Turk bowed to each one of them.
“Just you and me, then,” Bryon said.
“It looks that way,” Turk replied.
Bryon knocked on the door and opened it. King Skella sat at the large round table in a room that had a bookshelf that rose to the ceiling on one wall and a giant hearth and fireplace in the other. Another dwarf stood in the corner of the room, a silver platter holding several cups and a pitcher in one hand and the other hand tucked behind his back.
“Turk Skull Crusher,” King Skella said, standing. Bryon and the dwarves bowed. “How good to see you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I wish I was here for better reasons, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“Please, sit,” the king said. “I assume you are here because of what happened in Golgolithul.”
“Partially, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“There is no doubt what you found in Orvencrest is related to a dragon attacking Fen-Stévock?” King Skella asked.
“It is true, Your Majesty,” Turk said. “We found something terrible in Orvencrest. I am sure Bryon has told you.”
“Yes,” King Skella said. He looked to the table in front of him, almost staring off in thought. “All those people, gone in a single dragon’s breath.”
“The city would still be burning if it wasn’t for Erik,” Turk said.
“Truly?” Bryon asked, a smile widening on his face.
“Truly,” Turk replied.
“That young man is more of a mystery than I think I have ever seen,” King Skella said. “To consider the dragons have returned. The terror they brought to this world is beyond imagination. And the one that was awakened—Black Wing—she will return more powerful than before, and possibly with her mate.”
“Her mate?” Turk asked.
“Yes,” King Skella said. “Our histories tell of her and her mate and the devastation they brought upon the world.”
“An be merciful,” Turk muttered.
“Indeed,” King Skella said. “But you said Fen-Stévock is only partially why you are here?”
“I ran into Belvengar Long Spear,” Turk said. “Rather, he had been following us and came to me in the dead of night just weeks past.”
King Skella seemed to think for a moment and then nodded.
“Ah, yes, Long Spear,” the king said. “A good family. You were friends, were you not? Is a meeting with an old friend such a thing that you would come back home and meet with me?”
“It was the nature of our conversation, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“Oh,” the king said.
“He bade me go with him to the Wicked Spire,” Turk said. “He is serving Fréden Fréwin, and they are amassing an army there, a dwarvish army. One that they plan on using to overthrow you.”
“Really?” the king said, sitting back in his chair. He shook his head with a mirthless smile on his face. “Fools.”
“Your Majesty?” Turk asked.
“The mayor is so concerned about the lives of dwarves,” the king said, “but he would needlessly waste dwarvish lives over foolishness. You see, Bryon, we are no different than men. Greed. Hunger for power. Prejudice. This is the way of the world, and will always be, I am sad to say. Some out there have notions of peace. There will never be peace, not until An brings it.”
“I have come to warn you,” Turk said.
“And your warning is well received,” the king replied. “And, so, now what?”
“The Lord of the East has tasked me … us to another mission,” Turk said. “It involves the dragon.”
“And the Dragon Scroll no doubt,” the king said, and Turk’s eyes widened.
“You knew?” Turk asked.
“Yes,” the king replied. “The Dragon Scroll. The Dragon Sword. Yes, I know all of it. Is he forcing you to do this task?”
“Yes,” Turk replied. “We, rather, Erik looked at the scroll and, therefore, this is our punishment.”
“You can stay here, Skull Crusher,” King Skella said. “You can too, Bryon Eleodum. You can stay in the protection of Thorakest for the rest of your lives.”
“I have to get home,” Bryon said.
“I cannot, Your Majesty,” Turk said with a bow. “Erik is my friend. Truly, now he is my leader. I have made him a promise that I intend to keep.”
“As I suspected,” King Skella said with a smile. “Be watchful. There are those that will worm their way into the confidence of Fréwin. He is so zealous, he will not realize who they are, and they will use his zealotry against him, us, and the rest of the world.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Turk said, standing and bowing.
As Turk left the king’s quarters and walked into the castle’s courtyard, Bryon following him, he found Lord Balzarak waiting for him.
“Skull Crusher,” Balzarak said, grasping the dwarf’s arm.
“My lord,” Turk said.
“This man has impressed, nay, impresses me on a daily basis,” Balzarak said.
“I would expect nothing less,” Turk said. “He comes from impressive blood.”
“How are Wrothgard and Erik? I heard about Demik. I am truly sorry,” Balzarak said.
“They were well when I left them,” Turk said. “I must get back to them now. I am taking Bryon back to his farmstead where I will meet up with Erik and Wrothgard. Then …”
“You must once again work for the Lord of the East,” Balzarak said.
“Yes, my lord,” Turk replied.
“I stopped trying to understand the way An works many years ago,” Balzarak said, “but I am sure he is using you in this task. Remember that, Turk.”
“I’ll try,” Turk replied.
“I have heard of the nature of your journey to come,” Balzarak said.
“As I would expect you have,” Turk said with a smile. “Castles have many ears.”
“Yes,” Balzarak replied, returning the smile. “As you journey on this perilous mission, please tell Erik that he is to remember the gift I gave him.”
“The gift, my lord?” Turk asked.
“The circlet I gave him,” Balzarak said. “Remind him about the circlet. It is more than a circlet and more than just a simple gift. Remind him, please.”
“I will, my lord,” Turk said with a bow.
“An be with you,” Balzarak, “and with you Bryon.”
“You as well, my lord,” Turk said with a bow, and with that, they met Nafer, Beldar, and Bofim and made for the northwestern farmsteads of Háthgolthane.
Chapter 54
His mother’s rose garden looked the same, as did his house, his farm, his father’s barn, everything. It was as if Erik had left just yesterday. He heard the low moaning of one of their cows and the oinking of their pigs. He smiled at the baaing of their sheep, and when one of the barn cats rubbed up against his leg and purred, it startled him. Then he heard them, inside the house. Their giggles were unmistakable, as was the scolding coming from Beth directly afterwards, only she sounded older. How old would she be now? Fourteen?
His stomach knotted. He wanted to run to the front door and burst into the living room when he first saw his home still standing. He hadn’t even bothered to tether his horse. But as he passed the wooden fence that surrounded the home, as he stepped foot onto the walkway of stone slab his father had lain even before he was born, he stopped. He couldn’t go any further. What would they do? What would they think? A thousand scenarios played through his head, from his mother slapping him and running away to his father banishing him.
The door opened, and his heart stopped. Tia. She was taller, looking more like a young woman, but that blonde hair and those blue eyes, that button nose, that mischievous smile … it was her. She stepped onto their porch, still giggling, stepped forward, saw Erik, stepped back, and screamed.
He didn’t know at what at first, but of course … it was him. As recognizable as she was, he wasn’t. His hair was long. His beard had grown full. His shoulders and arms and chest and legs were a si
ght bigger. He was probably even taller. She screamed at him.
His father came running outside, swooping Tia behind him with one arm and holding a boar spear in the other hand.
“What do you want?” his father called.
Even though his voice was hard and angry, the sound of it caused gooseflesh to rise on Erik’s arms. He tried to speak, but something caught in his throat. He found it hard to swallow, breathe even.
“I said …” his father began, stepping forward and gripping the spear in both hands, but then he leaned forward, squinting.
Rickard Eleodum took several more steps forward, cautious and intentional. Then his eyes went wide, and he dropped the spear. His hands went to his mouth. He ran his fingers through his hair, and Erik could see them trembling.
“Erik?” he said, his voice a whisper.
And then he ran to Erik and wrapped his arms around him. He was shorter than Erik now, but in the moment, he was a giant and lifted his son off the ground. It didn’t matter how differently Erik looked. A father would always recognize his son.
“Erik!”
His father cried as he twirled his son about, caring little for how big or heavy Erik had gotten. And, in that moment, Erik cried too. He freed his arms from his father’s grasp, and he wrapped them around Rikard and, planting his feet firmly, lifted his father.
“Erik!” Tia cried as she ran to him as well, almost knocking him to the ground as she hugged him.
Beth came, a slow trot in her lady-like way, but nonetheless intentional and, where Tia laughed and giggled, Beth cried. They all stood on that walkway and hugged, and then Erik saw her—his mother.
“Erik,” she gasped.
He let go of the rest of his family and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. The woman who birthed him, cared for him, comforted him when he was scared and bandaged his scraped knees.
They stood, eyes locked on one another. Then, he took a step forward, and before he knew it, he was running to her, sweeping her off her feet and holding her as tightly as he dared. His mother. And even though he was a giant next to her, she cradled his head and pressed it to her chest, kissed his forehead as he melted into her arms.
Erik finally put his mother down, and the rest of his family joined them on their porch. They laughed and cried, and then his mother asked the question he had dreaded.
“Where is Befel?”
****
Erik had told them some of the details of his adventures, but certainly not all. Befel’s death due to a dragon was hard for them to accept, and Erik heard his father—at least once—mention the fact that his firstborn was gone, but they also took comfort in believing that Befel was in the Creator’s presence. Erik knew he was. The first thing his parents did was ease his worry that he was to blame for his brother’s death. He was a man in his own right and, in reality, the reason Erik left. Rikard Eleodum had felt Befel’s desire to leave. They would have to live with the consequences. Besides, they had assumed both of their boys were gone forever, so to even have one of them back was a blessing.
Three days later, Erik sat at his mother’s kitchen table, a cup of orange juice and a plate of fresh cheese in front of him. The name his father had mentioned—Bu Al’Banan—sounded so familiar. He knew Al’Banan. He killed General Patûk Al’Banan, but Bu? Apparently, he had led thirty thousand men through Finlo and onto to Venton, the capital city of Hámon. Hámon had fallen in days, Bu Al’Banan its new king.
“Flaming sons of goats,” Rikard Eleodum said.
“Rikard,” Karita Eleodum said with a hiss in her tone, “must you curse so?”
Erik smiled. Before he had left home, such words would have sent goose pimples along his arms and wonder if the Creator was about to strike his father down with a bolt of lightning. Since then, he had heard—and said—far worse.
“That they are, Father,” Erik said, “and worse. Who is this Bu?”
“They say he leads some army of traitors,” his father replied, “from the east.”
“Patûk’s men,” Erik muttered.
“Who is that?” his father said.
“A former general from Golgolithul,” Erik explained, “who refused to serve the current Lord of the East. He was a dangerous man.”
“Was?” his father asked.
“He’s dead,” Erik replied flatly.
“Oh my,” his mother said, putting a hand to her mouth. “How do you know?”
“I killed him,” Erik said. When his eyes met his mother’s, he couldn’t help seeing a mixture of sadness, regret, disappointment, and fear in them. But she was past being shocked anymore.
“And this Bu is his son?” his father asked, trying to ignore Erik’s admission.
“No,” Erik replied. “I think I know him, but he is not Patûk’s son. He probably doesn’t know who his father is.”
“Erik,” his mother scolded.
“But he … they are dangerous,” Erik said. “If we think the feudal lords of Hámon were bad before, now we should be worried.”
“What do you mean?” his father asked.
“The east is evil, father,” Erik said. “If we have men who wish to make the west like the east, that is a scary thought.”
“We don’t need to talk about this now,” his mother said.
“No, we don’t,” Erik agreed with a mirthless smile.
“There were gypsies here, not too long ago,” his mother said. “They said they knew you. They gave us hope.”
“Never thought I’d warm up to gypsies,” his father said, “but they were good people, followers of the Creator.”
“Bo and Dika,” Erik said with a genuine smile, rubbing the handle of his dagger, “and Mardirru. They are very good people. They saved my life. They saved Befel’s life.”
He knew the mention of his brother would bring more tears to his mother’s eyes, but his father had encouraged him not to hide his brother in the past. Just talking of him brought him back in a small way.
“I am glad they are well,” Erik said, patting his mother’s hand. “I was worried about them. Where did they go from here?”
“North,” his father said. “They said they were passing through the Pass of Dundolyothum. I couldn’t believe my ears.”
“If anyone would, it would be them,” Erik said and then finally asked the question he had been avoiding. “Does Simone still live at her father’s farmstead?”
It was Erik’s way of asking whether or not Simone had married since he left. His stomach knotted as he waited for his father to answer.
“Yes, of course,” his father said.
“I would like to go see her if that’s okay,” Erik said.
“You do not need to ask us,” his father said. “Your time away has turned you into a man, and you are able to make your own decisions.”
“I will be back by dinner,” Erik said, standing, hugging his father, and kissing his mother on the forehead.
Erik greeted Brok Emunaha—Simone’s father—as he walked up to the Emunaha house, the home of Simone and her family. Attending to a cart filled with supplies, the man, only a few years older than Rickard Eleodum, had a head of white hair and a short beard. He was taller than Erik when he had first left, but now they stood eye to eye. When Erik extended his hand to shake Brok’s, he grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug.
As Brok led Erik up to their house, a large home surrounded by fig, apple, and pear trees, they ran into Sindra, Simone’s mother. She ran to Erik and hugged him as well, holding him so long he started to feel uncomfortable.
“We have missed you,” Sindra said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Truly, we have,” Brok agreed, “and so has Simone.”
“Is she here?” Erik asked, his voice shaky and soft.
“She is,” her father replied. “She should be in the kitchen cleaning dishes from lunch.”
“May I speak with her?” Erik asked. He felt a lump rise in his throat and his stomach knot again.
�
��Yes, of course,” her father replied.
“I won’t be dishonoring anyone, will I?” Erik asked. “She isn’t spoken for, is she?”
Brok just smiled.
“Go see her, Erik,” he said.
Erik opened the front door. Where his mother’s house smelled like roses, Simone’s house always smelled like mint and lavender. He pushed the door closed as he stepped forward, but he was so nervous, he didn’t push hard enough, and it swung open again. He heard a splash and a deep sigh.
“Close the door,” the voice said. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in more than two years, but it was a voice he could never forget. “Were you born in the barn?”
She must have thought he was one of her three brothers. He stepped into the kitchen. Simone stood in front of a large basin full of water, her back facing him. Another one next to it was filled with clean dishes. She wore a long, light purple dress that was simple but clung to her curves. She was a broad-shouldered woman from working the farm alongside her father and brothers, and Erik could see the muscles in her arms and back. Her hair was a little shorter than he remembered, the color of the early morning sun—yellow with the slightest hints of roses and lighter shades of blonde.
Erik stepped up behind her and moved his hands so that they hovered just over her shoulders, but he couldn’t touch her. It was as if there was some hidden barrier that pushed his hands away.
“I know you’re behind me,” she said.
She still thought he was one of her brothers. Finally, he let his hands fall, and he gently grabbed her shoulders.
“Timmy, what are you doing?” Simone asked.
She turned, an eyebrow cocked and a weird smirk on her face. The moment she saw Erik, her skin paled, and her smirk disappeared, her mouth opening just slightly. Her eyes wide in shock, Simone reached up and touched Erik’s beard and then rubbed a hand along his brow and his cheek. Her skin was soft, and her hands smelled like mint. He had missed that touch. Then, she slapped his face … hard.
“How could you? How could you leave like that and then come back in here like … like …”
That was as far as she got before her face crumpled, and she threw her arms around his neck, her flood of tears soaking his shirt.
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