The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (13 page)

All five
stared at him with their eyes popping out of their sockets. Some of their
expressions changed from anger to humor and back again, until Bodor pounded his
fist on the table. “Cheat! Not a fair bet! You should have told us!”

Jack spread
his arms wide. “You didn’t ask.”

Faxon began
laughing again and his friends looked at him. “We thought we were taking
advantage of them, and they were taking advantage of us!”

His humor
spread as amusement overcame anger and Bodor relented. “Anyone who can catch a
mountain goat deserves a reward.”

The normally
quiet Fesrac asked, “Which side is your dwarf blood from boy? And which clan
did they hail from?”

Taryn shook
his head. “I don’t know what clan. I never knew my father, who was half dwarf
and half human, but his name was Mazer.”

If the dwarves
were shocked when he’d brought back the goat, it was nothing compared to now.
All five jaws dropped open and they stared at Taryn as if he'd begun to fly.

“Are you certain?”
Faxon asked, working his jaw to get the words out.

Confused by
their response, Taryn drew his father's sword and said, “This belonged to him,
and it says Mazer . . .”

He stopped as
all five leaned in and reverently touched the blade, whispering to themselves
in their own guttural tongue. Catching sight of the weapon, nearby dwarves
began to congregate, circling the table until the ones in the back were craning
for a better view. The dining hall emptied of sound as the crowd around the
glittering sword grew, their whisperings intensified by deference.

Taryn looked
at Jack with a raised eyebrow, but Jack just shrugged and shook his head. For
once, his puzzlement appeared genuine.

Faxon's eyes
snapped to look at Taryn. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

He shook his
head, his heart pounding in his chest as Fignus said, “This weapon is unique,
and was forged by Mazer, one of the best smiths our people has ever seen, and
enchanted
during
its construction, as well as after.”

Taryn’s heart
skipped a beat as he heard the insight into his father’s life. “What does that
mean?”

“This blade
was forged, not from steel, but from magically melted diamonds combined with a
mixture of steel and mithral,” the smith Gadlin said. “We use a similar process
to make rakion armor, where we use the same raw material and weave it into a
layered mesh to form the strongest and lightest armor possible. It’s beyond
expensive, and can take centuries to complete. In our entire history, only
three such armor sets have been forged successfully. What you carry is the sole
rakion sword ever created.”

Gadlin burst into
an excited laugh. “I never thought I’d see such a weapon again.”

Taryn shook
his head, frustrated that he still didn't understand. “What makes it so special?”

Faxon caressed
the flat side of the blade and stared at Taryn. “This sword took nearly
three
hundred
years to create, and was the life’s work of Mazer and several of
our best dwarven magi and smiths. They used both stone and fire magics in every
phase of its construction. The metal was magically formed, melted, and then flattened
and folded multiple times a day. With each layer the stone magi bonded the
material tighter and tighter to create a weapon that can only be described as
indestructible.”

“Why, what was
it for?” Taryn asked, stunned that his sword had been through so much.

 “It was meant
as a gift from our people to the Oracle," Faxon said, "but sometime
after it was given to her, she returned it to Mazer—after adding her own
enchantments.”

Gadlin blew
out his breath and brushed his stubby finger on the sharp side of the blade. “A
sharpening augmentation,” he breathed. “The most intricate and difficult stone
magic, and the only known ninth-level spell. It shaves the blade down to the
smallest unit of the material, and then binds the remaining sliver together.
Drawing from the innate bonds within these tiny units, it keeps them eternally
connected and can magically cut even stone.”

Taryn
struggled to grasp the implications of the dwarves words as numerous questions
came into his mind. The most important popped out first. “Do you know anything
else about my father?”

Faxon’s
expression turned sad and he shook his head. “Mazer was raised among humans,
but came to us after his mother passed away. He kept to himself, training with
the smith’s but living apart from the clans. Even with his skill, many dwarves
did not consider him one of our kind.”

Gadlin nodded.
“It was due to his ability that he was selected to create this weapon, an honor
that many wanted. No one, however, could deny him the task. Even among dwarves,
he stood apart in the forge. After its completion, he was sent to deliver it,
but he never returned.”

Taryn fought
to control his emotions. Hope at finding more about his parents had swelled to
overflowing . . . and then evaporated just as fast. For one brief minute he’d
imagined learning about his dwarven heritage and joining a clan, and his heart ached
at the destruction of that future.

Jack bumped
into him and whispered, “You still have Siarra.”

Taryn nodded,
and grasped the lifeline with every shred of strength. He
did
have a
sister, a good and faithful one. Even if he didn’t have any more family, she
would be enough. Taryn swallowed down the rest of the negative emotions and
forced a smile.

“Thanks Faxon,
for telling me about my father, and this sword,” he said as he sheathed the weapon.

Faxon grinned.
“I’m glad you could learn about your father, and that I had the privilege of
seeing his work again.” He looked at his brothers and they nodded. “If you ever
come by this way again, you will be welcome in clan Foehammer.”

Taryn choked on
the rising knot and accepted the generous invitation while helping Jack gather
up their winnings. Although the previous levity returned among Jack and the
dwarves, Taryn’s mind dwelled on the past as they said their goodbyes and
followed Faxon to their quarters, with Fesrac carrying the unconscious Trin.

Settling into a
stone bed, he lay awake for a long time. When the girls returned to tell them
the Dwarven king had been convinced, he pretended to be asleep. Even with his
eyes closed the revelations about his father wouldn't rest, and he found
himself craving more.

He’d found
more pieces to his heritage. Eventually he
would
find them all.

Chapter 10: The Hawk and the Mind

Braon rushed
to finish breakfast and hurried out of the House of Runya. Word had come that the
Druids had begun to arrive from the north, and Braon wanted to be there to
greet them. Slipping through the early morning he turned towards the first set
of ascending stairs. Taking them two at a time, the young man struggled to
catch his breath as he pushed himself to the battlements that comprised the
tenth and final tier of Azertorn. Just before he reached his destination, he
ducked into a darkened recess behind two trees and gulped down air until his
heart had slowed.

Stepping out
of the alcove, he strode around the corner and headed towards Keiko Ker’Isse, captain
of the home guard. Standing slightly wider than the average elf, he still moved
more like water than flesh and bone. As soon as Braon came into view, the
captain’s gaze flicked to him and back to the slow-moving caravan.

Braon gave
Keiko a respectful nod and came to a halt at his side. “Captain,” he said. “I
received your summons. What is the situation?”

Keiko’s mouth
twitched at Braon’s attitude, but he gestured at the line of wagons coming
towards them. “The druids have begun to arrive, and my scouts say the line
extends back into the forest for several miles. By my count there are roughly
five thousand druids in this group. We don’t know if this is all of them or
more are coming.”

Braon accepted
his report, “Has the Guidrian arrived?”

The captain blinked
in surprise at the young commander’s knowledge and shook his head. “No one in
the caravan has stepped forward.”

Braon smiled
and said, “You should not be looking on the ground for the Guidrian, Captain.
He will be in the skies.”

Keiko smirked
and Braon realized it had been a test. “How did you know?” the captain asked.

“It’s my job
to know what’s coming.”

Without
further explanation he leaned against the parapet and watched the group of men,
animals, and wagons. In truth, he’d been spending time with the queen, laying
preparations for the coming races, and had used the time to glean as much
information as possible. She had told him about the druid Guidrian and his
phoenix, a fact that few outside of the druid community knew.

A sudden
piercing cry echoed off the parapet walls, and elven guards reached for their
weapons. Keiko frowned at one of his elves and the lieutenant leapt to calm the
others.

Braon nudged
the captain and looked south. When he turned with a questioning look, the young
man said, “He will come from the cliff side.”

Keiko cast him
a doubtful expression as he pointed towards the wagons, “But his men . . .”

Braon flashed
him a faint smile, but continued to gaze south.

Keiko
hesitated, and then turned his back to the wall. As Braon scanned the southern
view, he hoped he was right. The queen had led him to believe that Newhawk was
an exceptional leader, and very smart. If he was, then he would not miss the
opportunity to approach even an ally from behind while their focus was to the
front.

He was not
disappointed. Not ten seconds after Braon and Keiko turned around, a massive
red bird burst into view from below the cliff. Screaming its challenge, the phoenix
circled once before back-winging to land on the east end of the wall.

Keiko chuckled
beside him as Braon said, “Let’s go speak to Newhawk.”

Braon threaded
his way through stunned elven guards and arrived just as Newhawk had dismounted.
Accepting a pat from its rider, the firebird launched itself into the sky and
winged north in the direction of the druid caravan.

Newhawk turned
and spotted Braon and Keiko. Striding towards them, he reached out to clasp the
captains' hand. While he greeted the druid leader, Braon took the moment to
measure what he saw.

Tall and broad
shouldered, he towered over the elves. His black hair hung free to his
shoulders, yet was streaked with a burnished red that matched his mount. A
firmness lined his jaw, which invited respect, but not to the point of
arrogance. Charisma burst from his handsome face and blue eyes like water from
a spring.

Beside him,
Keiko directed the phoenix rider’s attention to Braon, introducing him as the commander.
Newhawk’s eyes widened and he blinked as the two regarded each other.

Braon broke
the silence first. “Welcome, Newhawk, to the gathering. I am Braon, high
commander of the defenses, placed in service by the Oracle.”

The silence
stretched between them as Newhawk studied the youth before him, but his
expression bore no disbelief. Instead, he appeared less taken aback than Braon
would have expected. There was more understanding in the druid's eyes then
there should have been.

“Command Braon,”
Newhawk finally exclaimed. “I am at your service, and formally place my people
within your command.”

His posture
and tone inspired shock in many of the elves around him, but the druid Guidrian
took no notice. “My entire people are in the process of collecting resources
for the coming engagement. I have brought a vanguard of six thousand to aid in
our preparations for war. Another eleven thousand will arrive within a few
days.”

Braon managed
to hide his surprise at the complete and total acceptance of his leadership.
“Thank you for coming. Will you accompany me so we may speak privately?”

Newhawk agreed
and walked past wide-eyed elven guards to follow Braon down into the city.
Without speaking, the young man guided him to the house of Runya and into the
now-empty dining hall. Behind him, Newhawk looked up at the magical ceiling in
wonder until Braon led the druid into a small room adjacent to the large
chamber.

Sitting down
at a desk that had been prepared for him, Braon indicated the seat opposite
him. As soon as he’d sat down, Braon asked, “What did the Oracle say to you?”

Newhawk
grinned. “What makes you think she said anything to me?”

Braon flashed
him a tight-lipped smile. “A leader of your level would not accept my
leadership so easily without someone they trusted preparing them.”

Newhawk grunted.
“The Oracle was right. You are the right person for the job.” Then his grin
faded and he sighed. “Do we really face what she showed me?”

Braon gave a
single nod and the Guidrian’s shoulders slumped. “How can we defeat so many?”

 “We cannot.
But together we might survive long enough for Taryn and Siarra to destroy
Draeken and end the war. When he is slain, his army will be drawn back to the
realm where they were created.”

“She told me
that you were the only one capable of leading the defenses, and that you would
have a place for me.” He paused. “What would you have me do?”

The powerful
druid leaders' stark humility demonstrated to Braon the last characteristic he
had been hoping for. He almost grinned.
The Oracle foresaw what I would
need, as always
.

“I need you to
be my second in command,” Braon said.

 “What does
that entail . . . exactly?”

“I need you to
be the face of our command, to be the figurehead that all the other races look
to. You have every characteristic of a heroic commander, strong, charismatic,
inspiring, and humble.” He paused and flashed him a wry smile. “The races will
gladly accept your leadership, where many will have difficulty accepting mine.
Together we might have a shred of hope.”