“Sorry,” Erik replied. “I need to get you out of here, but this dead elk is lying across your legs.”
“So that’s what it is,” Bryon said. “I came to … I don’t know how long ago ... but I tried moving my legs ... I couldn’t. I wondered if ... if my back was broken. I guess this is better.”
He tried to smile but coughed instead, and when he did, he clenched his teeth and groaned loudly in pain, his lips curling back over his teeth in almost a snarl revealing a mouth that was bloodstained. Erik saw that, saw blood squeeze through his teeth as he gritted them, and knew his cousin was bleeding internally.
Erik stared at the elk and wondered what to do. He could chop it up, carefully, avoiding his cousin’s legs. But even a sword made of Dwarf’s Iron was no match for the frozen muscle of this giant beast. And then he thought of Bryon’s sword.
“I need to use your sword,” Erik said.
Bryon just groaned, he might have been conscious, but barely, as Erik gripped the elvish blade in both hands and began to chop. At first, the muscle and fur and fat were so tough and frozen the strikes sent pains up into Erik’s arms. But the sword began to flare a brilliant purple and more easily seared through the animal, even melting the creature’s massive femurs.
As Erik freed his cousin, Bryon shivered violently, and even though his groan was soft and low, the look of pain that crossed his face said anything words could ever say. Erik slung his cousin over his right shoulder, cautiously stepping out of the snowy hole in which Bryon was entombed and then trudging through the snow, towards Nafer. He stopped, as the shadowed light of an overcast day began to wane and turned, looking farther down the mountain. Beldar was still out there, but Bryon wouldn’t last another night without Turk’s attention. Neither would Nafer.
“Creator be with you,” Erik said.
His stomach knotted, and his heart sunk, but he couldn’t lose his cousin.
He found Nafer where he had left him. He looked the same, and his condition mirrored that of Bryon’s.
“How am I going to carry both of you?” Erik asked the two unconscious warriors.
He carried Bryon and dragged Nafer through the snow, and from somewhere, Erik found the strength to struggle on. The going was slow and became a matter of a mere few paces before Erik would have to stop and catch his breath again. When he finally began to recognize the carnage of the avalanche as he drew closer to their original campsite, night had come upon him again, and the light of a new day began to fight the clouds of the overcast sky.
“We’re almost there,” Erik said. “And then, I promise, Beldar, I will come looking for you. Hang on Bryon. We’re almost there.”
As Erik smiled and began to thank the Creator, he heard a loud roar, like some deranged man screaming, the voice low and booming. And then he heard Turk’s voice.
“Etenweird!”
22
Bofim sailed through the air and landed a few paces in front of Erik as he stood, wide-eyed, scared, and confused. The dwarf was clearly unconscious, and Erik watched as Turk too wobbled on his feet, gripping his battle-axe in both hands. A giant of a man—at least, it looked somewhat like a man—stood in front of the dwarf. It was twice the height of any man, even taller than the one-eyed antegants of Finlo, and much more muscled. The creature had the features of a man or dwarf, but it looked primitive and didn’t wear any shirt or armor, only an animal skin vest.
The giant, the etenweird, swung a fist at Turk, who ducked the attack and tumbled forward, struggling to come to his knees. He swung his axe, catching the back of the giant’s leg. The creature screamed, turned, and grabbed Turk with a single hand, lifting him up and shaking him violently.
“Hey! You ugly son of a whore!” Erik yelled.
“Run!” Turk croaked, struggling to speak as the etenweird squeezed him.
The etenweird threw Turk to the ground, and the dwarf’s body went limp, although Erik suspected it could have done far worse. He had at least prolonged the warrior’s life for a little while. The giant turned to Erik, took one step forward, clenched its fists, threw its head forward, and roared.
It ran towards Erik, surprisingly nimble and quick for its size and in the snow. Erik dropped Bryon and let go of Nafer’s collar, gripping Ilken’s Blade with both hands. He felt weak, having walked all night, but he stood over his cousin and waited for a hard fight to ensue.
The etenweird swung at Erik, stepping over him as it did. It wore simple leggings made of the same fur its vest was made of, so Erik rolled forward, came to his feet, and brought his blade up into the giant’s inner thigh. It screamed as the steel drew blood, but it was more of a pinprick than anything. It swung with the back of its hand, a knuckle connecting with Erik’s shoulder. He thought his joint would be dislocated as he flew backward. The strike was an errant one. If he had received the full force of the blow, he’d probably be dead.
Erik did little more than avoid the etenweird. As it tried to step on him, he moved out of the way and chanced a glancing blow with his sword. When it swung, he rolled underneath it, staying close enough that it made it difficult for the giant to track him. The giant moved one way, Erik stepped the other, and then it turned hard, its initial movement false. It caught the man off guard, and Erik fell backward, looking up as a giant foot came down on him.
The snow was thick and the ground soft and wet enough that as the giant sole pressed down, Erik sunk into the mountain soil. The foot stunk, and as the etenweird pressed down hard with a grunt, he felt several joints in his body pop. The giant lifted its foot and reached down to pick Erik up, and he shook him as Erik struggled against the grip, seemingly getting tighter with each breath he took.
“Dwarves,” the etenweird grumbled, speaking Dwarvish.
It looked irritated, a low gurgling rumble coming from its throat, but then it gave a gruesome grimace that might have been a smile. It had almost all its teeth, but they were more black than yellow, and its breath smelled worse than its feet.
“And men,” it croaked, looking between Erik and Bryon. “I haven’t tasted man flesh in many moons and, lucky me, I get it twice in the same week.”
The etenweird’s command of the dwarvish language was astonishing, and rather contrary to its look. It looked primitive and dumb. The giant threw Erik to the ground and walked over to Bryon, lying face down in the snow. It reached down to grab Erik’s cousin when Bryon rolled over and jabbed upwards with his elvish sword. The blade glowed brightly as it pierced through the giant’s palm.
The etenweird’s fist slammed into Bryon’s chest and he went limp, his sword sizzling and melting the snow around him. The giant screamed.
“I will eat you raw,” it said, “and when you wake.”
Erik tried to push himself up, his sight blurry, his head pounding, and his whole body throbbing with pain. The etenweird walked to him, slowly and intently, when its body jerked to the side. It yelled and turned hard. Erik saw the shafts of two spears protruding from its back. He saw four blurry figures rush towards the giant, and then a dozen more converge on it from either side.
Erik could make out very little, but the battle was short as the etenweird screamed and fled. The blurry figures came into view, and he saw that they were dwarves. He smiled and held up a hand, but his gesture was met with shouts and the steel blades of spears being pointed at his face.
“I’m a friend,” Erik said in their language, but three dwarves jumped on him, roughly brought him to his knees, pulled his hands behind his body, and tied his wrists together with a bit of rope.
“We are friends,” Erik tried again.
The pain in his head intensified, and his vision grew worse.
“Please,” he said. “We are hurt. One of our companions is still lost in the avalanche.”
“Quiet,” one of the dwarves said as he stood Erik up.
But as soon as Erik was on his feet, he felt nauseous. The world around him began to spin, his vision narrowed, and he felt as if he was falling. The ground rus
hed up to meet him, and the world went black.
Erik woke with a start, and as he drew in a deep breath, a sharp pain shot through his ribs, and his stomach tightened, making him cough. He felt himself moving and could see a roof rather than sky above him. It was the rocky roof of an underground tunnel. He let his head fall backwards. Not again.
He felt bumps and heard rattles and realized he was in a cart being pulled—after an upwards glance—by an armor-clad dwarf. Torches sat on each of the four corners of the cart, illuminating the air around him, brightening the tunnel he traveled through. He lay on warm furs, soft as down pillows. He was naked, save for a short sarong that covered his waist and thighs.
Erik lifted his head again, enough to see Nafer asleep in another cart next to him. Snoring loudly, he too wore only a sarong, and the cart was pulled by a woman, and she was moving her cart faster than Erik’s
“Thank you,” he said to her in Dwarvish as he turned his head in her direction.
The female dwarf didn’t say anything, didn’t smile, but she gave Erik a slight nod of her head as she moved past.
He could hear other wagons, behind him, hopefully carrying Turk, Bryon, and Bofim. And Beldar ...?
“Beldar,” Erik muttered, “where are you?”
“I’m right here,” the dwarf said, as he appeared at Erik’s side.
Erik was startled at first, but let out a huge sigh of relief as he looked up at the dwarf. His face was bruised, and one eye looked puffy and discolored, but otherwise, he looked relatively unscathed compared to the others.
“What happened to you?” Erik asked.
“These dwarves found me,” he replied. “The avalanche carried me to its very edges, a long way down the mountain. Apparently, the commotion alerted this patrol. Avalanches are common in these parts of the mountain, making for easy hunting, with all the animals that get picked up and killed in the snow slides.”
“I wouldn’t think dwarves would want scavenged animals killed in an avalanche,” Erik said.
“No,” Beldar said, “it is the etenweird come scavenging, maybe some other creatures they wouldn’t want to roam about their lands too. They dispatch their patrols to clear out any giants they find foraging. They found me unconscious. I told them of you all. I thank An that I was able to warn them, they tell me you were about to become an etenweird’s dinner.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you, Beldar,” Erik said, resting his head back again. “I found Bofim, and then Nafer and Bryon. But I had to turn back, to get them to Turk. I had to carry one and drag the other.”
Erik still felt ashamed he hadn’t done more. How much more would he have had to travel? A half day? Less? He left his friend for dead, concerned only for Bryon. A good leader puts relationships aside, and does what his best for the whole, all of those who follow him. He heard Wrothgard say that once. He was proving a poor leader.
“You would have never found me, Erik,” Beldar said, patting Erik on the shoulder. “Yora, that’s one of the dwarves here, told me I was at least a league from where the avalanche had started. It would have taken you two more days to find me. You did what was right, saving the ones you could.”
Beldar smiled and now rested his hand on Erik’s cart.
“I thank An for this patrol, and I thank An for you, Erik,” Beldar added. “You saved Bofim and Nafer and Bryon. Yora also said you fought the etenweird. If it wasn’t for you, it would have killed Turk and Bofim. I can tell you are worrying about not being a good leader, Erik, but you should never do that.”
“No, I’m not good,” Erik said.
“Oh, but you are,” Beldar reiterated, “I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Erik…”
The dwarf gave Erik a long, deep look.
“I would give my life for you,” Beldar said.
Erik shook his head.
“I am not worth your life,” Erik said.
Beldar patted his shoulder.
“You are too humble,” the dwarf said, and Erik knew it was pointless arguing anymore. He didn’t believe he was worthy of such dedication.
“What are these etenweirds?” Erik asked. “Giant men? Giant dwarves?”
“Yes and no,” Beldar explained. “They are a race unto themselves, like antegants and ogres. Most men simply call them giants. They are brutal and cruel, wicked and primitive. You won’t see them in the south, but they are plentiful here in the north. They live in small tribes and are always hungry, constantly scavenging and foraging for anything they might eat. They are dangerous to a single dwarf, but no match for a patrol like this. Oddly enough, our shorter stature makes it difficult for the clumsy etenweird to fight us. I hear you fought one well, staying close to it, underneath it even, thus making it hard for it to maneuver.”
“Aye,” Erik said, “but while I was underneath it—or him, I guess I should say—I saw things I will never forget.”
Beldar gave a short laugh, and Erik changed the subject, some other questions that he wanted answers to.
“They were watching for that long before they did anything?” Erik asked.
“The patrol?” Beldar replied. “Yes.”
“Were they waiting for us to die?” Erik asked.
“I don’t know,” Beldar replied, “but I think when they saw you fight with bravery and saw your cousin’s elvish sword, they thought you worthy of risking their lives.”
“So worthy they tied my hands behind my back,” Erik said.
“Your hands are free now,” Beldar said. “They are suspicious of men who travel into their lands. And, apparently, you are not the first to do so in only a short number of days.”
“The etenweird said something about eating man flesh twice in a week,” Erik said.
“Aye,” Beldar said. “I am curious to learn what these patrols have seen lately. It may help us in our quest.”
Beldar walked for a while longer, hand resting on Erik’s cart. Finally, he looked down at the man.
“Rest, Erik,” Beldar said. “We have a long journey ahead of us. Take this opportunity to rebuild your strength.”
23
“Do you want some rain leaf?” asked Yolli, one of the dwarves escorting Erik and his companions.
“I don’t know,” Erik said as he walked.
He was feeling better, even if his body still ached and his ribs were still sore. Turk and Bofim were back on their feet too, but Nafer and Bryon hadn’t stirred.
“I haven’t chewed rain leaf since I was a boy,” Erik said, “and when my father found out, he made me chew so much I threw up.”
“Well,” Yolli said, “your father isn’t here and you’re a man now. So, do you want some? It’s the best in Háthgolthane. Most don’t realize you need a cold climate to grow good rain leaf, and the best grows in the Gray Mountains.”
“Okay,” Erik said, taking a pinch of the wet, green leaf and stuffing it inside his lower lip.
“You’re both going to rot your teeth,” Turk said.
“You sound like my mother,” Yolli replied with a laugh.
“Your mother sounds like a smart woman,” Turk said.
The rain leaf was refreshing, even if it burned the inside of his mouth a little. Erik had heard that black root and kokaina tasted awful but gave the user a euphoric feeling that kept them coming back for more. The rain leaf simply made him feel energized and clear headed.
“Stop pawning that stuff onto people,” Yora, who was the female dwarf, said, passing by Yolli.
“You want some?” Yolli said, but Yora simply scowled at him over her shoulder.
“I’ve never seen a female soldier,” Erik said.
“Ah, yes, you don’t see them in the south, or in Háthgolthane for that matter,” Yolli said. “Although, the women of Hargoleth know how to fight. Tall, broad shouldered beauties and their big axes and their big …”
Yolli trailed off, seemingly staring at nothing.
“Here we go. Dreaming about Hargolethian women again, Yolli,” another dwarf said
, a warrior named Tûkgad.
“He knows me too well,” Yolli said, laughing.
A call came from somewhere in front of Erik, and the small train of dwarves stopped. Erik turned to ask Turk what was happening, but the dwarf simply shook his head and Erik knew that meant to be quiet.
They waited there, still and quiet, for a while. Suddenly, the low pitch of a horn rumbled through the tunnel and all the dwarves—there must have been two dozen northern dwarves in all—snapped to attention, shields coming up under their chins, spear hafts snapping into their shoulders, heels clicking together. Another call came from the front of the company of dwarves and the procession started moving again, albeit slowly and silently. As they moved on, the low, grating sound of metal on rock reverberated through the tunnel. The sound stopped, and a wash of light flooded into the tunnel.
“Stangar,” Yolli said. “The outpost we are stationed at. You will stay here, for a while.”
“While our friends heal?” Erik asked.
Yolli gave a concerned look to towards Bryon and Nafer; it wasn’t a comforting look. He turned back to Erik and smiled.
“We will do our best,” Yolli offered.
They entered the outpost, and while Stangar was bigger, it reminded Erik of Ecfast, an outpost in the Southern Mountains in which they stayed before reentering the lands of men. A stoutly built dwarf with reddish gray hair approached Erik and bowed. He was armored from shoulder to toe, holding his helmet under his right arm, showing that he was no threat. A brown cape fastened to his pauldrons flowed behind him and pooled around his feet when he stopped.
“When I first learned that men were coming to Stangar, I was rather upset,” the dwarf said in Westernese, “but when a raven reached us, telling us one of the men was none other than Erik, Friend of Dwarves ... or perhaps I should say Erik, Dragon Slayer, I was honored.”
The dwarf bowed again and then extended his hand and Erik took it firmly in his, also grasping the dwarf’s forearm with his other hand as a show of respect.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 17