Gifts of Vorallon: 03 - Lord of Vengeance Page 2

  “There are hot springs below the city,” the dwarf boomed, “far below the lake that the Silarne empties into. It was Verth himself who told us of them. The Old Gods brought him and his followers here, just as they brought your mother and father together. When we began construction of Halversome, we drove many copper shafts down to the hot core of the springs and laced more copper through the foundation stones to carry the heat up.”

  Lorace awakened his sight and peered into the stone beyond the shaft of the lift, deep into the ground, revealing the vast extent of their accomplishments.

  “An amazing undertaking. I would never have thought that much metal of any kind could exist, let alone be collected in one place.”

  “Lad,” Prince Wralka squared his shoulders. “We are dwarves. When Vorallon whispers to us, we move mountains.”

  “Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Lorace assured him. “And the stones of the walls are so massive and beautiful they defy my attempts to comprehend them.”

  Wralka winked conspiratorially. “They are not stones at all. They are made of a clay called trundt which we compose of a variety of pulverized minerals from the heart of Kur K’Tahn. We fired them in the heat of our forges. Day and night, for three years, we rafted each one down the Silarne River. Rivermen could shout to each other from boat to boat, passing messages from these falls to the docks below Vlaske K’Brak in the span of time it took the sun to move one hands width across the sky. Though I would never put much faith in that message once it had traveled through so many mouths.”

  “Amazing,” Iris said, her raised voice barely heard above the din. “What of the runes which inlay each?”

  “The elves conceived of the warding glyphs,” the dwarf replied as the lift jolted to stop at the level of the docks. “We refused to add them at first, choosing to stand fast behind our workmanship of the trundt. It was Verth again who shared with us the Old Gods’ wisdom. They wished Halversome to have every possible protection, so we added them to the molds. The elves inlaid the silver and used their magic to summon the will of Vorallon into them. I do not think those runes were ever truly intended to protect the walls from siege engines and rams. After hearing Sir Rindal’s account of how those wards defended you against the demon horde, I am certain that the gods have always meant them to ward you, Lorace. I will never doubt their wisdom.”

  Lorace shook his head. “You are free to doubt, though,” he said. “Always remember that. You are free to choose your path, it will eventually lead to the fulfillment of your destiny, but you will be who you wish to be when you arrive. The gods are not infallible. Let what they have wrought never cease to amaze you. Let it inspire us with awe and wonder, and drive us to achieve such wonders as your people have with this city, but remember there is still something that has gone wrong. They have put their faith in us to fix their creation when they cannot. They believe in us to succeed.”

  “But do you believe you will succeed?” Prince Wralka asked as they walked down the dock toward the line of massive Zuxran vessels.

  Lorace searched himself and found only certainty and the desire to act, to do everything he could to see that these people could continue their lives. He nodded to the dwarf with a smile. “I do.”

  “That is good enough for me,” the dwarven prince proclaimed while Adwa-Ki and Iris nodded.

  They halted before the first Zuxran galley, high-sided and menacing beside the dock. The vessel had a ramming prow that swept outward near the waterline. Moyan, Wralka, and Adwa-Ki bowed before Lorace and continued further down the dock to the ships reserved for them and their people. There were four galleys in all, each crewed with a large contingent of Zuxran soldiers who were also the sailors and oarsmen for the double-masted ships. Sir Rindal, now wearing the chain and leather armor of a Halversome guardsman, greeted Lorace from across the thwarts of the first galley then beckoned for Oen to step up the gangplank and board.

  Their vessel would bear all of the priests of Aran and the remainder of guardsmen who could not fit upon the other three galleys. They totaled so few brave men and women to fight a war against the God of Undeath. Even fewer were those left behind; only enough guardsmen to stand a full watch on the Keth Gate and the Pilgrim’s Gate would remain.

  Tornin crossed next while Iris hung back beside Lorace and put her arm through his. “You await this boy Micah?”

  “Yes, I must ask him something before we leave.” Lorace hugged her. “He has a very special gift which may be of use to us.”

  “You cannot mean for him to come, can you?” Iris pulled back with concern. “Some of us, perhaps all, will not return.”

  “No, I believe he can stay here,” Lorace assured her. “If we fail, all will be lost, for eventually the blight of undeath will reach these shores; it will reach down and still the spirit of Vorallon before then and halt the pulse of life upon this world. We must not fail, I must not.”

  “You do not share with us your purpose for Micah. Do you fear the Devourer may thwart you if we know of it as you did with your plans against Aizel?”

  “No, I fear you will thwart my plans if you know of it.” He pulled her back into his arms. “I know you trust me, I do not betray that trust in this,” Lorace continued before she could protest. “I love you so much, always and forever. If Micah’s gift can be of help, it will be a wonderful advantage for all of us.”

  She pulled free from him and looked long into his eyes, searching their green depths. “I accept this as well then,” she said at last.

  She turned without another glance and danced with surefooted grace across the gangplank, accepting Sir Rindal’s hand to the deck of the gently swaying ship.

  Lorace returned to the lift that was lowering again. Falraan, Micah, and Narlana disembarked when it clanked to a stop at the bottom. He greeted the child and his grandmother with a bow. Falraan paused at their side, but he shooed her toward their ship with a smile.

  “What do you want of this young boy, my Lord?” Narlana asked.

  “Call me Lorace, please. To you both I shall always be Lorace,” he took her hand and turned to the white-haired boy. “Micah, it is vitally important that we share your secret with your grandmother, do you accept?”

  Micah hesitated a moment before begrudgingly nodding his assent.

  Lorace bowed low again. “Narlana you know that Micah is gifted, do you not?”

  “I know that he often vanishes from everyone who would seek him, never to explain where he has been,” the elder woman said, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

  “You must not scold Micah, for he goes to visit his mother,” Lorace said. “His gift takes him bodily to her in Jaarda.”

  “Child!” she cried at the boy, clutching him to her. “Why did you not tell me? I miss your mother so!”

  “I am sorry, Grammie. She asked that I keep it secret,” Micah said as he writhed in Narlana’s grip.

  He knelt to the boy, soothing him. “Micah, have you ever gone anywhere else than the places you told me?”

  “I can go anywhere, I suppose, I just have to know about it, or know someone who is there,” Micah replied.

  “Why have you not sought out your father?” Narlana asked him shrewdly.

  “My father?!” Micah’s eyes widened in dismay. “He would know of my gift if I did, he is the Truthseeker. Mother told me he is safe where he is, for now.”

  “Wonderful!” Lorace exclaimed. Though the boy’s words begged a thousand questions he chose to press on with his original task. “I want you to do something for me, will you?”

  “Yes, Lorace.”

  “I want you to try to take your Grammie to visit your mother and return. Our gifts grow as we use them, and we can do things with them that do not seem possible at first if we have the will to do so, do you understand?”

  “Of course I do,” the boy said, thrusting out his chest. “I will do as you ask, why?”

  “Well, for one thing, your Grammie would dearly love to hold her daughter in her arms again,” he
said, reaching up to take the woman’s shaking hand. “For another I want you to practice your gift until you are exhausted each day, but be safe in where you go. I ask that your Grammie free you from your chores to allow you this practice.”

  Narlana nodded to him as her eyes sparkled with tears. The promise of visiting her daughter met her price easily.

  “And there is one other reason I ask this, the most important reason,” Lorace told him. “If I should call on you within the next several days, I want you to come to the Lady Iris immediately, you see her in that boat behind us? She is wearing the dress your Grammie and Aunts made. Keep her in your mind always and if I should call you, you come to her, not me, and you take her and anyone you can back to Halversome. You must do this quick. You will neither look around nor linger. Will you do this for me?”

  “I will, Lorace,” Micah assured him with a sharp nod. “How will you call to me?”

  Lorace formed a whirlwind around the boy that lifted the laughing child to the tips of his toes before it dissipated. “That is how. Now go to practice with your Grammie, and your aunts if they wish—anyone who is willing.”

  In answer, Micah took Narlana by the hand, and they vanished with a pop as air slammed into the hole they had left behind.

  Lorace grinned to himself as he turned back to the docks. A glance assured him that nobody had witnessed the sudden disappearance. “Bless you Micah, wherever you have gone.”

  chapter 2

  A CONTEST OF WILLS

  Twenty-Ninth day of the Moon of the Thief

  –upon the Vestral Sea

  A cold winter wind gusted in from the sea, vanquishing the lingering warmth of Halversome’s stones. Lorace stretched out his senses, encompassing a great volume of air to await his commands. The turbulently blowing wind, eddying and whirling about the cliffs and over the waves, soothed to his touch as he walked back along the narrow dock to his galley.

  He was last to board the small flotilla, the vessels further down the dock having already shoved off and put to their oars. The instant he was aboard, sailors raised the gangplank and untied the mooring hawsers. Then they pushed away from the dock with oars until the sweeps were free to ply the water.

  He joined Iris and Falraan, huddled in their elven cloaks at the stern, watching as they pulled out of the shadow of Halversome’s towering heights.

  “They will be fine.” Lorace wrapped Iris in his arms. “I know we leave a skeleton crew of guardsmen and only a few priests to see to the needs of the people, but Halversome will remain secure and safe.”

  “I know,” Falraan said, her voice tightened. “I trust everyone we leave behind to see that it stays that way. I just feel that I leave something far more vital behind; the part of me that always knew I was the one those walls were keeping safe.”

  “I understand,” Lorace soothed. “You will return. You have a wonderful life ahead of you here, and I charge you with an even more important task.”

  He turned Iris toward the red haired woman. Falraan nodded at the implicit gesture and smiled through her welling tears, as Iris clasped her hand. A wave of gratitude washed over him for this strong leader of men and tenderhearted friend. “I do not think I could do this,” he said, “none of it—without the love you have all given me, I would have failed many times over and now I ask more of you.”

  “Lady’s tangled web, Lorace!” Falraan growled, though her cheeks flushed red. “Do not speak as though you saddle me with a dreadful fate. This is something I would do whether you bid me or not.”

  He smiled and pulled Iris back into his embrace. Joined by Tornin and Oen, they watched Halversome dwindle, each length of distance remorselessly punctuated by the creak and splash of oars.

  Once their vessel joined the others beyond the breakwater of massive trundt blocks, Moyan’s lead galley unfurled a yellow flag high on its mainmast. This was the signal for all vessels to ship oars and raise their large square sails. The deck rattled beneath their feet with the clatter of stowing oars. The former oarsmen swarmed onto the deck, freed the main yardarm and hoisted the huge timber up the mast, unfurling the dark gray expanse of the mainsail. They repeated this operation again on the foremast, and with both sails rigged on each galley, Lorace brought up the wind he had been holding calm. The canvas snapped full and the ships lurched beneath their feet, bringing forth a cheer from all hands. He drove the wind gradually harder until the rigging hummed and the vessels leaped westward.

  “Look at you!” Oen said, clapping Lorace on the back. “You show not even a squint of strain at hurling these ships about, so strong have you grown.”

  “I am not strong at all,” Lorace said without humility. “The wind is just extremely willing to accommodate me.”

  “Hah!” Iris barked in sudden laughter.

  When Tornin and Falraan looked at her, searching for an explanation, but she shook her head at them with a wry grin. “You will have to resort to torture to get it out of me!”

  “Oh, I have my ways,” Falraan said, crossing her arms at Iris.

  Lorace smiled at this distraction from their growing sorrow at leaving Halversome behind. Were conditions not so dire, they would doubtless welcome a voyage to look upon other parts of the world.

  Sir Rindal called out to Lorace from the huge tiller, pointing to a new signal flag raised on Moyan’s lead ship. “Bring the wind a few points south of west if you would be so kind, Lorace.”

  At Lorace’s uncertain expression, the paladin gestured with his arm to illustrate just how far ‘a few points’ was. Lorace nodded and smoothly shifted the wind direction a bit toward the south. The sailors on all ships hastened to trim the angle of the sails, leaping across the deck in teams to draw lines tight and tie them down again.

  He turned back to Sir Rindal once the Zuxran vessels had finished their course adjustments. With a small corner of his mind, he kept the wind blowing steady and hard, the rest of his attention he focused on the paladin at the tiller. “Sir Rindal?” He stepped up to stand beside the golden haired knight. “May I ask you something about Brakke Zahn?”

  “Anything, Lorace.”

  “I understand how you can will its edge to cut even the most ephemeral threads that bind a spirit to a soul, but how did you not cut my flesh when you did so?”

  Sir Rindal winked at him. “Indeed, that was the difficulty that took so many years to overcome.”

  He held out a hand for Lorace to grasp while Iris looked on, eager for any chance to solve a mystery. Sir Rindal’s grip was rough and calloused, hard as iron and strong enough to crush every bone in his hand.

  “No matter how you try, you cannot touch the spirit like we are touching now,” Sir Rindal said. “When you shared your sight, I saw everything else, the world we can touch like this, fade into insubstantial mist.”

  “Yes,” Lorace said with a bob of his head. “I think of it as shifting my awareness to that of the spirit, and when I do,” he squeezed Sir Rindal’s hand in emphasis, “this all goes away. When I view the spirit of Vorallon, the whole real world we normally see fades away.”

  Sir Rindal gently squeezed back. “So it had to be with my blade, I had to ‘shift’ its edge to that of spirit. I was able to do so in my rage when I struck down Tezzirax’s soul. Learning to do it by conscious will, took many years of focus and training.”

  Releasing Lorace’s hand, Sir Rindal pulled the great blade free of its new scabbard with one fluid motion. Seemingly feather-light in his grip, he held the godstone sword over the tiller. As they watched, he slowly dropped the edge of the sword into the hard, oiled wood of the tiller bar. It sunk in without effort. He waved the blade back and forth through the wood, passing it completely through the unharmed tiller. Never did it lose its dull silver gleam or appear insubstantial. Concluding his demonstration, Sir Rindal slipped Brakke Zahn free of the tiller bar and returned it to its sheath.

  “The Lady told me once that godstone was a gift,” Sir Rindal said. “But I have come to understand she meant gif
t like the unique talents so many of you wield. It took me quite a while to realize that, for I am not a gifted man. For many years, in my ignorance, Brakke Zahn was just a very, very sharp sword. I have since learned to wield it differently. Not with my hand alone, but with my heart, my will, and my spirit.”

  Sir Rindal stared hard at the tiller for a moment, apparently finished, but he spoke again.

  “Adwa-Ki shared with us her assessment of your chain. She told us how your spirit was meant to interact with it, so you are already familiar with what I am saying. As you battled the demons and used your gift over air to spin your chain so fast that all of their attacks were intercepted, I knew you had melded the chain to your gift. But you are twice gifted for you have shared your sight with me. I believe you can learn what took me years, in a far shorter span. Is this not what you really wished to know?”

  “Yes,” Lorace said, his mind reaching toward new possibilities. Could he have purified the demon’s spirits without consuming their hueratta flesh? What would have remained? Sakke Vrang was part of him. It did what it did through a direct interaction with his spirit. “That is where I was leading. Thank you, Sir Rindal.”

  Iris stared into his eyes as she did when she was seeing into him. “Lorace, there is something more, is there not? Something you have just realized. I could see it in your eyes as Sir Rindal spoke.”

  “The part of my spirit that interacts with the chain, to purify corruption,” Lorace explained with a nod, “is another gift. I think I realized it when Lord Aizel died—he was touching me, not my chain. The chain is the catalyst that awakens that gift. I used my will over it when I chose tranquility over anger—that was the decision that changed everything. If I had chosen to hold onto that anger when I awakened my cleansing gift, the sheer power I pulled out of the being and spirit of Aizel would have changed me forever into the Lord of Vengeance that the Old Gods believed I would be.”