Kingdoms in Chaos (19 page)

Gretzen ignored her and began measuring out a red powder. Raene grabbed her arm, causing some of it to spill. “What about Dirk, damn ye!”

The old witch growled at her and pushed her away with surprising strength. “Now look what your impatience had caused! Keep your damned hands to yourself and stay out of my way.” She grumbled incoherently and carefully scooped up the red powder that had contaminated the others.

“Sorry,” Raene mumbled, hoping she hadn’t caused too much hassle. “He’s my friend, is all. I…I worry about him.”

Gretzen looked to her and her hard-lined face turned soft. It was then that Raene saw the kindness in the woman’s deep-set and darkened eyes, and a weary sadness. “Of course you are.” She reached out a hand and patted Raene’s. “Once I’ve retrieved Krentz,
if
I can retrieve her, we will see if Dirk wishes to take the risk.”

Raene gulped. “Risk?”

“Yes. If he was pulled into the spirit world injured, as you say, I may not be able to bring him back whole. He may come back with the same injuries.” Gretzen noticed Raene’s worry and squeezed her hand tightly. “I have never done something like this, but I will do my best.”

Raene nodded, fighting the tears welling in her eyes. “Thank ye.”

“Where the hells be me son!”

Roakore’s wife, Arrianna, jumped as the door slammed against the wall. “Don’t ye be doing that!” she screamed and tossed a shoe at him.

He walked deeper into the room and took her by the shoulders. “Where be Helzendar?”

“Last I known he be workin’ in the foundries.”

“Bah! I just been there. Scoured the place, I did. No one’s seen him!”

She guided him to the bed and eased him down with some force. “Now calm yerself or ye’ll stroke out like yer grandpa.”

He grumbled but let her fuss over him. “Bah. I be dying with steel in me hands and whiskey in me veins. Ain’t no malady going to stop the king o’…o’…” Roakore clutched his chest and winced. “What the hells be that?”

His wife gazed at him with intense green eyes and put an ear to his chest. “That be palpitations. Either ye be dyin, or ye be a worried father.”

“Eh? Damn it, lass, speak plainly.”

She squeezed his cheeks and kissed him hard. “Ye be worried, is all, ye darling, simple dwarf.”

Roakore let out a long sigh. “He done run away with the five hundred. I know it in me gut. The damned fool is gonna get himself killed.”

Arrianna, clutched her skirt at her stomach and sat beside him, deflated. “By Ky’Dren’s beard…me boy.”

Roakore forgot his worry when he saw the concern in his young wife’s eyes. “Now, now, then. He be yer’s and mine—them dragons ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em.”

“Ye think he really did it?” she asked, as though the realization had finally set in. She grabbed at Roakore’s dragon-hide vest urgently.

“Aye, he’s done a right fool thing.”

“Fool thing? Fool thing!” Arrianna shot up and began pacing the room. “He did this to prove himself to YE!”

“Darling, ye be distraught. Calm down—”

“Don’t ye be tellin’ me to calm down!” she said with a shaking, pointing finger. “Ye run around all over Agora fightin’ dark elves ‘n’ Draggard ‘n’ the bloody dark lord himself with a bunch o’ elves ‘n’ humans. How ye think yer sons be seein’ ye”

“I…I…”

“Ye be their bloody hero. Ye ain’t for knowin’, but I been with the boy since he be born. Ye seen him a handful o’ times up until six months ago.”

“Arrianna, me dear, I got me two hundred young’uns. You be one o’ twenty-some wives. There only be one o’ me for Ky’Dren’s sake!”

She lost her fury to his pleading and broke down crying. “I be sorry, me king. Ye don’t be deservin’ such words.”

He took her into his arms on the side of the bed and comforted her with his strong embrace. “There, there, don’t ye be worrying yerself. He be a strong lad, and a gifted mover o’ stone. He’ll give ‘em a what for. And if by some chance…the gods take him, he’ll have earned himself a place in the mountain o’ the gods.”

Once, he would have believed the words as she did; once, he would have had faith in the gods. But since Nah’Zed’s death a stubborn shadow of doubt had crept into his mind, and he had the horrible feeling that he would never see his son again, neither on this side of the heavens nor the other.

The food was bland, but it was food. The water was warm, but it quenched his thirst. Helzendar reminded himself that even a dwarf prince was a warrior first, and princely meals weren’t to be found in a warrior’s bowl.

The white beard sat beside him, ogling him from the corner of his eye as he had been doing for some time. “I seen ye before,” the old dwarf finally said.

Helzendar offered him a dismissive glance and wave. “Eat yer food, whitebeard. Ye ain’t never seen me afore.

“Oh, I seen ye afore, and me name be Du’Ren Barr,” said the old dwarf.

Helzendar focused on his gruel, hoping Du’Ren would just leave him alone. Instead, the incessant old dwarf leaned in closer. “Ye be one o’ the sons o’ the king.”

Helzendar leveled him with a dangerous glare. “Ye be outta yer head, ye be.”

Du’Ren hummed a deep laugh and got to his feet. Helzendar breathed a bit easier to see him go. But then the dwarf grabbed a stone plate and tossed it at Helzendar, who instinctively gave it a mental push that sent it crashing into the opposite wall.

“Hey!” one of the dwarves who was eating nearby cried and chucked it back at him. This time Helzendar caught it and scowled at Du’Ren. He glanced around to see if anyone else had seen him move the plate… They had. Du’Ren grinned wide and pointed a finger at him.

“This be the son o’ the king!” he roared.

Helzendar groaned.

“What’s all the ruckus about back here?” General Hammerfell hollered and came storming into the mess hall.

“He be the son o’ the king!” said one of the dwarves.

Orrin’s eyes went wide and he slowly crept closer to Helzendar. “By Ky’Dren’s bloody, damned, axe…are ye out o’ yer mind, lad?”

The others had begun to stir. Some stood and began to walk over to get a better look at him. Before Helzendar could answer, Du’Ren gave a cheer. “Now there’s a prince o’ dwarves. Sneaks on a ship to take part in a suicide mission! Ain’t no pampered life o’ leisure on the back o’ others for this one. No sir, no thank ye! He be hungry for dragon blood, he be. Hail Helzendar!”

“Hail Helzendar!” the crowd cried and cheered.

General Hammerfell pursed his bushy lips and regarded Helzendar with a firm scowl. He spoke not a word but pointed to the hall. The young dwarf was unable to hide his grin. The others patted him on the back and slammed their fists to their chests as he passed. He offered Du’Ren a wide smile. The dwarf winked.

The general led him up to the deck and into his quarters and slammed the door shut behind him. “What in the name o’ the gods ye think ye be doing?”

“Me duty, sir!” Helzendar slammed his fist to his chest and kept it there. The other he placed near the small of his back. He stood proud, chest up and eyes forward, like a soldier.

Orrin glowered down at him. “Yer bloody duty, eh? Yer duty be mindin’ yer father and king.” He backhanded Helzendar hard across the face, splitting his lip.

“Yes, si—”

Orrin slapped him again. “Don’t godsdamned ‘sir’ me! Ye ain’t in me army. I’d throw ye in the brig if I had one. Stowin’ away be a serious offense, don’t ye be knowin’?”

“I had to do it!” Helzendar blurted, standing strong. “I passed me test near on six months ago. I don’t give a shyte how long me beard be. I’m as strong as any o’ em out there. I survived the fall o’ Cerushia at the hands o’ the Draggard, even killed one o’ the bastards, I did. I was there when Eadon took Tarren, and I be able to move stone with the best o’ me kin. Ye’ll be needin’ me.”

Orrin paced back and forth in front of him, shaking his head. “Ye fool boy. Ye ain’t but sixteen and already ye want to be throwin’ yer life away.”

“If I die, I be endin’ up in the mountain o’ the gods. So what be the point in waitin’?”

Orrin turned a dangerous eye on him. “Ye want to earn yerself a place in the mountain o’ the gods, then ye toil day in and day out for yer mountain and king. And if ye be a warrior, ye fine tune yer fightin’ body into a killin’ machine. Ye don’t run off and get yerself killed before ye reach yer prime!”

Helzendar bowed his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I didn’t want to miss out on the warrin’. By the time I be o’ age, we’ll have won.”

“Ye think the time’ll come when there ain’t some godsforsaken evil roamin’ around this world? Ye think that after thousands o’ years o’ war and strife we dwarves’ll find ourselves without wolves knocking at the door?”

“I’m ready now,” said Helzendar with a raised chin.

“Ye ain’t heard a damned word I’ve said, have ye?”

Helzendar stared forward. “Every word. Facts remain, we be headed to Drakkar, and I be fit to fight.”

Orrin stood directly in front of him and forced him to meet his eyes.

“So what ye be sayin’ is, it don’t matter none anyway. Ye be thinkin’ there ain’t nothin’ I can do. I ain’t goin’ to turn the ship around, and I ain’t keepin’ ye waitin’ aboard when we land? But what if I did?”

Helzendar blinked, knowing that he had lost a small battle in doing so. He gave a sigh. “Please, General Hammerfell. Let me take part in the attack. Let me redeem my stupidity. Let me—”

“Enough!” Orrin eyed him up and down. “I liked ye better when ye wasn’t beggin’. Ye be wantin’ war and glory, ye be getting’ it. But know this…”—he pointed a crooked finger at him— “ye disobey me at any point from here to the mountain o’ the gods, I’ll take it outta yer arse on the other side.”

“Yes, sir.” Helzendar couldn’t help but grin.

Orrin leveled a deep scowl on him that straightened his back. “Get the hells out o’ me cabin.”

“Yes, sir.” Helzendar slammed his fist to his chest and turned on his heel and left with a wide grin spread across his face.

When he had closed the door behind him, he turned to find his entire group gathered in the hall from the mess room, waiting.

“Well, what ye all be starin’ at?” he said.

Du’Ren Barr opened his arms expectantly. “What the general say?”

Helzendar stood straight and tall. “The five hun’red now be five-hun’red and one.”

The dwarves cheered their prince and raised him up on their shoulders, whisking him off to the rowing stations and singing to his glory.

He rowed with a vigor unmatched by any other dwarf during the entire shift. He didn’t relent, he didn’t back down. His mind, body, and heart matched the beat of the drum pounding out the rowing rhythm. With every stroke, he imagined unleashing his power upon the dragons. To kill one meant not only a place in the mountain of the gods, but a seat at their table as well. He would join Haldagozz, his grandfather, and even Ky’Dren himself upon that highest of perches. Songs would be sung of him. Tales would be told. His mother and his sisters would cry for him, and his brothers would be filled with respect and envy.

Helzendar, son of Roakore, would become a legend.

When their shift was up, the dwarves made the switch with the next group and made their way to the bunks opposite the mess hall and other group. Helzendar leaped up into a high hammock swaying with the waters and stared at the ceiling. His mind raced, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

“How many leagues we got to Drakkar? How many shifts?”

Du’Ren had taken the hammock below him. “The lad can’t wait to get there!”

The other dwarves gave a hearty laugh. One of them answered, “’Bout a hundred leagues from Ro’Sar harbor to Drakkar—”

“We be landin’ on Drakkar in twenty hours,” said General Hammerfell from the hall. His grizzled face shone in the light of the single lantern swaying beside him. “That be six more shifts at the oars. I suggest ye get what rest ye can and do what prayin’ need be done.”

He blew out the light and disappeared down the hall, leaving the group in the silent darkness. Helzendar could swear he heard the sound of moving lips, and the names of many gods whispered low.

Tarren awoke to find himself staring at him. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but then his fevered mind cleared and he remembered.

“Wa…water,” he groaned, reaching up with a shaking hand.

The Watcher took his hand and Lunara cupped the back of his neck and helped him to sit up enough to drink from the offered cup. His parched lips quivered on the rim as he drank with effort. The simple act was exhausting. Lunara laid him back down and patted his forehead gently with a cool cloth and began to sing.

Tarren wanted to tell her to stop. The beauty of her voice hurt his heart. He wanted an end to the constant pain. If that meant death, then so be it.

He thought of his short life as he lay dying. By all rights he should have died a year ago when the pirate, Cirossa, slit his throat and tossed him from the deck of the
Black Dragon
. Whill had saved him; he had given him a second chance. Since then his life had been filled with excitement and adventure. He had traversed the wilds with elves, and lived with the dwarves for a time. With his friend Helzendar, he had passed the dwarven trials of manhood. He survived the Draggard attack on Sherna, and the fall of Cerushia. When Eadon had come for him, the Watcher had taken his place and his life had been saved a second time. But now death was returning to claim its prize.

Lunara fought back her tears as Tarren struggled for the smallest of breaths. Sorrow and rage welled inside of her. Before the taking of power, she would have easily been able to heal him. Now she was no more useful than one of the handmaidens waiting by the door.

On the other side of the bed, the Watcher seemed as placid as ever, and she found herself despising him. He looked to her then with Tarren’s eyes and smiled.

“Why do you smile?” she asked with a sniffle.

“Have you lost faith in your goddess?” he asked.

She searched her heart and mind for the answer and began to cry.

“You have much love inside of you. Do not let life harden your heart,” said the Watcher.

“That is easy for you to say. You are an ancient; life has been long and prosperous for you. You lived your entire life in the golden age of Orna Catorna. Even now, when other elders are dying, you have been reborn in the body of a young human. You will yet outlive us all. And what of him?” She regarded Tarren. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

The Watcher bowed his head and regarded his dying body. “Before Kellallea took Orna Catorna, when I could still see clearly the many possibilities of reality and timelines, I saw this event.”

Lunara looked up at him hopefully, blinking through her tears. Tarren’s shallow breath quickened and his body jerked with the effort. The Watcher went on.

“I have seen the boy’s life play out before my mind’s eye.” He wore a grin as he took his own hand in Tarren’s and covered it with the other. “Do not forget, Lunara, the unfairness of the world is what makes us what we are. If it was fair, we would be terrible, spoiled creatures. Nothing would be learned from loss, nothing would be cherished. Without an end, life would have no meaning.”

Tarren stiffened and gave a muffled groan. One final gasp for breath caused his body to jump.

“Tarren?” Lunara’s voice broke as she shook him. “Tarren? Tarren!”

The Watcher sat on the side of the bed cross-legged and held his hand tight. He offered Lunara a loving smile and closed his eyes.

Tarren fought for breath that wouldn’t come. He was so tired. Eternal sleep beckoned. Lunara’s pleading voice came to him, obscured by the veil of the spirit world fast encroaching upon his consciousness. He felt himself falling, falling, falling…

He floated up out of the Watcher’s body and found his own body sitting on the side of the bed. It began to shimmer and glow, and a spark of light floated out of it and expanded. The spirit of the Watcher floated before him, wearing his old, pleasant smile.

“This is where I say goodbye,” said the old elf.

Tarren was confused. “Have you died as well? Will you come with me? I’m scared to go alone.”

“When your time comes, I will be there to guide you if you wish. Until then, remember what I have taught you.”

Then Tarren understood. “But…but what about you?”

“Death comes to us all, Tarren. It is not ones death that is important, but rather what one does with that life. Live without fear, and create your own destiny.”

“Thank you for everything. I will never forget you,” said Tarren.

The Watcher smiled and began to glow brighter. “Nor I you. Come now, you must return…”

Lunara clutched Tarren’s bed clothes and sobbed into the unmoving chest. She pressed her head against him and listened as the elf’s old heart grew slower, and slower still, until finally it beat no more.

“Tarren…”

She had promised to protect him, she had promised that everything would be all right. She had believed against all hope that Whill would somehow find a way. But in the end, Kellallea had ignored her prayers.

A hand touched her shoulder and she shrugged it off, not wanting to be comforted by the Watcher. There was nothing he could say to her now.

“Lunara?”

“Leave me alone,” she sobbed.

“Lunara…” The voice was joyous.

She lifted her head off the Watcher’s chest and looked into the young boy’s eyes.

He smiled. “It’s me.”

Lunara took in a shuddering breath and reached out a shaking hand to touch Tarren’s face. “Tarren? Oh, my dear, dear boy. Is it really you?” She hugged him hard and dotted his forehead with kisses. “It is a miracle! Was it the goddess??

Tarren glanced down at the body of the Watcher, his smile slowly melting away. “He has saved me yet again.”

Lunara looked to the Watcher as well, and the sudden joy of Tarren’s survival was replaced by the realization that the old elf had passed on.