happen to be the closest target. The foundation of anger is fear.”

He had meant to say it in an even, diplomatic tone, but it came out more sharply than he intended. He knew Natalie was only worried, nervous, and perhaps even a little frightened, all at the same time. The news he had passed on to her about the dvergers and the Brown Dragonhosts was profoundly disturbing and a lot to dump on her all at once, especially considering she was still newly pregnant.

On a normal day, Natalie could be a little moody. He didn’t even want to think about what she’d be like with pregnancy hormones running through her. Maybe it was a good thing he was wasn’t going to be around for that part.

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you turn it back on me! You can’t do everything, Eric, and you know it. No matter what sort of special powers this ‘magic hammer’ gives you.”

Eric sighed and pulled the weapon from his belt. As he did so, he felt a surge of energy course through his body and dull the pain in his ankle. The weapon was powerful. He remembered the stunning kick he had managed when the dverger clan chiefs had tried to attack him. As good as he had become at fighting, he had neither the skill nor the strength to have been able to successfully complete the attack on his own. Valundnir had given him ability to defend himself. He reveled in the possibilities that the weapon’s powers would open up to him. Perhaps if he’d had Valundnir earlier, Kevin wouldn’t have died.

He shook his head and looked back up at Natalie, who was frowning at him petulantly. No, Eric corrected, the frown contained worry and perhaps a trace of fear.

“Promise me you won’t try anything foolish,” she said. “Promise me that you’ll come back to me.”

Suddenly she was in his arms, despite Valundnir’s presence in his grip. She was far shorter than he was, so he held her awkwardly, trying not to let Valundnir’s head knock the back of her skull.

“Oh, he seems a foolish fellow in general, lass. There’s not much more that Valundnir can do to him, I’m afraid.”

The voice came from the open doorway. Eric let go of Natalie in a burst of uncanny speed and spun toward the door, Valundnir a blur that spun into a ready grip.

Torsten leaned against the stone wall, chuckling.

“What are you doing here, priest?” Eric asked gruffly, letting Valundnir fall to his side. Natalie sniffed and turned away to wipe her nose.

“I came to collect you, of course. We’ll need to hurry if you’re going to say goodbye to everyone.”

“There’s no one else to say goodbye to.”

Torsten’s brow furrowed, a hint of skepticism in his gaze, but Eric just shrugged and turned to Natalie, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a warm squeeze. It was true. He didn’t have any friends in the small community, probably a result of being their leader and protector since the days of chaos. They respected him, obeyed him, trusted him, but he didn’t know them. He didn’t know their stories or their pasts. Natalie did. She made it a point of getting to know each and every member of the community personally, but times were too uncertain, life too short, for Eric to make friends with them. He knew their names and their faces, but they saw him only as a shield from the desolation. They thought him cold and distant at times, but that was how it had to be.

“I’ll see to things here,” Natalie said. She smiled up at him through her tears. “Between Dan and I we’ll make sure no one dies.”

“You’re not going to argue? Try and convince me to stay?”

“What point is there? You’re right. There is no choice. You have to go. But do me a favor.”

“Anything.” He cupped her face in his left hand and looked into her deep green eyes, eyes that still shimmered with moisture and an inner turmoil of opposing emotions.

“Take Roberts with you. I don’t want to have to deal with the power struggle that will follow without you here.”

Eric sighed and rolled his eyes. She had played him cleverly. Torsten was in earshot, so he couldn’t argue that Roberts wasn’t safe with the dvergers. After that, there was no way Eric could take him along. No, this was something Eric would have to endure alone. But he
would
have to do something about the man.

“I can’t, but I’ll make sure he knows who’s in charge before I go.”

Natalie gave him a flat, disbelieving look.

Eric sighed again and cocked his head to one side. “Give me
some
credit, at least. I think I can figure a way to keep him in check.”

Natalie stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a quick, passionate kiss, one that spoke in volumes that words would never adequately convey. He kissed her back just as deeply, ignoring Torsten’s pointed grunt. They broke apart. Wetness lay on Eric’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“I’m coming, Torsten.”

He gave Natalie one last, one-armed hug and followed the priest out in the passageway beyond. He didn’t look back. He’d only taken a few steps when Natalie’s voice rang out from behind him.

“Eric, wait.”

He turned back. She stood in the doorway, Torsten a few steps away.

“Let’s at least have one last prayer together before you go.”

“Give us a minute please, Torsten,” Eric said as he walked back. Torsten nodded and vanished down the hall.

Natalie’s prayer was short, but heartfelt and strong. Eric felt lighter somehow when she was done, as if some of his burdens had been lifted. Natalie smiled through her tears and stood up on her tiptoes to give him one last kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair and left, his pace quick and determined. He found Torsten at the end of the hall.

“That was certainly a heartfelt goodbye,” the cleric said.

Eric glanced sidelong at him to see if the dverger was smiling. Torsten’s face was hidden in shadows, but couldn’t help feeling that the cleric was somehow making sport of him.

“It may have been without your little interruption,” Eric said at length.

“You were taking too long. Anyway, who is this Roberts?”

Eric didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t and Torsten didn’t press the issue.

Eric strode purposefully through the passages, careful to avoid the more frequently travelled areas on his way towards the northern entrances. With any luck, Roberts would still be there with his patrol. He wanted to avoid making a scene or announcing his pending departure before Natalie was ready to make the announcement herself. She would need to be ready to deal with the consequences that would be bound to follow.

They walked in silence through the long dark tunnels. The few people they passed didn’t stop or take more than a passing glance. Eric didn’t pause. He had fallen into a surly, brooding mood. He avoided the tunnels that passed near the Commons, unwilling to look again at the damage. His mind was already replaying the scenes of carnage he had raced by in his haste to save Natalie.

Torsten’s sandaled feet slapped against the stone floors and echoed through the gloom. Eventually, the cleric broke the silence. “I didn’t know that you humans were a religious sort,” he said.

Eric shrugged, though the gesture was lost in the darkness.

“Who is your God?”

Eric stopped and turned to look down into the cleric’s eyes, feeling a flush of irritation. They radiated a fierce blue fire that made Eric hesitate before he answered.

“I’d really rather not talk about this right now, Torsten,” he said. “It’s irrelevant to the current situation and I have other things on my mind. Can we please just walk in silence?”

“Of course.” The cleric smiled and swept his hand out in a grandiose gesture for Eric to proceed down the passageway.

Eric turned away from the cleric. In that moment Torsten’s hand shot out and alighted on Valundnir’s head at Eric’s belt as if to pull it free. Eric felt an immediate, overwhelming surge of energy and strength. His mind cleared and his brooding was burned away in the rush of strength. He spun instinctively. His left arm swatted away Torsten’s hands and his right twisted downward in a roundhouse blow aimed for Torsten’s temple. Torsten ducked under the blow and landed two quick punches against Eric’s ribs. He didn’t even feel the blows. Valundnir appeared in his hands in a coalescence of shadows and light. It crackled with energy within his grip.

“Hold!” Torsten said, raising his hands and backing up a step. “Hold! It was a test. You and the Elithalma are truly one if not even I can take it from you.”

Eric breathed heavily, not comprehending. The energy coursed through him, but it slowly waned. It leaked away and left him feeling drained and foolish. He lowered the hammer to his side and released his breath; he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding it. Thankfully, his mind was still clear and the brooding melancholy did not return.

“I think I’ve had enough of your tests, Torsten.”

“Valundnir is a powerful weapon with a clouded legacy. I would not count myself a true cleric and protector of Atelho’s people if I neglected my duties in this matter.”

“Have I passed your tests?” He dropped Valundnir back onto his belt and sighed at the fatigue he felt. He wasn’t sure if he was actually more tired than before, or if he just felt more tired in comparison to the preceding strength.

“Unless Atelho wills me to perform another. Now I do think we need to be off. Your squad is waiting for us and we are headed the completely wrong direction.”

“No we’re not. I have something I need to do first. It’s this way.” Eric said, bluntly.

Torsten chucked, a deep throaty sound that echoed through the passage, and slapped him on the back.

“You even sound like a dverger.”

*              *              *              *

Roberts’s face drained of color when he looked up and saw Eric and Torsten outlined in the entryway. The men at the table with him put down their cards and followed Roberts’s gaze.

The small barracks room was lit by a variety of lamps and candles which cast flickering lights and shadows across the table, which was covered with spoils for the victor of the poker game. The vagaries of light made the cans of food on the table seem rusty with age. The assault rifles and loose munitions were weak and fragile things. The room hung heavy with decay. Smoke and haze from the burning wicks only added to the festering atmosphere. Eric was nearly overcome with a wave of disgust.

“Ah,” Torsten said, “a game of chance. Is this perhaps to see which of you will lounge around here and which of you will actually realize there are people who died today and get off your lazy butts and go help them out?”

Torsten’s words cut into the men with the sharpness of a newly honed knife. Several of the soldiers scowled and dropped their hands onto weapons.

Robert’s face gained some color as it flushed in anger. “We’re taking a well-deserved rest after fighting today,” he said in a voice of icy disdain. Though his tone and words were forceful, Roberts would not meet Eric’s eye. Eric didn’t step in, interested to see how Torsten would handle the situation.

“Indeed. It took so many of you to take down one wyrm. So many that in the heat of battle you killed two potential allies who were trying to help you. Yes, I can see why you would need a rest after that. Such guilt would lay quite heavily on a man’s soul.”

Roberts and his men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Torsten’s eyes flashed and Eric realized that somehow the cleric knew exactly who had killed the two berserkers. He stepped up and interposed himself between Torsten and the group of men, his back to the dverger.

“Roberts, I need a word,” Eric said into the heavy silence.

Roberts’s eyes widened in surprise and sudden fear, as if he suspected that he was about to be handed over to the dvergers for punishment. The thought had crossed Eric’s mind several times, but as much as it would simplify matters, he simply couldn’t afford to have the man’s death on his hands. The lives of everyone else he’d lost in their underground community were weighty enough.

“Can’t this wait? I’m in the middle of some pressing business at the moment.”

“I can certainly see that,” Eric said. He waited and held Roberts’s gaze.

Finally the man looked away and got to his feet with a muttered curse. He grabbed his rifle off the table and stomped towards the door, waving for those at the table to help themselves to the winnings. Just before reaching the doorway where Eric and Torsten stood waiting, Roberts reached out and pulled an oil lantern from off the wall. Eric stepped aside to let him pass and gestured for him to wait down the hall.