Champions of the Gods (13 page)

Agrock Silverscale, a renowned barbarian whale hunter and explorer, had been far away in the uncharted northern ice flows when Aurora led the armies away. He and his crew of fifty had returned from a yearlong expedition to find their homeland in disarray.

His warriors fanned out on each side of him as he eyed the gathering. His gaze lingered on Raene, Azzeal, and Krentz, before finally settling upon Gretzen. “Spiritbone,” he said with a small bow.

“Agrock the Whaler, it is good to meet you. When I look upon you, I am reminded of the father of your father’s father. I knew Fangorin Silverscale well.”

Agrock offered her a respectable upward nod. “And I have heard of the spirit master of Timber Wolf Tribe. I first took the reports of your return as nothing more than myth and legend. But I see that they are true. They say also that you turned back a great invasion.”

“Two invasions,” said Raene.

Agrock slowly turned his head to regard her with a most unreadable face. His cold gray eyes moved over her once and turned back to Gretzen. “Have you caught a wild dvegr?”

Krentz couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her. Raene’s eyes widened with indignation.

“She is a princess of Ky’Dren,” said Gretzen, before gesturing to the two elves. “This is Azzeal of Elladrindellia, and the Lady Krentz. They have both been instrumental in fighting off the recent attacks.”

Agrock gave them the slightest of nods and regarded the gathered matrons and their advisors. “Mothers,” he said with an upward nod.

“Now that we are all here, let us begin,” said Gretzen, waving away the servants. “Please, Agrock. I asked that each of you bring only one advisor. Your men will find a warm fire and song, along with food and drink—outside.”

Agrock nodded to one of his men, and he in turn gestured for the others to leave.

“Why have you called us here, Chieftain Spiritbone?” asked Gray Oak.

“The fall of Eadon has left a void. Those of dark heart seek to fill this void. Unlike Eadon, who would have enslaved all of Agora in life, the necromancer Zander would see to enslave us all in death. Already he has taken Shierdon. The entire kingdom will have been converted by the next full moon.”

“What do we care for the fate of Agora?” said Agrock. “Let the entire country burn. It is none of our concern.”

“You can ignore the world, Agrock Silverscale, but that does not mean that the world will ignore you. The necromancer Zander has his sights set on not only Agora, but Volnoss as well. Already he has sent two waves, each larger than the last. He will not stop until he has taken the island and enslaved us all in death.”

Silence hung thick in the Sudroen, broken only by the crackling of the many fires. Gretzen let the gravity of the prediction set in before she continued.

“We can no longer ignore the wider world. It is time for the barbarians to return to Agora once and for all.”

All heads perked and all eyes fell upon her.

“But, we have no army,” said Vardveizla. “Aurora Snowfell thought as you do. She took the warriors to Agora and never returned.”

“She has returned,” said Gretzen. She held out the figurine and called to the former chieftain of the seven.

The figurine glowed brightly, and the pressure in the room shifted, causing the smoke to hover unmoving in the blue light. Aurora appeared then suddenly, floating many feet above the table.

The matrons gave shocked exclamations and shot to their feet, backing away from the table.

“What is the meaning of this?” Vardveizla screamed.

“Aurora Snowfell has been to the hells. She begged the gods for a chance to redeem herself to her people, and Thodin has allowed her to return.”

Aurora turned as she floated, looking them each in the eye. “I am sorry for what I have done. If it takes a thousand years to make right my wrongs, I shall serve the time gladly.”

“Right your wrongs?” Vardveizla yelled. The young chieftain unsheathed a long sword and pointed it at Aurora’s neck. “You led my husband, mother, father, aunts, uncles, sisters, and brothers to their death. You have doomed our people!”

Vardveizla leapt up onto the table and swung her long sword. Aurora did nothing to avoid the blow. The sword swept through her left shoulder and chest, causing Vardveizla to stagger slightly when the sword found no flash.

“Demon!” she cried, swinging the sword through Aurora again. The blade caused no visible damage, but it hurt all the same, tearing through Aurora’s spirit body like a burning cord. “Whore of Eadon!” said the chieftain, striking her again and again. “Harbinger of
Daudr
!
Ormstunga! Skosveinn Bikkja
!”

Aurora took the berating stoically. The blade passed through her time and again, each time causing her to flicker and flinch. Krentz watched pensively, knowing just how painful it was for metal to pass through one’s spirit body.

“Enough of this!” Gretzen yelled.

Vardveizla raised her sword high and swung down through Aurora’s translucent head and body, burying it in the table. The young chieftain stood before her, panting, with tears streaming down her cheeks. She regarded Aurora spitefully.

“Send her away, back to the hells were she belongs,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You speak of your family,” said Gretzen. “Would you like to speak to them once more?”

Vardveizla turned from Aurora to regard Gretzen. “Do not tempt me with such words, witch! I would not have your dark magic stain the souls of my kin.”

“You speak of what you do not understand,” said Gretzen. “The spirits of your family linger here still. Unable to find peace in death, they have returned to Volnoss. But they cannot pierce the veil of the spirit world. Aurora can lead them to the light. Together we could march south and claim Shierdon as our own.”

Vardveizla was shaking. She pulled her long sword out of the table and leapt down to the ground. “I will not stand for such a thing.”

“What of the rest of you?” Gretzen asked the chieftains. “Do you wish to see your loved ones again? Do you wish to stand beside them in battle?”

“Chieftain Spiritbone,” said Gray Oak. “Long I have practiced spirit summoning. Never have I seen such power. Please, teach me your ways.”

“I will teach all who wish to learn.”

“This is disgraceful,” said Vardveizla. “You should not meddle with the spirits.”

“I meddle with nothing. They come to me, lost, afraid, and confused. They are trapped between worlds, doomed to blindly roam the land forever. I give them direction, help them to move on if they so wish.”

“It is true,” said Aurora. “Your mother speaks to me even now.”

“You shut your feikin mouth!” Vardveizla cried.

“I can give to her my strength. Would you like to speak to her?”

“Your words are poison. You are the tempter of hearts. You speak only lies!”

Aurora reached out to her right as though she were putting her hand upon someone’s shoulder. The gathered barbarians looked on wide-eyed as a form began to shimmer into existence. An echoed cry rose up with the wind, at first sounding far away, but slowly growing louder. Vardveizla staggered back and put her sword out in front of her, shaking her head in pained sorrow.

A tall barbarian woman came into view beside Aurora. She shimmered, unable to solidify completely.

“
Modir…
” Vardveizla whispered, falling to her knees.

The spirit of Feather Soaringsong smiled sympathetically down on her daughter and began to slowly float toward her. The others looked on, speechless.

“Fear not, my
dottir
. For I have returned to you once more, as I said I would.” She reached out a glowing hand and lifted her daughter’s chin.

“Is Father with you?” Vardveizla asked.

Feather nodded and looked to the others. “They are all here with me.” She flicked erratically and disappeared, as did Aurora.

“Modir!” Vardveizla cried. She turned to Gretzen. “Bring her back!”

“In time, child. Aurora has not the strength to bring another forth for long. She must rest in the spirit world.”

“Is it true, Chieftain Gretzen? Have the spirits of our dead gathered here?”

Gretzen nodded. “The spirits of many of the fallen warriors have returned to Volnoss. With your help, I can bring them forth from the spirit world. They have fled from Zander, who summons all spirits to him so that he might consume their souls. We must strike quickly if we are to survive. Give to me your blood, and your ancestors shall walk among the living once more.”

Agrock Silverscale was the first to step forward. He held out his hand and cut a long line down his forearm. “If my blood will resurrect the spirits of our lost warriors, then I shall give it all.”

Gretzen nodded respectfully. One after another the chieftains stepped forward and swore similar oaths.

“So here we are,” said Gretzen. “At the end of our journey together.”

Azzeal, Raene, and Krentz sat on logs around the fire at the center of the tents. Krentz had summoned Dirk and told him all that had happened in the Sudroen. He now stood with Aurora and Chief beside the fire as well.

“That we all met the way we did was no accident. Remember this as you go out into the world and fight your battles—there are higher powers at work here on this earth. Some of us are chosen, but it is what we choose to do that is important. The tribes will soon march south, and I will challenge the necromancer.”

“If ye be goin’ after Zander, I be goin’ too!” said Raene.

“No, fierce dwarf. Your road lies elsewhere. You must return home to your mountain and warn them. Take the weapon that I have given you and help defend your halls. I see a great terror of dragons coming…You will be needed.”

Raene slouched down on her stump. Dread shadowed her face and darkened her eyes.

“You two,” said Gretzen, eyeing Dirk and Krentz. “I would ask that you travel south and find Whill of Agora. Send word to him that I am here in the north. Tell him that I am pondering whether to march south or not.”

“But ye just said ye be marchin’ south,” said Raene.

“Indeed, and that is for your ears to hear and not for your mouths to repeat. This Whill of Agora is the most powerful king in Agora. I would have him ask my favor.”

Raene nodded knowingly and tapped her nose to the clever old woman.

“We will relay your message, as you intend it to be heard,” said Dirk.

“Thank you, Dirk Blackthorn. But know that there is no haste. First you must go with Raene to Ky’Dren. I feel that you will be needed there as well. When the threat has passed, then I would have you venture to Brinn.”

Raene perked up at that.

“Thank you for everything you have done for us,” said Krentz.

“If all goes well, we will be seeking you out again shortly,” said Dirk. He offered her an upward nod. “Thank you, Gretzen Spiritbone, and good luck to you.”

“Before you leave, please, accept my blessing. It will help against Zander and his undead, should you ever come across them.”

She touched each of their heads and murmured barbarian words. Gretzen then threw a handful of dust into the fire, which went up blue and hissing.

Raene said her goodbyes to Azzeal and hurried to the beach, where Krentz and Dirk were launching a small boat. “Wait!” she cried, running to catch up.

Krentz rolled her eyes and pushed the boat into the water. “Find your own ride to the mainland.”

Raene caught up to them and grabbed the end of the boat. “Ye heard what she said, ye be needed in Ky’Dren.”

“Gretzen said nothing of us traveling with you,” said Krentz.

“When are you two going to kiss and make up?” Dirk asked with a bright laugh.

“Are you forgetting that she nearly got us killed? Almost destroyed the figurine?” Krentz asked.

Raene felt invisible, like a child standing by as her parents argued. Finally, she burst. “I said I be sorry. With all me heart and soul. And I meant it. Ain’t ye ever done nothin’ that ye regretted, that ye wish ye could take back?”

Krentz was forced to look away from the pleading dwarf. Visions of what she had done under Eadon’s command flashed through her mind. “Fine. We will travel with you to Ky’Dren and see what we might find.”

Raene wasted no time in splashing out into the water and leaping into the boat.

Dirk laughed as he turned to a wisp and pushed the boat beyond the breakers. “Come ladies. Grand adventure awaits.”

Whill returned to Del’Oradon the following day and found a letter from Roakore waiting for him. It had arrived shortly after Whill and Avriel had left the city. In it the dwarf king said that he would meet Whill in four days at the abandoned border tower of Hithero, located on the Ro’Sar Mountain’s southeastern border. Whill knew of the tower and set out immediately with Zorriaz.

Given that the letter had arrived days ago, Roakore would be expecting Whill the following morning.

He made good time, stopping to sleep for only a few hours. By the time the sun rose the next day, the tower was in view. He landed among the broken rubble of the half destroyed tower and allowed Zorriaz to help him to the ground. His back hurt terribly, but he ignored it. He was looking forward to seeing Roakore again. It had been nearly a month since last they spoke.

He watched the sky, wondering how long it would take the dwarf to arrive. After some time, he decided to take a small breakfast while he waited. Zorriaz gathered firewood in her large teeth and set a pile before him. She had done some hunting as well and set two large rabbits at his feet.

“Thank you, Zorriaz. These will be much better than dried meat and cheese.”

“You are welcome, Whill,” said the dragon, shaking the ground with her rumbling voice.

He skinned the rabbits and hung them high above the fire to cook slowly. Soon the grease was dripping, causing flames to jump up and lick the browning meat.

When the cry of a silver hawk disturbed the silence of the mild morning, Whill smiled to himself and looked to the overcast sky. The clouds were illuminated with a dull glow. Whill assumed that Silverwind was up there somewhere, but he saw nothing at first. Another cry came from above—directly above. It was followed by Roakore’s laughter.

Silverwind suddenly came into view, circling the tower.

“You’re late!” Whill yelled with a laugh.

“Bah!”

The silver hawk landed on the other side of the fire, and Roakore leapt off. He strode over to Whill, wearing a wide smile. “Aye, it is good to see ye me friend!”

“And you, Roakore.”

The dwarf slammed his fist to his chest and extended his hand in greeting. Unable to get up and give his old friend a hug as he would have liked, Whill shook his hand instead.

“What’s that on your face?” Roakore asked teasingly. “Looks like ye got a bit o’ dirt on it.”

“It’s a beard,” said Whill, enjoying a laugh.

“Is that what humans call beards? Well then, I guess I got me a beard on me arse!”

They shared a long laugh. Roakore shrugged out of his feather cloak and joined Whill by the fire—keeping Zorriaz in his view the entire time. He tolerated the dragon’s presence, as she had once been possessed by Avriel’s soul and was different than other dragons. Still, she was a dragon, and no dwarf worth his weight in gold turned his back on one of the beasts.

“I see ye ain’t yet had a chance to heal yourself. I heard about what happened in Brinn. I be sorry, Whill. I wish I could’ve been there.”

“I was a fool,” Whill admitted. “I should have listened to your cousin Du’Krell. I will not make the same mistake twice. I was stupid to think that it could be settled peacefully. The next time I enter Brinn, I will have an army at my back.”

“Mind ye don’t lose yerself to revenge and become somethin’ ye ain’t,” said Roakore.

Whill gave a small laugh. “Avriel said the same thing.”

“Aye, a smart one she be. How is the princess?”

“Pregnant,” Whill blurted.

Roakore’s brow furled, and he glared sidelong, mouth agape. “Pregnant. I’m assumin’ it be yours.”

“The child is mine,” said Whill, watching Roakore closely.

“Well I’ll be a goat herder. I ain’t sure whether to offer me congratulations or condolences. Does she yet remember ye?”

“She does not. But we have spent some time together over the last few weeks. She says that though she does not remember me, she knows that she once loved me. The child is proof.”

“Aye,” said Roakore. “On account o’ elf lasses only gettin’ pregnant if they be in love.”

Whill was surprised by Roakore’s knowledge. “Yes, exactly.”

“I can attest that she loved ye. I remember when ye first met. Couldn’t keep yer eyes off each other.”

Whill smiled at the memory.

“Well then. I say that this calls for celebration,” said Roakore. He got up and walked over to Silverwind and retrieved one of his many feather-covered packs strapped down to the saddle. He pulled out a tall bottle and nodded to himself before returning to the fire once more.

“Twenty-year Twin Lakes region red wine. Nearly as old as ye be!”

He pulled two silver chalices out of his pack, along with a small folding table to set them on. From a belt pouch Roakore took a golden wine opener. Whill laughed—only Roakore would have a wine opener amongst his hatchets, daggers, and other personal effects.

“I come prepared,” said Roakore, seeing Whill’s look.

He filled two glasses nearly to the top and raised his own. “To fatherhood.”

They clanged glasses and drank deeply. Whill found the wine smooth and fruity, with a dry tail that hinted at hickory and elderberry.

“How have things been in Ro’Sar? How is Helzendar?”

Roakore recounted what had happened on Drakkar Island. He told Whill about the steel fist he had crafted for his son, as well as his prophetic dream of the gods.

“I don’t know what to think, Whill. The Book o’ Ky’Dren had me questionin’ everythin’. It pushed poor Nah’Zed to hang herself…” The dwarf king choked up and wiped at his eyes. There was no hurried attempt to cover it up. For in Whill’s company, Roakore found that he need hide nothing.

“I’m sorry, Roakore.”

“Aye, as am I. I’m sorry I ever let her set eyes on the blasted book. In my anger I destroyed it with fire. Then Helzendar overcame his sickness and said that he’d been to the Mountain o’ the Gods. He said that the dwarves had been blessed with the power to move more than stone.” Roakore glanced over at Whill quickly. “It be true. Watch.”

Roakore reached out with his hand, and a piece of wood floated over to him. He manipulated the flames, turned the rabbits on the spit without touching them, and even poured out his wine before gently coaxing it back into the glass with a steady hand.

“This is incredible,” said Whill. He was happy for his friend, and happier still that he might be able to mimic the ability. “Helzendar’s claim backs up what Kellallea has told me.”

“The goddess has appeared to you again?”

“Yes, more than once.”

Whill told Roakore about the visions of the past that Kellallea had shown him. He told him about the gods and the first Taking, and how the humans and dwarves had left Drindellia to settle Agora. Roakore was overjoyed to hear that the powers of the ancient Drindellian dwarves had been gods given.

“If what she says be true, it be a great discovery indeed!”

“There is a way to test her claims,” said Whill. “If indeed I can absorb your power by way of touch, then it is more likely that the rest is true as well.”

“Well then, what ye waitin’ for?” said Roakore, taking off his glove and reaching out a hand.

Whill rubbed his hands together and slowly reached for Roakore’s. He felt a quick jolt and his heart hammered in his chest.

Roakore let go. “Well?”

“I’m not sure. I felt something. How is it that you use your power?” Whill asked, focusing on a nearby brick.

“Me power be one o’ confidence and resolution. Ye got to believe ye can do it. Ye got to know with yer very bein’. Reach out with yer mind and take hold o’ the object. Imagine yerself liftin’ it up.”

Whill focused on one of the many small bricks that had fallen long ago from one of the tower’s circular windows. He cleared his mind and told himself that anything was possible. He
could
lift the stone with his mind. Kellallea had been telling the truth.

He raised his hand, willing the stone to move.

Nothing happened.

Whill kept up hope, stubbornly trying again, and again, and again…

When still nothing happened, he threw up his hands in frustration.

“Ye got to believe it,” said Roakore.

“I
do
believe!” Whill said in frustration.

“Take it out on the stone, lad.”

Whill reached out with a shaking hand and struggled to move the stone. He growled with the effort, which caused his face to redden and his veins to bulge.

“Bah, but ye be tryin’ too hard. Ye look like ye be tryin’ to take a shite.”

“You’re not helping!” said Whill, trying to act stern, but failing in the wake of Roakore’s joke.

“Look, like this,” said Roakore, floating a brick into the air and causing it to hover around Whill.

“I understand the concept—” Whill began, but just then Roakore made the stone hit him in the shoulder. “Hey!”

“Go on lad, push it away with your mind.”

“I can’t concentrate with your stone floating around my head.”

“Do something about it,” Roakore said with a laugh. He guided the brick to swiftly hit Whill upside the head.

“Godsdammit, Roakore, that hurt!”

“Aye.” Roakore did it again, this time hitting him much harder.

Whill’s temper flared, and he waved his hand away. “Knock it off!”

The stone flew away from him and smashed against the side of the tower. Roakore grinned and sat back with his drink.

“I did it!” Whill realized.

“Aye, ye got to mean it, lad.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“O’ course I did. I use the same trick on me boys.”

Whill was overjoyed. He reached out again, focusing this time and trying his hardest to “mean it.” The brick that he had singled out rose up into the air slowly, and he marveled at his newfound power. He had been able to accomplish such feats before using what he thought was Orna Catorna, but to be able to do it again after so long, and on his own, caused a lump to swell in his throat.

“It looks as though Kellallea spoke the truth,” said Roakore. “Now all you need to do is get yourself around one who can heal, and you’ll be right as rain. This calls for celebration.”

Whill laughed. To a dwarf with a full bottle, everything was a reason to celebrate.

“To the many blessin’s o’ the gods,” said Roakore, raising his glass.

Whill cheered to that and sipped his wine.

“I just don’t understand why the god of man picked me. I have never even believed in him.”

“Who’s to know why the gods be doin’ what they do? It’s good enough that he picked ye, ain’t it? Maybe he be knowin’ somethin’ about yerself that ye don’t. Then again, maybe he’s dragon shite crazy,” said Roakore, cracking himself up.

Whill laughed with him. It was good to drink and talk and laugh with his old friend. They shared stories and caught up long into the night, finishing off another bottle and eating the roasted rabbit and other food that Roakore had brought with him. Soon the conversation turned to more serious matters, namely Zander and Reshikk.

“I had thought that after we defeated Eadon, Agora might know peace,” said Whill. “Instead we have an ancient dragon preparing to invade Agora, a necromancer wreaking havoc in the north, and gods stirring who mean to destroy the entire world. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in it all. Is Agora simply doomed?”

“Bah,” said Roakore, ending in a loud belch. “I doubt the gods o’ dwarves be meanin’ to destroy the world. The human gods neither. That Kellallea be mistaken about it is all.”

“I don’t know. It is quite apparent that the gods have blessed their people. Look at what you can do now, what I can do. There is another terrible war brewing, and I don’t know if Agora will survive this time.”

“Aye,” said Roakore. “These be cursed times indeed. All that we can do is fight for what we believe in and hope for the best.”

“You’re not even worried,” Whill noted.

“Bah. Why would I be? I been blessed by the gods, we both have. And besides, if the end o’ the world be near then so be it. I’ll get a chance to rest me weary bones and share a pint with Ky’Dren himself.”

“I wish I shared your resolve. But I have never had a religion.”

“After all you’ve seen, don’t ye believe in an afterlife? Ye told me that ye spoke to yer mother’s spirit, and yer father possessed ye through his blade when ye fought Addakon. Not to mention your power is proof o’ the existence o’ a human god. What is there to doubt?”

Whill sighed, staring into the fire. The sun had set long ago and the sky had cleared. Now the waning moon dominated the night.

“I don’t know. There is no real proof that my powers come from a god. And when I spoke to my mother, I could have very well been hallucinating.”

Roakore laughed. “Sounds like you don’t want to believe in anything.”

“That’s not true. I just…I felt something when I finally overcame the Other. I felt a oneness that I had never experienced before. For a fleeting moment I understood it all, but then it was gone. What I have left is a memory, no, more like a feeling, that we are all one. We are all connected. I do not think that who I am right now is who I really
am.
I think that the elven Morenka are close to the truth in that regard. They believe that we are all one, and that war is just a being fighting with itself. They believe that we could all live in peace if we believed as they do.”