The Wrathful Mountains (17 page)

The mountain
beneath them roared in anger, the creature trapped within enraged at their
actions. A deep groan reverberated among the stones, the Gawr’s malice
unleashed upon the world. Chunks of ice and snow, some of them large enough to
flatten a village, broke free of the mountainside and plummeted downward.

A shiver of fear
ran through the sorceress. Had the Gawr come to full power? A kiss from the
wind reassured her it had not. If the Gawr had regained all its strength, it
could collapse the mountain upon her. No, she still had time.

Seeing the danger
above them, Tashi grabbed Kaiya’s arm and pulled her back toward the path.
“Run!” she shouted.

Sliding from the
summit, an avalanche of white aimed itself at the travelers, its intent clear.
A mind of hatred spurred it onward, targeting the sorceress who would see its
master undone. Gaining speed as it fell, hundreds of pounds of ice and snow
rushed toward the women. Death and destruction rained upon them, pushed by the
hand of evil.

Racing at top speed,
the pair desperately tried to outrun their pursuer. Kaiya ran more slowly than
Tashi, but the priestess had not let go of her arm, dragging the sorceress
forward with all her might. A constant rumbling accompanied their footsteps,
loosening the rock beneath them. Kaiya slipped on the rubble, sending her
sliding past Tashi. To her amazement, she came to a stop at a plateau, right
before the edge of a cliff.

“It’s sheltered!”
she called out. “We can drop down here!”

When she looked
back at Tashi, the priestess had disappeared, buried beneath a blanket of
white. The raging snow continued on its path, sweeping Kaiya over the edge.
Digging into her magical stores, she called out to the wind, riding its soft
embrace over the cliff. Flattening herself against the edge of the cliff, she
looked up at the rocky overhang above her. The pair could have made it to
safety within seconds but had failed. Now Tashi lay buried beneath the snow.

D
igging with
bare hands, Galen frantically clawed through the rubble. His heart sank as he
reached the girl he sought. Her yellow hair was caked with crimson blood, her
face cold to the touch. Gently pressing his fingers to her neck, he found no
pulse. No more than fourteen years of age, this sweet life had been cut short
by the Gawr’s wrath.

Sitting back on his
heels, the elf hung his head. This was the second avalanche to strike since
Kaiya departed days ago. The first had caused serious injuries but no deaths.
This one had killed dozens of citizens and destroyed several homes. The
schoolhouse was demolished, but thankfully the children had not been inside.
Their teacher took them underground at the first hint of rumbling. The poor
child lying before Galen had been a worker. Had she still been in school, she
would have been safe.

Pulling her free of
the rubble, he placed her on top of the rocks and folded her hands across her
abdomen. Here she would wait for the wagons that collected the dead.

Such senseless
waste of life weighed heavily on the elf, and he did not bother to hide his
tears. Reinforced with steel, the Dwarf’s Heart workshop was the safest place
in the encampment. That is where Galen had been when the chaos began. His only
injury was a minor scrape on his forehead. Along with the others, he ran
outside as soon as the shaking subsided. An eerie silence greeted him—no wails
of despair nor grief. Instead of mourning, the dwarves had gone to work,
digging at the earth to free their trapped loved ones.

The mines had been
evacuated days earlier, shortly after Kaiya took her leave. She had gone to
challenge the Gawr, and in his wisdom, Foreman Daro had insisted the workers
stay away. There was more than enough work for them to do in the city, where
they used their skills to unearth fallen dwarves and construct temporary
shelters for the newly homeless.

What these people
needed most were healers. Galen had no such skills, but other elves did.
Unfortunately, he had no way to summon them, and he could not leave now. The
dwarves needed every pair of hands they could get. He had never learned healing
runes, but they had to exist. Many dwarves lay comatose with head injuries,
using the strength of their own bodies to heal themselves. They might benefit
from a rune carver’s help. The girl before him was beyond such things.

His head low, he
stumbled back to the workshop, the coppery smell of blood unsettling his
stomach. Resisting the urge to wretch, he stepped inside the shop and found
himself alone. Grabbing a set of tools, he poured himself into his work. Runic
symbols flashed in his mind, none of them adequate for healing. Frustrated, he
chipped at the stones, reviewing his early lessons by starting at the top of
the list. Running through the alphabet, he recalled every ancient rune he knew.
Still he came up empty.

Before he realized
what he had done, seven small stones lay on the table before him. Smoothed and
ready for their enchantments, he stared at them as if they would offer the
answer. Slamming a fist against the table, he cursed the city. There were no
archives nor library, things essential for his work. How could he learn which
runes to etch if he had no guide? Knowledge was worth more than painite. Didn’t
the dwarves realize this?

Sighing, Galen
buried his head in his hands. Dirt from the stones transferred to his face,
adding to his already disheveled look.
Healing stones,
he repeated to
himself. Another sigh, this one cursing his own failure rather than the dwarves’
lack of interest in libraries. Placing his forehead against the table, he
closed his eyes.

In a flash of
remembrance, the runic symbol for repair came into his mind. Normally, it was
etched into weapons, protecting them from a certain amount of damage. But it
was usually inlaid with diamond or ruby, and he had none available. Could such
an enchantment work for people? He had no idea, but it might be worth a try.

The rune for
rejuvenation was commonly placed on jewelry to aid weary soldiers on long
marches or in combat. Galen had never heard of it for actual healing, but
wouldn’t that also help? He wanted to slap himself for forgetting. These runes
had potential, all he lacked were diamonds. The ladies of the town might give
up their jewels, but they would take time to collect. He’d have to go around,
asking grieving widows and mothers to give up their possessions, while all he
had was an idea in return. It might not work at all.

Glancing around the
room, he saw glimmers of painite on every desk. The dwarves had left in the
middle of their work, the precious gemstones cast aside in the wake of such devastation.
They knew what was more important, and so did the elf. Racing around the room,
he gathered as many pieces as he could. Some were incredibly small, but all had
purpose. Never before had he studied the magical properties of Dwarf’s Heart, but
if it held any at all, he would find out.

Without thought for
the great amount of wealth to be had from these gems, he cut them and shaped
them, placing each meticulously inside the stones. When he ran out of stones,
he turned to chunks of iron and pieces of wood, anything that was close at
hand. As he worked nonstop, he thought of other enchantments that might help as
well: strength, rest, purify, sharpen. Something had to have medicinal value.
It was all the elf had to offer.

It was hours before
he declared himself finished, at least for the moment. He had plenty to
distribute, and it was time to find out if his creations would work. Bundling
the runed items in a canvas sack, he ran out of the workshop and sprinted
through the city. Several buildings were now serving as hospitals, and he
stepped inside the nearest one.

Foreman Daro stood
inside. He turned and gave the elf a half-smile, all he could muster. “Good to
see you safe,” he said.

“Here,” Galen said,
handing Daro one of the stones. “I’ve crafted these with elven magic, and I
think they might help the wounded.”

Daro had long
believed in the power of elves, and his eyes lit up at the prospect. “What do
we do with them?”

“Distribute them to
those in need,” Galen replied. “I’m not sure which will work best, or what
conditions will benefit most, so hand them out at random. If they work, we’ll
know soon.”

“Is this Dwarf’s
Heart?” Daro asked, squinting at the stone.

“It is,” Galen
replied. He hoped the foreman would not be angered or accuse him of theft.

“They’ll be worth a
fortune if they work,” the dwarf commented. “They’re already worth a fortune,
but no telling how much those island elves will pay for healing stones of
Dwarf’s Heart.”

“I don’t know what
properties the painite has,” Galen admitted. “But we still have to try. We
should place them beneath the pillows of the injured.”

He passed a fair
amount of the runes to Daro, who obeyed eagerly. When they had placed an
enchantment under each pillow, they walked together to the next hospital. No
dwarves questioned the pair, instead they barely took notice. The two were
uninjured, and there were plenty of ailing dwarves to care for. Two healthy
individuals visiting the patients were the least of their concerns.

As they exited a
third hospital, Daro said, “I sure hope those work. We could use a miracle
about now.”

“We should send
word to the Vale,” Galen replied. “It will be days before they arrive, but
there are skilled healers among my people. I know they’d be willing to help.”

“I’ll do that,”
Daro said. As soon as he could locate a runner who hadn’t been hurt, he would
set him to the task.

“Master Elf!” a
voice cried. A young boy ran toward them. When he reached the pair, he leaned
heavily against his thighs, panting. “Come and see,” he managed to say.

“See what?” Galen
asked.

“The runes, sir,”
the boy replied. “My papa is awake!” A broad smile spread across the boy’s
face. Taking the elf’s hand, he pulled him back toward the hospital.

Sitting up in bed
was the injured father, a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head. He
nodded at the approach of his young son.

“It was your gift,”
the boy said. “Papa’s all better.” The boy grabbed onto Galen’s legs and hugged
him.

“Not completely
better,” the injured dwarf said. “But better than I was. Thank you, Master
Elf.” He inclined his head slightly in appreciation.

“My pleasure,”
Galen said. “What was your injury? How do you feel?”

“I was hauling a
cart up near the mines,” the dwarf replied. “I heard the thunder and decided to
make a run for it. The cart was struck, and boards came flying. I guess one got
me.”

“He was out cold,”
the boy continued. “The doc told me not to expect him to wake. Said his brain
was swelling and he’d likely die.” He looked up at the elf. “But then you came
with your magic trinkets, and now look at him!” The child beamed ear to ear.

Galen wasn’t sure
if it was the runes that had helped the man, but he was glad to see even one
patient recover. Too many had not.

“Look!” Daro said,
pointing to another patient.

The man stirred in
his bed, groggy, but alive. He was bandaged across his head as well as his arms
and one leg.

“That’s Arly,” Daro
said, moving toward the man. “He was crushed. No hope at all, the doc said.” He
waved to catch the doctor’s attention. “He’s waking.”

The doctor examined
his patient, and said, “He has internal injuries. He shouldn’t still be
breathing.” Dwarf doctors were not known for having a gentle nature. They did
not sugarcoat a diagnosis.

His eyes opening,
the man struggled to sit up. Aided by Daro, Arly looked around the room. “What
happened?” he asked.

“Rockslide,” Daro
said. “You were hurt.”

“I saw it coming,” Arly
said. “Figured I was a goner. My head is ringing, but I think I might live
after all.”

Galen reached under
the dwarf’s pillow and pulled out the enchanted item. It was a small piece of
iron, engraved with a painite rune. “Balance,” he said, reading the rune. Could
this have saved Arly’s life?

“I don’t believe
it,” the doctor said, his voice barely more than a whisper. As he looked around
the room, dozens of patients were sitting upright.

“You’ve done it!”
Daro shouted, clapping the elf on the back.

“We’ll have to
inspect the runes and see which ones are working,” Galen said. Then he could re-create
the enchantments that worked best for healing.

One dwarf sputtered
and coughed, the doctor rushing to his aid. He tended the man only briefly
before covering his face with a sheet. He pulled the rune from under the pillow
and handed it to the elf.

“Balance,” Galen
read, furrowing his brow. Why did it work for one and not the other? The dwarf
in the next bed sat up, still in pain but alive. Galen reached under the pillow
and drew out the runed item. “Strength,” he said. He did not understand.

“Is that what
brought me back?” the dwarf asked.

“I’m not sure,”
Galen answered.

“Well, I do feel
strong,” the man said, looking the elf in the eye.

Galen replaced the
rune under the man’s pillow and began checking the others. A variety of runes
had produced an effect, though none completely healed any patient. A few more
patients breathed their last, their runes being a random assortment as well.
Perhaps they were too far gone for his own weak magic to help. It was also
possible that his runes had done nothing, and the patients had simply healed on
their own. He could not know without further study.

“For what it’s
worth,” Daro said, “I think you did a fine job. Your work here has saved many
lives.”

Galen remained
unconvinced. “Maybe,” he said.

The doctor
approached in silence and handed Galen another runed trinket, taken from the
bed of a dead woman.

Galen’s heart sank
as he read the enchantment. “Strength.” He was no closer to finding a solution.
If he didn’t know which runes worked, he couldn’t use the same for everyone.

“She was nearly
gone when they brought her in,” the doctor said. “Most of the patients who are
now wide awake shouldn’t have lived. Don’t beat yourself up, Master Elf. You
can’t save them all.”

“That won’t stop me
from trying,” Galen said. As he stared at the rune, he noticed imperfections in
the painite that he hadn’t seen before. In his rush to craft the enchantments,
he hadn’t bothered to check the quality of the gems. “The gemstones are
flawed,” he said.

Daro took the stone
and examined it closely. “Those must have been castoffs,” he said. “Where did
you get the gems?”

“I picked up
everything that was lying around the workshop,” the elf replied.

“Even the ones in
the wire baskets?” Daro asked.

Galen nodded.

“Those are the
castoffs,” Daro explained. “The elves won’t buy them because they have too many
flaws.”

“Because they won’t
hold an enchantment,” Galen said, realizing his mistake. The Enlightened Elves
prided themselves on their ability to enchant any item, no matter how mundane.
It was the purity of the gemstones that held the spell, and they were masters
of their craft. Now Galen felt lower than an apprentice. “I failed them,” he
said. The lives lost were his fault.