The first time Garnuk reentered Dun Carryl, Tarq led him back to where the collapse had happened. They could not reach the place where they had stood and witnessed the mountain come down, for that part of the hallway was gone now as well. The collapse had continued after Garnuk fell unconscious, and Tarq had just barely managed to drag him out of danger.
There was no doubt that the captain had saved the Exile’s life. Garnuk just wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that yet. There had been so much death and destruction, and now he was left without his family and without his purpose. Norkuvad too was dead, and so Garnuk could have no vengeance on him. Not that he had done a very good job trying to avenge those ten years of exile during their brief battle.
The cleanup continued slowly. Without a Ramshuk, there was no one with enough authority to organize large scale efforts. Some of the clan representatives and a few of the elders formed a temporary council. Initially they tried to appoint Garnuk as Ramshuk once more, but he refused. Instead, they ruled what remained of the city mountain as a team, waiting for a suitable candidate to be put forth. During that time, it was decided that the canyon and the long lake would be permanently filled in and a new entrance to Dun Carryl constructed above the ruins. The buried space would be a mass grave for all those who had died in the battle and had not been found.
Messengers came to Garnuk almost every day from the council, each time with new reasons why he should take up the mantle of Ramshuk once more. They did not sway him. The persistence of the council and its messengers did begin to annoy Garnuk though, and he took to spending hours wandering around Dun Carryl on various levels. The messengers were inevitably waiting for him when he returned though.
The Exile only wanted to be alone with his grief. At times it consumed him, drove him nearly insane, crippled him so he could not move or breathe or think. Then it would pass, leaving an ache that threatened to break him into pieces. The pain of his loss and the shame of his failure never left him, never gave him a moment’s respite. Instead it tormented him, drove him away from his friends, and made him seek solitude. Places where he could be alone and suffer.
Then, one morning three weeks after the battle, Garnuk found himself standing in front of an arch that led down, deeper into the mountain. Below ground level. This was a place he had never ventured before. The lower levels were dark, unused, and mysterious. Reasoning it would be difficult for the council to reach him in such a place, Garnuk grabbed a lantern from the wall with his right arm, since his left was still in a sling, and passed through the carved archway into the lower halls.
It was a good thing he had brought the lantern, for there were not even torches on the walls here. The light from Garnuk’s lantern revealed steps leading down in a tight spiral. Every so often, an arch would appear to the right, leading to another level of rooms. Garnuk passed five of these arches before reaching the bottom of the stairs.
The air was not as cold here, the chill of winter failing to penetrate so far down. The Exile was suddenly aware that he was deep within the flesh of the world, surrounded by millions of tons of rock. Warily, Garnuk followed the corridor, noting there were arches branching off to other halls at regular intervals. The halls were narrow, with low ceilings, hardly a place for vertaga to wander. Perhaps these had been underground mines at one time?
Garnuk peered down one of the corridors and realized that the air seemed warmer in this one, and that there was a faint glow in the distance. Curious, he followed the passage, testing the rock underfoot with each step. The light strengthened as he approached, and took on a ruddy hue. Finally, Garnuk reached the end of the hallway and found himself in a strange place.
There were two long slits carved in the floor and it was from these that the light emanated. Garnuk could not comprehend what created it, but by the quality of the light it seemed as though fires were burning beneath him. That would explain the heat as well, but he could not fathom who would be tending such large fires. He tried to peer through the cracks and get a proper look at what lay beyond them, but the light was too bright and the heat too great, so instead he turned his attention to the doors.
They were made of stone, cool to the touch, carved in a language he could not read. Curious, he gripped one of the upright handles in the same hand that held the lantern and tugged. The door swung open smoothly, revealing a room of wonders, lit with the same firelight as the corridor outside.
Garnuk stepped into the room, gaping in awe. How had his people not discovered this place? Here were gold and riches, fantastic weapons from bygone ages, armor of such brilliance it hurt his eyes to look at. And against the far wall, larger armored plates whose purpose he could not understand. Trunks and caskets stood against the other walls, which were bare and smooth save for two alcoves at the very back.
One of the alcoves was empty, with a faintly curved depression in its base. The other alcove held a velvet bag, nearly disintegrating with age. Garnuk bent over it, setting the lantern aside, and opened the top of the back. Inside was a glittering oblong stone that gleamed silver.
Garnuk pulled the stone from the bag, marveling at its weight. It was not any type of metal or jewel that he had ever seen, something alien and mysterious. He tapped on it carefully, wary of scratching it. The stone rang slightly as though it were hollow.
The Exile froze and looked back at the alcoves. Two of them. Made to hold stones like this one. Could it be?
Garnuk held the stone close to him, caressing its smooth surface, looking around the small room. There were fabulous riches all around him, but this stone, if it was what he believed it to be, was the greatest treasure of all. He glanced at the stone again and chuckled. Here, wandering and wallowing in his grief, he had found his way to the place where Norkuvad had found his dragon. And, Garnuk realized, he had found Norkuvad’s solution to the Sthan dragon! Why the two eggs had been left here, Garnuk did not understand. But he was glad they had been.
Some of the pain and anger inside of him faded, replaced by something else. Something dangerous. Garnuk held the egg up before his eyes, smiling to himself. It was not a smile of joy or mirth, but of terrible and cruel satisfaction. This dragon would give Garnuk strength and power. He had seen what the Sthan’s emerald beast had done. It had torn the mountain apart, destroyed Dun Carryl with ease –
It had started the avalanche that had killed Norkuvad. And Kuvasse and Akavu.
Suddenly, Garnuk found there was yet something to live for. Before, this had not been possible in the face of the dragon’s wrath. But now he could raise this one to challenge it, and possibly to defeat it.
Garnuk chuckled darkly, his laughter rolling off the stone walls as he tucked the egg back into its bag and secured it in his sling, resting on his injured arm. This dragon would be a tool, a weapon he could use to strike back at a world that had caused him nothing but pain and suffering. A world which had taken everything from him, then given him a slight hope and ripped that away as well. Garnuk would make the world pay for its cruelty. The Sthan. Those among his people who had hurt him. But most of all, the dragon and its rider.
When the Exile left Dun Carryl for his tent later that night, he found a messenger waiting at the exit of the tunnel that led out of Dun Carryl on the north side.
“General!” the messenger called. “The council has a new proposition for you. They still wish to make you Ramshuk and beseech you to listen – ”
Garnuk held up a hand, cutting the messenger off. “You may inform the council that I am decided. I will present myself to them tomorrow, and accept this mantle if it is their desire.”
“General?” the vertag asked, surprised. Apparently, he had heard from his predecessors how these conversations usually went.
“I have been pondering their arguments,” Garnuk explained, nodding gravely to the messenger, “And they have swayed me at last.”
“This is excellent news!” the vertag exulted, saluting Garnuk proudly. “I shall inform them at once.”
“Then go
, with all speed,” Garnuk said, dismissing him summarily.
The messenger scrambled off to deliver the good news, not knowing the storm that was about to be unleashed. Garnuk meanwhile stood by the tunnel exit, stroking the egg through the thin bag that contained it.
It was time the vertaga had a strong Ramshuk again. A leader who would protect them and shelter them. A leader who would finally defeat their many enemies, and make sure the world never troubled their people again.
End of Book 3
About the Author
Paul Lauritsen has long been an avid reader and writer of fantasy literature. He began writing his first stories in junior high, developing and building his own worlds of adventure and heroism. The Ramshuk is the third volume of his four-book “Heirs of Legacy” series. Paul currently lives in Wisconsin, where he continues to write and develop new stories.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 58