Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1

by Christopher Patterson

  “Lieutenant Güthrik,” the dwarf said. “I am second in command at Stangar. Our captain, Captain Khâmuth, is in Ghrâg, attending the funerals of several of our fallen warriors. I apologize.”

  “My condolences to the loss of life.”

  “They died fighting the etenweird,” Lieutenant Güthrik said. “They have been quite active lately. They were glorious deaths. That is why the captain honored their families by traveling with the bodies, even though their spirits are certainly with An as we speak.”

  The lieutenant walked with Erik for a moment.

  “Might I ask,” Lieutenant Güthrik said, “but how was it you were north of Stangar? Finding two men north of our outpost was one of the things that alarmed my patrol and, well, treated you unkindly at first. They were naturally suspicious.”

  “We embarked from Eldmanor and were told to travel through the Fangs and into a tunnel passage,” Erik explained. “Its entrance looked like the open mouth of a serpent.”

  Lieutenant Güthrik gave Erik a concerned look.

  “I have always lived in these mountains,” the dwarf said, “and explored them without reserve, and I know of no such tunnel passage.”

  Knowing that dwarves lived lives that were at least three times as long as men, Erik knew that when the Lieutenant said he had explored these mountains his whole life, that would have been a long time.

  “Nonetheless, my lord,” Erik said, “it was there. And in there, we fought Shadow Children, found a nest of ártocothe, and snuck by a nadre—one that Turk said must have been ages old.”

  “Shadow Children?” Lieutenant Güthrik gasped, his voice deep with suspicion. “Are you sure of this? I have only seen one tunnel crawler in all my years, and that was many winters ago. It was a sight which still gives me nightmares.”

  Erik nodded. His brow furrowed deeply and his lips pursed; he tugged at his beard.

  “What is the matter?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  “It’s just …well,” Erik said. He stopped and stared at the dwarf.

  Lieutenant Güthrik moved to one side as the others moved past and folded his hands behind his back as he turned to the man.

  “What is it?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  “We plan on heading north of the Gray Mountains,” Erik said.

  “Why would men, even dwarves, want to travel into the frozen tundra of the north?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  Erik breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, held his breath for a moment, and then slowly let the air out of his lungs.

  “We are traveling to Fealmynster,” Erik replied.

  “I see,” Lieutenant Güthrik said. He looked concerned, his eyebrows lifting at first before pushing together, his eyes trailing towards the ground as if he was thinking.

  “The man who gave us directions,” Erik continued, “I feel he gave us wrong directions, sending us the way he did. If not, it could have been to stop us achieving our goal, or as some sort of worthiness test. Whatever the reason, we could have come through here and saved ourselves a lot of trouble, including demon spawn, giant spiders, and giant men.”

  “No, you couldn’t have,” Lieutenant Güthrik replied.

  Erik cocked an eyebrow.

  “Firstly, there is a range of peaks that run south to north, just east of the Fangs,” Lieutenant Güthrik said. “You, seemingly, went under them, but you would have had to firstly travel along the feet of the Gray Mountains, along the northern borders of Nordeth, to reach Wyrma, the first dwarvish fort east of that range. That would have taken you at least a fortnight from Eldmanor. Assuming the dwarves at Wyrma let you pass into our lands, your travel north would have been slow. There are no surface roads in these parts of the Gray Mountains. They are all underground and maintained by us. No, I do believe the path you took was—or would have been—the fastest route to Fealmynster if you had been able to continue on your way. The forest opens up just northeast of where we found you, and then, from there, you would cross the ice bridge and enter into the southern parts of the Northern Tundra. But now …”

  “My lord?” Erik said. It now looked like the lieutenant was hesitant to let him continue on his way.

  Lieutenant Güthrik put up a hand.

  “A conversation for another time. We will have our surgeons look at you and your friends, but I do need to speak with you alone, where errant ears cannot hear our conversation.”

  “Why not Turk?” Erik asked.

  “Not taking your fame into consideration,” Lieutenant Güthrik said, “Turk Skull Crusher told my warriors that you are this group’s leader. Was he incorrect?”

  Erik stopped and looked at the floor. He thought for a moment. Then, with a smile, gave his head a slight shake.

  “Yes, I suppose I am their leader,” Erik replied.

  “Well, then,” Lieutenant Güthrik said, “I will let you get settled in, and then I will meet you in our dining hall. I would meet you in my quarters, but, despite your reputation, there would be warriors that might question me meeting a man in the privacy of my own room.”

  Erik watched his cousin sleep, Bryon barely moving. Every now and again a dwarf medical attendant would come in and check up on his cousin, look him over, change a wet cloth lying on his forehead, and adjust him in his bed so he didn’t get bedsores, but for the most part, they were in there alone.

  “Will he be all right?” Erik had asked during the last attendance.

  “I think so,” the dwarf said, somewhat taken aback by Erik’s ability to speak his language. “His leg has some serious muscle damage and is swollen. He has broken ribs and a broken nose. He mostly just needs some rest.”

  “What about Turk and Nafer?” Erik asked. “My dwarf companions.”

  The attendant just looked at Erik, didn’t say anything, and walked out of the room.

  “Well, since you’re going to be all right,” Erik said to the sleeping Bryon, “and as much as I would just love to sit here and listen to you snore, I need to go speak with this lieutenant.”

  He patted Bryon’s foot as he left his room and made his way to Stangar’s dining hall, escorted by one of the other dwarvish medical attendants.

  Lieutenant Güthrik was waiting for Erik in the dining hall—a wide, square room with several dozen long tables and matching benches—presumably finishing up with his supper.

  “Ah, Erik Eleodum, Friend of Dwarves,” Lieutenant Güthrik said with a smile and then dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He presented a space across from him on the opposite bench. “Please. Sit.”

  Erik sat after a quick bow. Lieutenant Güthrik looked at the medical attendant that had accompanied Erik to the dining hall and then nodded to the two dwarvish guards, armored head to toe, standing on either side of the entrance to the hall. All three dwarves bowed and left.

  “I apologize about the clandestine nature of our meeting,” Lieutenant Güthrik said.

  “I understand,” Erik replied.

  “It is unfortunate that people have such suspicions,” Lieutenant Güthrik added.

  “I agree,” Erik replied. “If my journeys have taught me anything, it is that everyone, regardless of race or culture, is suspicious of anyone that doesn’t think, look, or speak like them.”

  “True,” the lieutenant said.

  “Not that I am in a hurry to do anything,” Erik said, resting his hands on the table in front of them, “but what is it you wish to speak with me about, Lieutenant?”

  “I have several questions,” Lieutenant Güthrik said. “Firstly, why are you traveling to Fealmynster?”

  “We are searching for something,” Erik said. He leaned forward a little. “I will not lie to you, Lieutenant. It is a task that was given to us by the Lord of the East.”

  He saw the look that crossed the lieutenant’s face and put up a hand.

  “I hate him as much as you do, perhaps more,” Erik began. “These names that people insist on giving me—Friend of Dwarves, Troll Hammer, Wolf’s Bane, Dragon Slayer—as much as I don�
��t care for them, they are because of another journey taken in his name. To explain it all, we would be sitting here for days, but something happened on this journey, something that displeased the Ruler of Golgolithul.”

  “The dragon?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked. “The destruction of South Gate?”

  “Yes and no,” Erik replied. He knew the Lord of the East cared little for the citizens who lived within his city, save for those who gave him money and more power. “But, because of this mistake, he tasked me and my companions with another mission.”

  “Why not refuse?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  “You know as well as I do that one does not simply refuse a command given by the Lord of the East,” Erik said. “I have a family. We all do. If I disobey, they all die.”

  The lieutenant nodded with understanding. As they spoke, two new guards came to the dining hall, standing at the entrance to the eating room. Lieutenant Güthrik saw them and nodded. They were armored head to toe as well and carried long spears and wide, tower shields. One took position just outside the room, facing out, while the other took position just inside the room, facing Erik and the lieutenant.

  “And what is this mission?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  Erik looked at the two guards standing at the entrance to the dining hall.

  “You can trust them,” the lieutenant said.

  “The Dragon Sword,” Erik replied.

  Lieutenant Güthrik tried to keep his face as stoic as possible, but the way his eyes widened and his mouth dropped, just a little, was obvious. Erik thought he heard one of the guards cough, and the other one shifted uneasily.

  “The wizard of Fealmynster guards the weapon, and the Lord of the East wants it,” Erik said.

  “And you mean to deliver it to him?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  “Right now, it doesn’t seem we are doing a very good job of finding it,” Erik replied. “But I would do anything to protect my family.”

  “By doing anything the Lord of the …”

  “Before you start telling me about how dangerous and wicked the Lord of the East is,” Erik said, cutting the lieutenant off, “I know. I have seen it first-hand. I have seen, personally, his wrath, his magic, and his cruelty.”

  As he watched the lieutenant, Erik wondered if he would let them leave and continue on their journey. When they spoke before, it didn’t seem the lieutenant would.

  “I don’t know if I can let you go,” Lieutenant Güthrik said. “Success of your mission would no doubt mean defeat for my people.”

  “I love the dwarvish people,” Erik said, straightening his back, “but I will continue on.”

  Erik stared at the lieutenant intently, his eyes hard and cold. The dwarf finally dropped his gaze, unable to match the man’s intensity.

  “What if I offered you safety?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked. “What if I sent a platoon of warriors with you, to your homeland? I would fully supply you. The warriors would stay with you, protect your family and loved ones.”

  “Dwarvish warriors are formidable,” Erik said, “but what good are they against the full force of the Lord of the East? He has powers no one can overcome.”

  “What if I suggested you could bring your family here?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  “King Skella offered me the same thing,” Erik said. “Can you offer me the same safety that the King of Drüum Balmdüukr can offer? The same protection the walls of Thorakest can give?”

  “We could petition King Stone Axe,” Lieutenant Güthrik said.

  “Even since I am a personal friend of Lord Balzarak,” Erik said, “there is no guarantee that the king will protect us. And, even then, can anyone save me, or my family, from the Lord of the East’s black magic.”

  “The Black Mage,” Lieutenant Güthrik muttered.

  “Perhaps,” Erik said, “but two witches now also serve him. And another wizard. King Skella knew that even the walls of Thorakest were no match for the Lord of the East, his dark magic, and his assassins. In reality, I am as good as dead. It is my family I wish to protect.”

  “I cannot persuade you otherwise?” Lieutenant Güthrik asked.

  Erik shook his head.

  “I will have to wait until Captain Khâmuth returns,” Lieutenant Güthrik said, “before I can let you leave.”

  “How long?” Erik asked.

  “Four days,” Lieutenant Güthrik replied. “Your two companions—the other man and Nafer Round Shield—are in no condition to travel, so you could not leave yet anyway.”

  “And you will continue to do everything you can to heal them?” Erik asked.

  The Lieutenant nodded with a smile on his face, and Erik felt like he could trust him. Probably.

  “Tell me Erik, Friend of Dwarves,” Lieutenant Güthrik said, “what was Orvencrest like?”

  “Broken, dark, lonely,” Erik said, remembering the lost city and the death he felt in that place. “I could tell that it was a faint shadow of what it once was, cast aside by a wall of flame.”

  “That is too bad,” the lieutenant said. “What about the treasure room? You found that, didn’t you?”

  “Magnificent,” Erik replied. “I have never seen anything like it, and I will probably never see anything like it again.”

  Erik stood slowly, taking care of his ribs. The guard facing them snapped to attention and, even though he couldn’t see the dwarf’s face, he knew the warrior watched him intently.

  “If you have nothing more for me,” Erik said, “I would like to rest and then check on my cousin.”

  Lieutenant Güthrik nodded before speaking again.

  “What was it like? The dragon?”

  Erik stopped and stared at the ground for a moment. Most days, he tried not to think about her, or the sound of fire burning children alive, the hurricane winds her wings created destroying everything or her malicious voice that still invaded his mind. He lifted his head and looked at the lieutenant.

  “Just imagine the most terrible thing you could ever consider, and that will come nowhere near how terrifying she was.”

  Back in Bryon’s room, he found Turk by his cousin’s bedside.

  “How is he?” Erik asked.

  “It’s his old wound,” Turk replied. “The dragon’s wound is festering again. I don’t know why exactly, but I suspect it has something to do with the spider’s venom.”

  “Poison strengthening poison?” Erik asked.

  “More like, evil strengthening evil,” Turk replied, and the intensity in his voice made Erik shudder.

  “Will he be all right?” he asked, but Turk could only shrug his meaty shoulders.

  They watched as one of the medical attendants changed a cloth patch resting on Bryon’s chest, where the young dragon had wounded him. It was red and swollen again, and the cloth the dwarvish attendant removed was soaked with yellow puss. Bryon stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent while he slept. One of the dwarves tending to him said he had awoken for a little while and was able to drink some water. But then the dwarf gave him sweet wine, and he fell back asleep.

  “We have to hope he will recover,” Turk said. “The surgeons here aren’t as good as the ones in Thorakest, but they are good. And when they are finished, I can probably heal him some more. It is Nafer that I am more worried about.”

  Erik gave his friend a questioning look.

  “His condition is worsening,” Turk replied. “His arm, nose, and most of his ribs are broken, but they can heal in time. It is the poison I am concerned about because they can’t remove it from his blood. He has a terrible fever, and I fear for his life.”

  “If Bryon will recover,” Erik said, “then use your strength on Nafer.”

  “I can try, but you have to remember my powers have their limits.”

  With that, Turk walked away, his head bent low as if in shame. Erik wanted to reassure his friend but knew the dwarf would probably prefer to be left alone with his thoughts.

  The next day, Erik met Turk outside the
infirmary where Bryon was being cared for. When the dwarf appeared from the room, he was covered in sweat and breathing hard.

  “He is awake now,” Turk said as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “That’s good, but how are you?” Erik asked.

  “Tired,” Turk replied. “Dragon poison. Ártocothe poison. They don’t just poison the body. I need to rest … for a while.”

  “You have no idea how much I appreciate you,” Erik said.

  “Yes, I do,” Turk replied, looking at Erik and then the door to the infirmary. “Bryon is as much my family as he is yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Erik entered the room to see Bryon sitting up in his bed.

  “Are you done wasting everyone’s time and energy?” Erik asked with a smile.

  “I think so,” Bryon replied, also smiling. “Turk says I will be all right.”

  Erik nodded.

  “How are the others?” Bryon asked. “How is Nafer?”

  Erik shrugged and shook his head.

  “What can we do?” Bryon asked.

  “Wait,” Erik replied. “All we can do is wait.”

  24

  Nafer lay in a large bed covered with several layers of blankets. A short towel lay across his brow, and a washbasin full of soapy water sat beside his bed and his chest rose and fell with short, choppy breaths. He looked a ghost of his former self; his shallow cheeks showed too much bone beneath the pale skin, and his normally well-tended beard was unkempt. An unpleasant smell hit Erik’s nose. It wasn’t one of trash or rot, but a stale smell of sickness.

  As Erik sat on a short stool next to the bed, Nafer’s breathing suddenly became stuttered and then stopped altogether for a long moment before starting up again, just as shallow as before. Erik realized he’d been holding his breath, and he let it out with a long sigh of relief as he reached under the blankets to grasp Nafer’s limp hand. The muscles that once rippled through the dwarf’s thick forearms were now all but gone, and Erik winced at clammy skin, cold despite the layers of blankets the physicians had piled on top of Nafer.