The Crystal Bridge (The Lost Shards Book 1) (13 page)

Chapter 15: A Knife for a Life

I
n the near perpetual darkness of the northern reaches of Ealdar, deep within the canyons of ice and rock, slave gangs of Dwaros dug into the frozen earth. Their dark purple fellstone chains rattled and clanked as they clawed like wild animals at the ground, singing without ceasing as they did.

Diresh had left her throne of ice behind for the evening to watch them dig. Their Song was powerful magic and she respected them in a way for this. It aided their digging and sent out waves of images and sensations.

Diresh licked her lips. She could taste their sorrow and despair as they sang, their only hope finding the point of darkness below that called to their masters. As much as she detested the little beasts, she enjoyed watching them work. There was a desperate rhythm to it, and they so longed for death.
Delicious.
After generations had died in these pits, the Dwaro had become very much like their Tyninian masters.

We all long for oblivion, do we not? To be embraced by the darkness and absorbed into Rho. To cease to exist and be one with a god.
Diresh shivered with the ecstasy of the thought.

She whispered a word of power and sent a bolt of electricity into one of the Dwaros who had slowed, knowing it would pass through the chains to the others. Their song stopped for a moment, but then picked up again even fuller of longing for freedom and death.

“Don’t worry, my little pets. You are very close to finding what I want, what I need, and then you will all be freed in one form or another.”

They sped their pace at this, their song almost jovial at the prospect of an end to the suffering they had inherited from their ancestors so long ago.

Diresh closed her eyes and could feel the pulsating rift in space that sat beneath them. It defied reason and magic. She had no idea if it was several hundred feet below or just a matter of inches, but she knew it called to her and each swipe of a Dwaro claw brought it closer.

It had called to her grandmother and then her mother for hundreds of years. It had brought the Tyninians to the North a thousand years ago. Patience was a part of being Sidra, but Diresh’s patience had withered. She would be the one to uncover it if she had to work every last Dwaro she had left to death in the process.

One of the Dwaros cried out as the stone beneath it gave way and it tumbled into a dark chasm. The scream cut short. The other Dwaro pulled up on the chain only to find it had broken.

“Impossible!” Diresh stepped forward and allowed her staff to glow slightly. She didn’t need much light and she didn’t like using the light globe often. The Dwaros looked down as the light came near. The chain had been singed where it broke, blackened.

Diresh raised an eyebrow and approached where the slave had fallen. She could see nothing even with her light. She plucked the globe from her staff and dropped it in the hole. It fell, lighting up a small cavern of crystal, ice, and blue stone. It had fallen only a few feet before it vanished, swallowed into nothingness like it had never existed.

Diresh grinned at the Dwaro who cowered away from her. “You will be free sooner than I thought.” She turned to her soldier who had been watching the Dwaros before she’d arrived. “Go, get the other slaves. We must uncover this cavern fully. We must make it grand. We have found our god once more.”
Finally.

Evandrel felt the communication between the Dwaro and the human. He could taste the foul King’s English in the air, a coarse language that lacked the depth and beauty of his own. He had never understood why the Elders required him to learn it.
Because they are wise. There is always a reason. Now may be the first time any Sidra has spoken with a human in generations.

Evandrel let his words of power slow his speed. He bled the excess heat from friction away, channeling it into the air around him to be dissipated by the wind as he slipped into the clearing.

Evandrel glimpsed the Dwaro first, amazed at how much life could be packed into such a small frame. The song that flowed from the being was unlike anything Evandrel had ever experienced. His heightened senses took in the full depth of the harmony, thousands of minute counterparts cutting in and out in perfect balance.

This rivals even the Song of the Grove, as though the universe itself sang with all the voices within its great scope.
The Dwaro reminded Evandrel of life itself, a complex interweaving of subtle powers moving in balance and precision. The tears he saw wet on the human’s face when he looked upon her didn’t surprise him.

The splendor of the Dwaro’s song failed to keep Evandrel from filling with hatred when he saw the human female. Hate for the humans who had murdered his ancestors, for their arrogance, for the way they filled the earth like a fungus taken root in an old tree.
Never stopping, filthy, diseased things
.

He
was
surprised by the girl’s beauty. The stories never spoke of humanity and beauty together.
Even these things are children of the Goddess, after all, though we would like to forget it.
Shorter than I imagined, but taller than the Dwaro. Hair the color of sunlit bark.
Her eyes were visibly interesting even from a distance.
Gray blue and green storm clouds full of life and valor. Unexpected.

Her left eye reminded Evandrel of a hurricane, the gray and blue of swirled storm clouds. Her right eye held another storm, the gray-green of a tornado.
Also the same colors as the Goddess’ Eyes of Heaven, the dual moons. Interesting.

Evandrel hadn’t anticipated seeing anything of merit in the creature. He had also felt the fear ebb away from her as the Dwaro sang, replaced with understanding, love, and warmth. It felt strange to discover that humans were not just the filthy, eating, breeding, soulless creatures out of myth and legend. This didn’t sway his hatred though. He marched on the beautiful girl and fed that hatred, letting it burn and build as he drew nearer.

Aren reacted without thought. She stepped away from the desk and behind her small friend with a squeak. The Dwaro turned and looked with wonder at the tall green-haired man. His wonder did not last, nostrils flared and teeth bared in a snarl as he caught the scent of malice and danger.

Aren stepped back as the two men regarded one another. Complete opposites in size and appearance, but similar in many ways too. Her gift told her that the tall man would win in a fight, though at great cost.
Hopefully my small friend can keep me safe.

Her friend spoke in his sing song language. The tall man froze and squinted down with a hint of marvel. He replied in kind, but it didn’t carry with it all the images and sensations Aren had experienced from the smaller man.

The exchange went back and forth for several moments and then the tall man reached a hand out toward Aren. She shivered. Her friend snarled again and drew the blade from his back. Aren realized it was not a sword, but a large knife.

The metal glistened and hummed as though alive. Symbols swam across the blade. Instead of slashing at the taller man, he held the knife out, handle toward Evandrel. Aren didn’t need to understand what he said next to know that he offered the beautiful weapon in exchange for her safety. The green-haired man looked at the blade and back at the furry face of the Dwaro.

Aren watched the hate pull back. It didn’t disappear. Aren could see it there, waiting in the depths of the almond eyes, but he kept it in check. The two creatures made the exchange, and the tall man slipped away into the trees.

Aren let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you.”

As Dveldor turned, Aren saw the loss in his eyes. She couldn’t understand the sensation, but she felt certain the small man had given up more than a knife. He saw the weapon as a part of himself, more like a child, something precious.

“I’m so sorry, my little friend.”

He nodded. “Dveldor. Not little. Dveldor Dho Shaun Dwarden”

“Thank you again, Dveldor. I’m Aren. Aren Call.” She thought about shaking his hand, but the claws still frightened her.
Don’t know if it’s his custom anyway
.

Dveldor’s English was atrocious. He put way too much accent on the “A” turning it from Aren to Aaayren.

This didn’t bother her much, endeared him to her in a way, and she knew she murdered his name. “Dveldor Dho Shaun Dwarden.” The words felt rough in her mouth and failed to come close to the songlike sounds he’d used.

“Aayren. We moust gou now.”

Aren shook her head. “No. I must wait for Kaden.”

“Sorry, Aayren.” He pointed to the forest where the tall man had disappeared. “Dangeer. Not sayfe. Gift nout protect after Dveldor gou. Aayren must come with.”

Aren shivered as she thought of the hateful green-haired man stepping from the trees once Dveldor had returned to his tunnel and left her alone. “I can’t leave without Kaden. How will he find me? You don’t understand. I don’t even understand.” She slipped back into the desk and peered out at the forest. “He should be back by now.”

Aren had seen into the Dwaro’s soul. She knew his fierce loyalty. She knew he’d given away a precious gift to keep her safe and he would continue to guard her life without thought for himself. She should’ve known to what lengths he would go to protect her. She should’ve seen it coming, but she was looking for Kaden when the dense metal of the lantern made contact with her skull.

“I sou sorry, Aayren.”