Weaponforger (Guardian's Prophecy Book 3)

by D A Godwin

  The two rockhurlers faced each other with a scraping of stones, extending their arms as they leaned inward to form an arch across the trail.

  Honarch looked over his shoulder at Tormjere. “They’ve never done that before.”

  “What?” Treven asked.

  Tormjere supplied a quick explanation.

  “Fascinating.”

  Honarch continued between them, and Tormjere followed with Treven. The rockhurlers remained as still as the mountain while the men passed beneath them. No sooner had they emerged than another pair rose beyond the first and assumed a similar position.

  Tormjere glanced up at the ledge high above, and found dozens of rockhurlers now stood there. He caught Honarch’s eye and motioned with his head towards the line of rockhurlers.

  By Her light, look behind you.

  Tormjere did. All around them, on every ridge and patch of stone, hundreds of rockhurlers stood facing them like silent sentinels.

  “So many,” Honarch whispered in awe. “I thought there were only a handful scattered about.”

  Treven put Tormjere’s thoughts into words: “Perhaps the sacrifice he made left a mark on a broader audience than we could have imagined.”

  They continued solemnly until they at last stood before the solid outcropping of stone that stretched high above them. Treven released Tormjere’s arm, and after a few halting steps he knelt at the base of the rock. He withdrew the Book from his haversack and set it on the ground before him, as he had done when using its power to create the tomb where they had laid Gelid. This time, however, he left it closed as he bent his head in prayer.

  Tormjere struggled with his own memories in silence. Gelid had been more kind and encouraging to him than he sometimes deserved. He would always wonder if there was something else he could have done, some way in which he could have steered the eventual outcome to a more positive result. None of the other solutions he had considered were satisfactory, and Gelid’s tomb offered no answers either.

  When Treven at last raised his head, his voice was thick with emotion.

  “It seems like yesterday.”

  “It is not something we can ever forget,” Honarch agreed.

  Treven retrieved the Book and rose to his feet. “I would not be who I am today without his tutelage, and without you both, I would not be here at all. I find myself unable to convey just how much that means.”

  Tormjere placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes words are simply insufficient for what needs to be said.”

  A smile brightened Treven’s face. “I count myself the most fortunate man in the world to have your friendship. Though I see the two of you much less than I might wish, it is the time I cherish the most. I could remain here all day, but there are others who must experience this as well. We should allow them their time.”

  Tormjere touched his hand to the stone in farewell before taking Treven’s arm once more and leading him back down the path.

  * * *

  Shalindra had done her best to keep out of Tormjere’s thoughts once he had reached the sacred site, for it was a private place for the three men. They were quiet as they came back down the path, but Treven’s smile had returned. The waiting priests began to file forward two at a time to visit the rock wall that Tormjere had named Gelid’s Rest. They lingered for a shorter time, but many were visibly moved when they reappeared, and some openly wept.

  Treven and Honarch sat beside each other, quietly reminiscing about their shared experiences. Tormjere sat with them for a time, but she felt his growing restlessness and was not surprised when he moved away so as not to disturb them. The rawness of his emotions, the burning desire for justice that was as yet unfulfilled, seeped into her thoughts. Sooner or later, the Conclave would be made to answer for all the evils it had done.

  “And how do you intend to accomplish that?” she asked as she joined him.

  “He deserved a better fate,” Tormjere said, avoiding a direct answer. The lack of words hardly mattered. The obligation he had placed upon himself bubbled just beneath the surface of his thoughts, and his desire to see Gelid and Treven to safety was as easy to understand as if she had made the promise herself.

  “That is not in dispute. From all accounts he was every bit as remarkable as Treven and would have done just as much good. Yet he continues to give hope and meaning long after his passing, and has touched lives he never knew existed. Is that not enough?”

  Tormjere seemed to have no answer to that. And no matter how many times he tried, she doubted he ever would.

  When the last of the priests had completed their visits, Treven led the assemblage in a brief prayer. As with his private conversations, the young priest had a gift for keeping his words simple and plain yet infused with depth and meaning far beyond their simple phrasing. His prayer left the group more rejuvenated than somber, and Shalindra saw no sign of sadness as they began the journey back to the village. The sun at last broke through the clouds, casting streaks of afternoon light across the valley floor.

  Tormjere took his station a few protective paces in front of Treven and Honarch, exactly as he had earlier in the day. She could easily imagine it had been that way when the three men fled years ago. There was always someone he needed to protect.

  She quickened her pace to join them.

  “That was a beautiful prayer you offered,” she said to Treven.

  “Thank you. I do not possess the gift of oration that Father Ignatius enjoys, so it is something I constantly work on.”

  Honarch grinned. “There’s always something to make better, isn’t there? It’s been wonderful having you here, but I know it won’t last forever. How long until you must leave?”

  “Likely a week or two,” Treven answered. “Father Bentoni seeks a suitable location to establish Amalthee’s church, if you would allow it.”

  The council would have to officially approve of such construction, of course. Vestus had been given authority for parceling out the available land, but Shalindra would ensure that the new church received a favorable location. The benefits of having a solid link to one of the most powerful organizations in Kirchmont would be immeasurable, and Treven deserved no less.

  “We would be honored,” Shalindra replied. “Her knowledge is well respected and will be a blessing to us all.”

  “Then we will stay long enough to see the foundation set and bless its construction.”

  “You will be here for our midsummer’s festival, then,” Shalindra said.

  Treven practically glowed with excitement at that observation. “I always have duties to attend to during that time, but as our contingent is minor, such obligations should be handled quickly. Father Ignatius might even allow me to partake of the festivities.” The last was said just loud enough to be sure the older priest heard him, but Ignatius just shook his head disapprovingly.

  Shalindra chuckled with Honarch, wondering how much fun the reserved priests would actually allow themselves to have. Her amusement faded as she caught sight of the Three Sisters, their stoic peaks reminding her that she had her own pilgrimage to make soon. She could only pray that hers would be as successful as the one they had just completed.

  Summer Solstice

  Midsummer’s day marked the time when the endless cycle of day and night was shifted most in favor of the sun, and therefore contained the shortest night of the year. It was an event observed by nearly every pantheon with celebrations, prayers, and offerings. No one could say when such celebrations had originated; it was simply something that was done.

  Followers of Hototo, the Laughing Farmer, often crowned their hair with wreaths of flowers as they danced and leapt over fires. Priests of Amalthee, whose year began with the winter solstice, would set aside rank and privilege and offer their knowledge and restorative arts for free. Ruling lords would pardon minor offenses and host feasts and games open to all in their domain. Two years prior, Birion had even reported seeing festive activity from the goblin tribe at the south end of the valley, th
ough it was difficult to imagine the combative creatures celebrating anything other than a victory.

  For the Sisters of Eluria, the solstice also marked the date on which their goddess was given to the world. It was not only the first day of the lunar year but also the time Her power was at its peak.

  The day had taken on an additional meaning for the inhabitants of Newlmir, for it was on a midsummer’s eve just a few years earlier that they had first beheld the valley that became the end of an arduous flight. There had been no celebration that year, only the simplest of ceremonies when Shalindra had stood before them and proclaimed that, finally, they were home.

  This year, a stiff breeze finally forced away the rain that had threatened for days, leaving the sky more blue than grey for the first time in weeks. The sunshine brought with it a wet summer heat, but there were few who objected. Many took it as a sign that the fields would dry out and the crops begin to grow at their usual rate.

  The presence of the visiting priests was taken as an excuse to expand the usual events. Simple but colorful banners were hung throughout the village. A small platform had been thrown together in the commons, where a pair of minstrels now sat tuning their instruments. A bonfire was stacked and prepared in the middle of the field, ready to be lit that evening by the boys who had reached their manhood during the past year.

  Tormjere wandered aimlessly through the preparations as Shalindra and Enna were performing their morning devotions in the temple. The priests of Amalthee were similarly engaged, leaving him little to do. He made his way across the bridge and through the village, evaluating the area for potential dangers for no other reason than to allow his mind to focus on something. Few of the villagers paid him any mind, but at least those who did no longer did so with distrust. The shift could have come from the calming influence of Amalthee’s priests, or from the simple passage of time. Regardless, he was happy to be ignored.

  As he approached the inn, a barrel-chested man with a thick beard reaching halfway to his belt emerged from within, straining as he hefted a long table on his shoulder. His beard and hair were now shot with streaks of grey, but Argus was easy to recognize. The former soldier had been Edward’s second in command during the war, and Tormjere could never forget his aid as Shalindra fled her father’s court.

  “How’s life running a tavern?” Tormjere asked as he walked over.

  “Tormjere!” Argus exclaimed. He set the table down and came around it to shake his hand. “I heard you were back, but this place keeps me busy sunup to sundown. Can’t complain, though, as no one’s tried to kill me in at least a year.”

  “A definite improvement,” Tormjere chuckled.

  “Since you’re still carting around that sword of yours, I’ll assume you’ve not gained any such sense of self-preservation.”

  “Not yet. I’m surprised Edward let you go.”

  “He didn’t want to, but I’d had my fill of soldiering, and walking up and down all those mountains to get here took a toll on the knees. Always wanted to try my hand at running an inn, and as there was no competition it seemed as good a time as any to give it a go.”

  “Every town needs one,” Tormjere agreed. “I’m glad you’ve found a more relaxing occupation.”

  “Still have to thump someone on the head every now and again, but it’s peaceable enough.”

  “Argus!” a woman’s voice yelled from inside. “Stop yapping and help me with this stew!”

  Tormjere raised an eyebrow.

  “Shut up,” Argus replied with a mock glare. “One of these days, you’ll get yourself a woman and settle down, too. Come back this afternoon once I’ve got food out.”

  “I will,” Tormjere promised with a laugh.

  Argus hustled back inside, muttering something about missing deliveries, but he walked with a noticeable limp.

  He took a spear through his side during a raid on the village. I barely reached him in time.

  I should’ve stayed with you.

  And changed what? You cannot protect everyone.

  * * *

  There was no official initiation to the festivities, with smaller groups beginning here and there until some critical mass was achieved. By the time the council arrived, a good portion of the crowd had already been engaged in revelry for some time. Practically everyone in the valley was in attendance, including those who lived beneath the falls in Rumbleton, though a few unlucky soldiers patrolled the surrounding woods to ensure that there were no surprises.

  Tormjere caught up with Honarch, and as neither of them were required to do anything, they secured a quiet place in the shade of Argus’ inn from which they could watch and sample his ale.

  The local dignitaries made their way onto the platform and Edward rang a handbell to call the gathering to order, or at least attract the attention of those still interested in giving it.

  “Welcome to the Midsummer Festival!” Shalindra called out. “On behalf of my fellow councilors, I would like to again welcome our esteemed guests and declare the festival open to one and all. As we are blessed to be without any serious crimes in need of pardoning, it is the decision of the council to forgive all debts owed to us.”

  The proclamation was met with a rousing cheer from the crowd, drowning out whatever she said next.

  “Helps that the priests are here,” Argus said as he joined them. “They’ve brought enough gold with them to solve many a problem, and they’re spending it on every service we can provide.”

  “Money is something they’re never short on,” Honarch agreed.

  “It’s odd how they outnumber our clerics this year, but it’s good to see their getting along without any religious fighting. We usually have a few dozen elves hosting their own party off in the woods on this day.”

  “Still no idea why they aren’t here?” Honarch asked.

  “You’re the one on the council, in case you’re forgetting.”

  Honarch tried to look chagrined, but failed.

  Argus shook his head. “We’ve heard naught beyond what you likely have. The swordsmen the priests brought with them are full of talk about fighting between Ildalarial and the Kingdom, but that’s a conflict that ebbs and flows over the years.”

  “It’s certainly nothing new,” Tormjere agreed.

  “I’d be more worried about the Kingdom tearing itself apart, but that’s their business now and not mine.”

  “Well, I’m glad Treven and his friends don’t drink,” Honarch commented. “This is good ale you serve. Perhaps we should spend more time in this establishment.”

  Argus barked a laugh. “Your coin’s welcome, but I remember what happened the last time I saw the two of you in a tavern. Don’t be thinking of stirring up trouble in mine or I’ll thump you like anyone else.”

  “I was eating in peace,” Honarch pointed out. “He started it.”

  Tormjere made no effort to appear innocent, and they both laughed and promised they would cause him no more trouble than he deserved.

  Shalindra’s speech was concluding, to the relief of nearly everyone. It was a confident smile she displayed as she led the officiants from the platform, but Tormjere saw her eyes linger on the Three Sisters yet again.

  “That’s my cue to get back to work,” Argus said. “Enjoy yourselves, and if you see a dwarf walking around, remind him my beard’s better than his!”

  The musicians occupied the stage, and the air soon filled with song. Villagers mingled in groups large and small, enjoying tables filled with food and drink. The workmen and guards who had accompanied the priests of Amalthee mixed with the residents easily, though the priests themselves were more reserved. Treven, however, clapped his hands to the music and appeared to be having a good time of it, despite Ignatius’ whispered comments that likely concerned the dignity of his position.

  Tormjere chuckled at the thought. Treven had probably been stuck in the abbey ever since returning with the Book and had not been able to have any fun. Tormjere had not either, now that he thought abou
t it, not since… the summer before his brother left to join the monks of Toush. He hoped Eljorn’s path had been smoother than his own.

  Honarch cursed under his breath and turned away from the crowd. “I think Rolf spotted me. Do me a favor and claim I’m not here. He’ll probably ask me to make his crops grow faster.”

  “Can you?”

  “Do I look like a field hand?” Honarch shot back as he ducked inside the inn.

  The farmer appeared moments later, searching about, but when his quarry failed to appear, he turned his attention to Tormjere. “Have you seen the wizard?”

  The way he said it grated on Tormjere’s nerves, and he took another drink before answering.

  “His name is Honarch.”

  Rolf seemed unsure of which way to take that and cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, of course. Well, I’ll just keep looking.”

  Tormjere shook his head as the man walked away. The music changed again, and people began to dance. Enna’s flowing white hair caught his attention as she bounced and twirled to the merry tune. He caught his foot tapping along to the music as he watched her, and let himself relax just a little.

  As if it had been waiting to seize the opportunity, his stomach twisted uncomfortably of its own accord. He pushed away from the wall in an attempt to ignore it as he headed towards the shaded awning Shalindra and Treven were standing beneath. Being near them allowed him to suppress his urges better than anything else he had tried.

  Hungry still, with all this food for the taking?

  It’s not what I need.

  Then you must learn to no longer need it. The only demons here are the ones you carry with you.

  As the music ended, Enna swirled breathlessly to a stop beside him and took him by the arm, her green eyes sparkling mischievously.

  “Put away that sour face. Come, and be with your friends,” she said, making a show of dragging him towards Shalindra.

  He resisted her efforts, as he was already headed in that direction and needed no help, but Shalindra’s obvious amusement at his predicament was enough to cause him to relent and play along.