Dawncaller

by David Rice

  Galen paused for several heartbeats and the pronounced firmly. “No, Kirsten. I have not done that yet and I will not.”

  Kirsten turned away to hide her smile. She raised her voice just as Galen was stepping down the stairs. “When do I start learning from Siandros?”

  “The Third Warden will instruct you when it suits him,” Galen replied.

  “When might that be?” Kirsten prodded.

  Galen’s terse response echoed up the curling stairs. “When you least expect it.”

  Kirsten rubbed her ribs and shivered. She remained on guard for the rest of the day and through most of the night.

  XXIII

  “Why are you wasting your time with texts I have read a hundred times?” Alvilas fumed.

  Eko forced calm into his response. He did not want to give away any hint of what he had discovered. “They are new to me.”

  Alvilas cursed under his breath. “You should be studying the nature of the drakes before it is too late.”

  “I am studying about the nature of the drakes by examining the tales of their origins,” Eko replied.

  “Bah. You do not respect the wisdom of your elders. You should accept their judgements and move on. You waste valuable time.” Alvilas turned his back and shuffled away.

  Eko barely restrained his temper as Alvilas disappeared from sight. Instead, he whispered tersely to the winding shelves of scrolls surrounding him. “Judgements that do not change with added knowledge are just entrenched lies. And I already see more than you are willing to see.”

  “What do you see?”

  The bubbly voice of Dria made Eko jump. “What are you doing here?” He blushed as he fumbled with his scrolls.

  “I was bored.” Dria thrust a cup of mulled wine towards Eko. “Drink.”

  Eko gratefully accepted, and drained the cup. When he handed it back, their fingers touched briefly and he jumped again.

  Dria giggled. “When did you get so nervous?”

  Eko strained to adopt a more serious expression. “I didn’t expect you.”

  Dria smiled her smile. “Isn’t that the best time to arrive?”

  “I’m in the middle of—”

  “Dusty tree roots and scrolls.” Her smile drifted into a smirk.

  “—Important Research.”

  Dria took the cup back. “Had enough then?”

  Eko felt his cheeks burn. “No. Yes. I mean—thank you. That was kind.”

  Dria smiled once more. “Did those potions help?”

  Eko cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. “Shh. Yes. Immensely.”

  Dria’s smile robbed Eko of coherent thought. “Where’s Siandros? I thought that you’d be—with him.”

  Dria looked towards the stairs winding upward. “No,” she replied softly. “He’s training other wardens, planning our defenses, and—”

  Eko chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Eko tapped the scroll he was reading. “There’s no defense we can offer.”

  Dria leaned back. “What should we do then? Run away?”

  Eko raised an eyebrow. “A possibility. But it probably wouldn’t matter.”

  Dria’s eyes focused on something far from view and her mouth frowned. “Then there’s no point in even trying? I can’t believe that.”

  Eko chuckled again and extended the scroll to expose its pristine ancient passages. “Drakes have been awakened twice before. In the beginning, their fires shaped the world until the One used the weave to harness them.”

  “We all know that story,” Dria whispered. “What happened the second time? When they were reawakened? Can we learn something that will help us now?”

  “It’s not a tale that’s been told for ages but this scroll is a record of that time. It describes how our southern ancestors thought they might be able to tame the drakes, and they forged spark gems to wake some of them.”

  “What happened?”

  “The One bound itself to the drakes, and chained itself away to force the drakes to sleep. But the One also had to use outside help, a warrior from the south to journey places the One could no longer go.”

  “But the One is everywhere.”

  “Only through the weave,” Eko explained. “And when the One chained itself to a single location, the One locked into place where the weave would be strong and where it would be weak. Because of this, the One needed others to perform certain acts even more than ever.”

  Dria was transfixed. “Like what?”

  Eko swelled with pride. “Fascinating, isn’t it? You see, when the Mother of All Creation awoke, the drakes were driven insane and could not be trapped in a single location. They would rather fight to the death to prove their worth than submit to any hierarchy.”

  Dria blushed. “They’d fight to be her mate?”

  “Yes.” Eko cleared his throat and pushed on. “She had to be forced to sleep before the drakes could be bound.”

  “So, who gathered the drakes and trapped them? Wouldn’t the One need at least one warrior to trap the mother dragon, and many others to face the drakes?” Dria suggested.

  Eko raised an eyebrow. She was bright after all. “I don’t know. Yet.” He pointed at the scrolls and tomes strewn all around. “I’m sure I’ll find the answers here somewhere. I expect that whoever first carried the Fahde sword subdued the mother. And now—”

  “I don’t understand. If an elf once saved us by using the sword, why can’t Siandros touch it?”

  Eko’s eyes gleamed even as his expression tightened. “That’s the trick. It wasn’t an elf.” His voice hesitated only for a moment. “It must’ve been a half-elf then, and so it has to be a half-elf now.”

  “Impossible,” Dria exclaimed. “It’s against the sacred scriptures.”

  “Oh, those mean nothing,” Eko replied. His mind danced with epiphanies and his voice swelled with energy. “The Xa’lia is a reminder, a guide, advice; it’s not a prison.”

  Dria blinked twice but could not pull herself away from the danger of these new ideas. “Where are you even coming up with such unspeakable—”

  Eko chuckled. “From scrolls others tried to hide. Ancient ones your potions and washes helped me reveal.”

  Dria’s mouth opened but could produce no sound. She looked away in shame but curiosity kept her rooted firmly.

  Intoxicated by Dria’s attention, Eko’s mind and mouth rushed forward. “Elves woke the Drakes, and they woke the Dragon. To control the Drakes, the One needed a half-elf, I don’t know why but I’ll work that out. And now the lifebane have awoken the drakes and the sword has returned in the hands of another half-elf. The pattern is repeating.”

  Dria’s brow wrinkled. “You’re saying the One needs the half-elven girl, the girl Alvilas calls an abomination, to save us? And you’re saying the One can’t save us this time because

  Xlaesin is a prison the One created for itself?”

  “Or maybe a lock on a prison that has held the drakes. Until now. I’m convinced that the lifebane woke the drakes. They are the only ones powerful enough. But I have so much more to read. To discover about how they did it. And why.”

  “You’re completely mad,” Dria scoffed. “How could the lifebane awaken the drakes? They’re warped—degenerate. They aren’t elves.”

  “Proof is they are elves because they did succeed.” Eko almost crumpled the scroll in exultation. “The lifebane are elves. Like us, Dria. Actually, the lifebane are us—or started that way. They’re versions of us, maybe changed by how they use the weave. Cousins. Still children of the One.” His eyes brightened. “They can’t all be corrupt. Some even tried to warn us of their mistakes.”

  “Siandros and Ballok said that was just a ploy to mislead us,” Dria responded. The lifebane Children of the One? That is impossible. The lifebane are corrupt. How can the One create corruption?” The certainty in her voice wavered. She took a step back, stumbled, and dropped the cup. It smashed into a dozen fragments. “I’m not going to listen to another wo
rd.

  We are nothing like the lifebane. Don’t let your mentor catch you spouting such ideas. That’s heretical.”

  “No. It makes perfect sense. It’s beautiful. It’s Nature balancing itself. And we are all a part of it.” Eko began plucking more scrolls from their dusty grottos. “It’s glorious! And this is the true lesson: Whatever we do, Dria, existence corrects everything.”

  “But the drakes? You know they’ll destroy everything. And you want to call that a correction?”

  “No. No. Fate. The half-elf and the sword are here. Just when we need them.”

  The sincerity in Eko’s gleaming eyes made Dria waver. “You’re saying it’s ordained that the abom—I mean, the half-elf girl—is here?” Dria paled. “Oh, no! By the One, Siandros told me that he was going to kill her during her training. You’re telling me that he’s going to kill the one person you say could truly save us.”

  “Kill her? No. No. That won’t happen either. Mark my words.” Eko looked up from his scrolls to absorb the horror twisting Dria’s expression. He reached out and grasped her hand. “And you can stop him if you want. Or warn her. There’s still time.”

  Dria pulled away. “How can I? He’s my promised mate. He’s Third Warden. He’s—”

  “Wrong,” Eko stated firmly.

  The determination in Eko’s gaze filled Dria with unexpected excitement. “I have to hurry,” she announced then turned quickly and bolted up the stairs.

  It was so clear to Eko now. He shouted after her in exhaltation, “Our freedoms do not weigh against our fate, Dria!” Then he sat back, his mind soaring. “Who would ever guess that fate would make us free?”

  The dry cough of his mentor swept all happiness away. “Duiltach. Your ideas are making me ill.”

  Eko shivered with dread. How long had the decrepit sage been listening? He let his panic feed his frustration. “That abomination is who will save us, Alvilas. And you called for her extermination, didn’t you?”

  “Bah. You should never mix drinking with thinking,” Alvilas grumbled. “Or women. Especially a woman who is promised to another.”

  “What? Dria?” Eko’s cheeks burned and his voice trembled with indignation. “I am making significant progress,” Eko snipped. “Not that you are capable of appreciating it.”

  Alvilas’s sharp tongue stung with the barbed edges of certainty. “So you say. But tomorrow will come and you’ll be taught otherwise. Now focus upon the vulnerabilities of the

  drakes. That’s the only knowledge we need to save us.”

  “But I am—”

  Alvilas’s face grew dark and his temples bulged. “You are a recalcitrant boy! If you will not be counselled then you will have to be cast from these archives, and from my stewardship.” Alvilas stomped down countless winding steps, pausing once to cast another admonishment towards his young student, “Heed me, boy. I will do it if you fail to follow my guidance.”

  Eko’s jaw dropped and his mouth fumbled through many soundless shapes. Once again, his cheeked burned, but this time it was not for love.

  XXIV

  Grumm never truly knew fatigue until after he finished his second bowl of stew in front of Momma Cabbageroot’s hearth. Across the room, bundled with lukewarm blankets along his extremities, and his abdominal wound wrapped with a pungent poltice, Plax edged slowly away from death.

  Grumm forced a little life to trickle into his voice. “What do I owe you for this kindness, ma’am? I don’t have much now, but a kindness is never forgot by a Rockbottom.”

  “Oh, don’t fuss,” Momma Cabbageroot replied softly as she ground flower petals and berries for a new salve. “You’ve done a miraculous kindness yourself by giving your friend a chance to live. It’s only his strength as an elf that’s saving him.”

  Grumm fought against the impulse but yawned like a bear anyway. “I’ll chop wood for ye once I have a short nap.” He leaned back on the bench and propped his feet on a stool.

  Momma laughed. “Your kin have already filled my storage racks twice over, but thank you.”

  Grumm took a moment to absorb the statement. The boy had said something about other dwarves, hadn’t he? He sat up. “My kin, ye say?”

  “Four from The Crossing. Nice fellows, not half as fearsome as the stories of my childhood led me to believe.”

  “What were they doing here? Are they coming back?” Grumm stood up and fumbled to recover his boots. “What were their names?”

  “Rest, Master Rockbottom. They stayed with me for a fortnight. They told me they were scouting for trouble near the King’s camp, and hoping to find none.”

  Grumm did not hide his surprise. “Isn’t that a dangerous thing to do?”

  Momma Cabbageroot’s eyes darkened for a moment. “My people are peaceful. Only by acting peacefully are wars brought to an end.”

  “Hmmf. Can’t say that’s not true,” Grumm admitted. “They must’ve told you some names. My kin like to be polite, you know.”

  Momma Cabbageroot cocked her head and smiled. “You’ll see soon enough. I can hear them returning now.”

  Grumm stared at the door skeptically. He couldn’t hear a thing. Then the soft rhythmic stomp of footsteps through the snow reached his ears. He struggled to pull his boots on and stand. A proper greeting required both.

  The door thumped open and four bundled forms hurried in, shaking ice from their beards and slapping the door closed behind them.

  The heaviest of the dwarves stopped suddenly. “Whut’s this?” He leaned forward and stared and then a smile burst from under his beard. “GRUMM?”

  Grumm stared back and then roared, “BUNMOR?”

  “The soup pot is full, boys,” Momma interjected. “Get yourselves dried off and warmed up.”

  The cottage filled with the raucous noise of friendly insults and laughter.

  The heads of Momma Cabbageroot’s children poked through a leather curtain covering the entrance to their tiny room. “Can we have some soup, too,” Fenny asked. Beside her, Neval giggled at the way the dwarves’ beards shook when they talked.

  “One small bowl each. Then right back to bed.”

  The children scrambled to be the first to the pot until Momma elbowed Neval out of the way so the dwarves could eat first. Neval began peppering the youngest dwarf with endless questions.

  Grumm’s curiosity could not endure the small talk any longer. “How are our kin managing with the gnomes? What have you found out about Lornen’s army?”

  Bunmor rolled his eyes. “Beru was off to face the gnomes when we were dispatched. Wish I coulda been there to see it. As far as Lornen is concerned, hundreds of his troops left their town and then got their cannon and horses stuck in the snow. Some are digging in like ticks on a moose. Others on the far side of the town made a lazy effort to set up a picket line then packed up.”

  “Too cold for ‘em?” Grumm chuckled.

  “Looks like they’re going back across the Raelyn.”

  “Going to flank us at The Crossing on the south side?”

  Bunmor shrugged. “Looked more like tradesmen and such. Not heavily armed.”

  “Maybe the start of their giving up and going home?” suggested the young dwarf entertaining Neval.

  “Glad some humans have sense enough to go home,” Grumm said. “We have homes enough to reclaim, don’t we?”

  Bunmor raised a toast to their unspoken losses and then regarded Plax disdainfully. “Who’s your grimy friend?“

  ”Name’s Plax. He’s a motley ugly bugger of an elf.”

  “Yer blind. Looks like a lifebane,” a taller dwarf grumbled and he grasped the handle of his axe. “I’d a’ split him like kindling the moment I saw him but then Bunmor’s friend’s with

  him, so—”

  Momma Cabbageroot stomped her foot. “The poor fellow is an elf, not some lifebane, and he’s under my care. If there’s another hint of violence in this home, I’ll turn you all out for shame.”

  Grumm placed a hand on his kin’s shoulde
r. “Ugly, but a good fighter. Deserves to live. Together, we had an adventure worthy of a cask or two.”

  “Even better than our scrap in the woods?” Bunmor asked.

  Grumm rolled his eyes. “No disrespect to poor Tymor but we fought hundreds o’ kobolds an’ goblins, dodged drakes—”

  “Hundreds o’ lifebane, an’ Drakes, too?” Bunmor scoffed. “I’ve never known yeh to stretch the truth, Grumm.” He leaned forward and squinted at his friend. “You get hit in the head?”

  Grumm stuck out his chin, pushed Bunmor away, and pointed at Plax. “He’ll tell yeh when he wakes. An’ so will the gnome and the half-elf girl we fought alongside if we see ‘em again.”