One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (34 page)

“
In dwarven soci'ty, murder was the wors' crime secon' only ta claim jumpin', e'er since the Battle of Ascension.  Dwarves were forbidden ta take each other's lives, an' fer a son ta kill a sire was e'en more foul.  In truth, I 'ad no defense.  I 'ad no witness o' where I 'ad been, 'cept the worker who 'ad been wit' my brother, an' I 'ad no doubt 'e woulda spoke up b'fore then if he woulda.  An' it was my tool used ta bludgeon my sire.  I realized all o' this as I stood starin' a' the outside of my fam'ly's door.  I knew I could no' stay, an' so I di' wha' my matron ha' said ta do: I began ta run.

“
I did no' know where ta go.  I 'ad just started runnin', off inna direction I though' none e'er went.  Bu' I was seen an' dwarves started chasin' me.  I don' know 'ow long I ran, but i' musta been fer hours, keepin' 'head o' those chasin' me, though not by much.  'Fore too long, I was runnin' through caverns I'd ne'er seen b'fore, an' e'en had I 'scaped, I was no longer certain I coul' ge' back outta where I 'ad run.

“
At last, I came ta the edge o' an abyss an' I was cornered.  There was no place else ta run, an' the others were righ' there when I turned ta see.  My eldest brother, Timolth, stepped forward from the crowd, 'is face like granite.  He did no' say a word as 'e came righ' up ta me.  I tried ta talk, ta tell 'im i' was a mistake, bu' I was too outta breath.  I tried ta reach out ta 'im, ta get some sign o' support, bu' 'e brushed my hand 'way.  The next thing I knew, 'e shoved me an' I fell backwards an' 'way o'er the edge o' the chasm.”

Bracken paused again, taking a deep ragged breath.  “I can no' blame Timolth.  'E though' me a killer, tha' I 'ad slain our b'loved sire.  I 'ad no', bu' 'e did no' know.  'E though' 'e was takin' the life o' a crim'nal.  I can no' say tha' I would no' 'ave done the 'xact same if our roles ha' been reversed.

“I don' know 'ow far I fell.  I' seemed fere'er 'fore I blacked ou'.  All I know is tha' I woke up hot. 
Really
hot.  When I opened my eyes, I foun' myself danglin' o'er a pit o' hillfire.  My wrist 'ad caught on somethin' 'bove me, my arm wrenched by the sudden stop.  An' tha' was all tha' had saved my life.”

Bracken hefted the axe again.  “I' was Hal'braken, stickin' outta the side o' the rock tha' my cuff ha' snagged.  I swear, I'll ne'er know if I live 'nother thousand years, how my weight 'ad not sent us both inta the pit o' hillfire, bu' somehow, it'd no'.  I' took some work, bu' I fin'lly managed ta ge' my good hand 'round the haft an' pull m'self up an' onta a percarious balance on the shaft i'self.  Righ' then, the imposs'bility o' it all di' no' enter my mind, so I jus' sat there catchin' my breath.

“As fortune'd 'ave it, there was a great rift in the rock 'bove where the axe's blade 'ad come ta rest.  I' was wide 'nough fer me ta work inta.  Once inside, I was bas'cally safe from fallin', so I wrenched the axe free.  Fer all the weight i' 'ad held, I was shocked at how eas'ly i' came free.  There, in the glow o' hillfire, I first read the axe's name.  I 'member feelin' a chill run through me in spite o' the heat.  Only a God's weapon coulda survived so well 'bove a pit o' liquid rock
an'
hol' my weight as it 'ad.  Withou' realizin' it, I musta found the ancient battlesite where the God Bracken 'ad fallen.  An' though I 'ad no love fer the Gods o' old, one a' least – an' a dead one a' tha'! – 'ad seen fit ta spare my life.”

Bracken stood, stretching after so long a seating.  “If'n the legends were true, Bracken 'ad let go o' 'is axe an' died in the hillfire b'low.  If no', 'e 'ad lost it some ot'er way.  Either way, I counted myself blessed ta 'ave foun'
Hal'braken
when I did, tha's fer certain!”

The dwarf stood where he had risen, staring at Nathaniel as though challenging the man to question a single word of his story.  Nathaniel had no intention of doing so though.  It was a remarkable story, to be sure, but after all that had happened in recent days, he was more inclined to believe in the fantastic now than he might have been just last week.

“How did you get out?” Nathaniel asked instead.

Bracken grumped.  “I wedged m'self in tha' crack an' worked m'self up as far as i' went.  Was no' far 'nough though.  Af'er tha', i' was hand o'er hand, with the axe used fer support when I could wedge it inta someplace.  More'n once I though' I was done fer, tha' I could no' go on or tha' I 'ad run outta stable rock ta climb.  Bu' somehow, I kept goin'.  When I fin'lly di' reach a ledge, no' the top from where I 'ad fallen, I was 'bout dead.  Bu' the ledge led along the wall an' 'ventually, led ta a passage tha' took me up an' outta the chasm.

“The passage I followed I fig'red fer a vent fer when the hillfire burst out, 'cause 'ventually the shaft took me ta the surface.  I took it fer an omen.  My people though' me dead.  I 'ad been saved by a God's axe an' pure luck.  There was nothin' left fer me b'low an' so the passage 'ad taken me up an' out.  An' tha's where I would 'ave ta make a new life fer m'self, I d'cided.”

“
So that's when you came to Oaken Wood to open Wyrm's Fang?” asked Nathaniel.

“
Nay.  I spent many a year wanderin', learnin' the human tongue, earnin' coin 'nough to set up a new life.  I spent quite a few years delvin', wha' you might call adventurin'.  I hooked up wit' a band o' people, mos'ly human, though wit a couple o' elves, too, an' spent some time treasure huntin'.  Delvers were those tha' found ancient sites, ruins, ol' lab'rinths an' such, an' searched the ol' places fer valu'bles left b'hind 'r stashed there by monsters an' the like.”

“
I've heard stories,” admitted Nathaniel.

Bracken nodded.  “Plenty o' bards' tales out 'bout adventur'rs.  Some are prob'ly e'en true.  I know I saw 'nough things in my time ta make me grateful ta r'tire when I could.  Le' me just say tha' there's more livin' on an'
un'er
the worl' then folks livin' in a quiet li'l place like Oaken Wood could possibly 'magine.  An' I saw more'n my fair share, I did.”

The dwarf shook his head.  “No' tha' I needs ta go inta all o' tha'.  All ya needs ta know of all tha' is I earned goo' coin a' wha' I did an' chose ta give i' up.  I 'ad wandered through Oaken Wood once years 'fore an' chose i' as a likely spot then, moved there an' opened the tavern.  The rest ya know.”

“So why the fake name?  If no one would recognize Bracken Hillfire, and that's a famous enough name amongst the dwarves as you tell it, surely no one would be looking for Helmen Stoneriter, much less recognize the name...?”

Bracken grunted.  “Stonerichter,” Bracken corrected.  “An' call it pride, I 'spose.  Too proud ta admit my past, not too proud ta use a dead name fer a new life.  An' I guess, a' the beginnin', I did no' know who woulda known the dwarven clans on the surface.  A story 'bout a clan's rogue son woulda been a big tale 'mongst the dwarves, an' any trader doin' bus'ness un'er the mountain would be likely ta hear it.

“'Course, bein' raised 'round dwarves, I 'ad somethin' of a 'flated 'pinion o' how important we were.  Turns out, most humans rarely question where their precious stones an' ores come from.  Sure, some are mined by humans, bu' most is done by dwarves.  We're built fer it an' we can do triple the work a' finer refinement than a human, so our wares are highly sought af'er.  Bu' once the ore trickles down, so ta speak, none asks from whence i' comes.”

“
So as ya can 'magine, no one e'er heard o' me nor, fer tha' ma'er, di' anybody care.  I coulda just as eas'ly kep' my name as no' fer the same effect.  'Course, by the time I re'lized this, I was already well 'nough known as Bracken, an' there was no point in undoin' wha' I 'ad done.  'Sides, Helmen Stonericheter was be'er off dead an' buried.  My name woul' ne'er 'ave been grand ta b'gin with, bein' a third son an' all.  Be'er ever'one believe Helmen fell ta his death in some bottomless pit than livin' in exile fer a crime 'e ne'er committed.”

The dwarf continued to maintain his stance, clearly waiting for more for his companion before settling down. 

“So what now?” asked Nathaniel at last.  “No more need for Bracken Hillfire.  Your tavern's gone, your history unimportant now.  Couldn't you give up the pretense and try to be yourself again?”

“
Ta wha' point, Nate?” Bracken asked, a deep sadness clearly visible in his eyes even in the sparkle of the fire.  “I 'ave no her'tage ta claim, no clan tha' will 'ave me.  I'm a vagabond now.  I'm either nameless 'r Bracken Hillfire.  A' leas' the la'er leaves me some dignity.”

The two fell silent for a time.  Bracken's final words had held more emotion than anything the dwarf had said all evening.  Even after nearly twenty years, his loss weighed heavily upon him.  Nathaniel had lost a great deal in his life: a mother, a wife, a son.  And though the latter two stung deeply for being newly delivered, still Nathaniel had had his
people
to fall back upon.  Bracken had been denied even that.

The dwarf had never been given a chance to grieve for the loss of his father, nor even to clear his name.  These burdens wore heavily upon him, and they told more clearly tonight than ever before.  Nathaniel now saw in his mind's eye the distant aloofness the dwarf had always tried to maintain, a firm reluctance to get close to anyone.  Now the man understood why.  Nathaniel and his kin had been the single rare exception, and only the Fates themselves likely knew why.  Perhaps it had had something to do with some buried memory in the dwarf's own childhood, or perhaps just casual chance.  But the closeness Bracken had developed to Nathaniel had ever been genuine, even before his mother had died in front of the dwarf's inn.

Suddenly, Nathaniel remembered how enraged Bracken had been when his mother had been struck down.  And he now better understood that, as well.  All the years of pent up rage and frustration had come crashing down upon the dwarf when he saw a similar fate befall Nathaniel's mother as had befallen his own father.  He had never had the chance to vent that anger before.  When Maribel lay bleeding upon the street, some long suppressed fury must have come rushing to the surface and taken over.

Nathaniel cleared his throat.  “I think I'll go stretch my legs a bit,” he said.  The man sensed that the dwarf needed some time alone to readjust his composure, though the dwarf's pride would not let him ask for it.  It was visible in the firm stance the dwarf yet maintained over the fire.

“Don' get lost,” Bracken grumped.  “An' watch fer anythin'
wild
.”

Nathaniel chuckled at Bracken's humor.  “I think anything wild would be staying clear just from the smell of fire-toasted dwarf singing by the fire tonight!”

“You'da be'er be getting' ta stretchin' those legs, young Nate, 'fore I get a mind ta come choppin' 'em off 'nstead!”  For emphasis, Bracken squeezed his fist around the haft of his axe.

Nathaniel slipped out of the firelight without another word.  Chances were that Bracken would be able to see him for awhile yet.  He knew the dwarf's eyesight was especially powerful in the dark, being able to see heat as visibly as light.  Of course, it meant that the dwarf's vision in daylight was not as good, though Nathaniel could not say his friend was exactly blind in that environment, either.  Just less able.

The dwarf, of course, would never admit to the weakness, which made it difficult to judge to what extent his vision was limited by bright light.  Dwarves as a race lived underground and had adapted well to their environment.  Yet there was a trade-off, and the loss was in the ability to move above-ground as well.

Few dwarves ventured from underground to make lives for themselves on the surface, or at least as best as Nathaniel could determine from stories.  Bracken was the only dwarf he had ever met, in fact, though stories of dwarves in other parts of the land filtered even as far as Oaken Wood.  And poor eyesight was likely a contributing factor to that lack of migration by the dwarves as a whole.

“A truly tragic tale, that one,” came a female voice from behind Nathaniel.  Yet when the man turned to see who had spoken, no one was there.

“
Whichever one you are, I am not really of a mind to play games just now,” he called into the darkness.  Internally, Nathaniel was trying to judge how far he had come into the trees and whether Bracken's ears would pick up the conversation.

“
Oh, it's a game alright,” said the voice.  “And you're our piece on the board, like it or not.  Make no mistake about that.”  As the voice continued speaking, its owner walked out from behind a nearby tree.  “Not necessarily the role I would have chosen for you, nor, truth be told, you for the role, at all.  But then, I am far too often overruled on such matters.”

Nathaniel recognized the Goddess moving toward him in the moonlight.  “Malik,” he acknowledged.  “What exactly do you want?”

Malik looked affronted, her feminine features twisting in mock insult.  “Such hostility!”  Then she smiled.  “You must believe me that under any other circumstances, I would take enormous pleasure in your combative nature.  You would do me proud as an agent of war...”

“
I am no warrior,” Nathaniel protested.

“
...or even as an advocate of peace,” finished the Goddess.  “Even peacemongers must be fierce in order to prevail!”  Malik took up a stance directly before her Avatar.  “There's that element of duality again.  Fierceness in a peacemaker.  It's my nature to revel in both, especially when they actually coexist so well together!”

“
I ask again, Malik.  What do you want?  Perhaps you are not aware of my impatience over Gods who are vague...”