Dawncaller

by David Rice

  “So that’s the one, is it?” he teased.

  Grumm blushed even brighter.

  Kirsten pulled away from Balinor and wiped the tears from her face. “How? Why?” she stumbled and sniffed. “You brought Grumm and Olaf. They told you I was alive?”

  Balinor wiped his eyes. “They’ve told me a lot.”

  “Like how we fought lifebane, and drakes, and how we got the sword?” Kirsten beamed.

  Balinor wanted to glower cautious disapproval but he could not muster the energy. “You can tell me all about it after we camp somewhere safe but first there’s something I have to tell you—a few things.”

  “What?” Kirsten greeted Vargas with a bout of wrestling hugs.

  “First,” Balinor’s voice turned to gravel. “I came back for you. Saw the tower. Couldn’t find you but knew we were both being followed so I did what I could to lure them away.”

  Kirsten slowly let go of Vargas. He kept nuzzling her hand. “I guessed as much,” she said.

  “I never meant to give up on you,” Balinor added. “I hope you didn’t—”

  Kirsten put up her hand and turned away. “Everything worked out.”

  “Raisha?” Balinor asked.

  Kirsten took a long breath and touched her pendant. “Gone,” she said.

  Balinor swore softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop,” Kirsten turned towards him again. “I have things I’m sorry for too but it only hurts to keep rehashing them.”

  Balinor remembered them burying Rebel. “You’ve grown up,” he offered.

  Kirsten just shrugged. “What’s the other thing?”

  It was Balinor’s turn to sigh. “Your Papa. He’s alive.”

  Kirsten’s tears reappeared and she fought to find her voice. “I knew it,” she finally managed. “Where?”

  “Hiding with friends in Graniteside,” Balinor said. “He’s safe.”

  Kirsten’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. What’s wrong? Why is he hiding?”

  Balinor shook his head. “Better if you see him yourself.”

  Kirsten slung her bow. “Where do you think I was going?”

  Balinor let a brief smirk escape. “You’re predictable,” he said.

  The two stared at one another for a moment and then both looked away.

  Besra strode past them and approached Pell. “You’re looking better than the last two times I saw yeh.”

  Pell chuckled. “That’s the truth.”

  Besra regarded Grumm, stoic upon his goat. “An’ have ye got no words fer me? I can see yeh up there hidin’”

  Olaf chuckled once more.

  “Uhhhmmm. Hello, Besra. How’s yer father?”

  “Almost roasted by a drake but now that he’s recovered his wits, happy he has bigger pub stories than you fer once.”

  Grumm pulled back his hood. Besra’s eyes twinkled with mischief and it robbed him of all his sense. Then she smiled.

  “Yeh can close yer mouth, Grumm Rockbottom. The flies around here are not worth the tasting.”

  Grumm closed his mouth, mumbled, and blushed.

  Besra could easily see the large circular covering across Grumm’s back. “So is that a platter fer meals or something nicer?”

  Olaf was quick to interrupt. “Let’s find a safe place to show the shield. You won’t believe what it can do. But drakes seem to notice when it’s out in the open.”

  Kirsten nodded. “I’ve heard stories. Is this the shield? The one that tamed drakes? The one that was made when this sword was made?”

  Balinor nodded. “Olaf’s right. Let’s camp, share stories, and decide how we are going to get into Graniteside.”

  Kirsten nodded. “Where? There must be soldiers everywhere.”

  “Army’s broken. Everyone’s going home. I think the roads will be safe if we keep a low profile.” Balinor replied. “Now if you were up to a long ride, we could find a safe place at the Crossroads in two night’s time.”

  “That place wasn’s safe last time I was there. Some even say it’s haunted,” Kirsten said.

  Balinor grinned. “It’s safe. And not haunted by anyone you’d expect.”

  “I’d like a look at the foundations,” Pell stated. “Heard they might be dwarven.”

  Besra regarded Pell with added interest. “Architecture’s an interest o’ yers?”

  Pell laughed. “My clan’s Stonewall. Can ye expet anythin’ less?”

  “Let’s move, then,” Kirsten stated. “Gotta take care of my Papa and get back to Longwood.”

  “Back to Longwood?” Balinor exclaimed. “Why?”

  Besra spoke up. “She’s their protector, now that she has that sword. An’ the drakes will come sooner than later.”

  Balinor rolled his eyes. “I guess we’d better find you some horses. In the meantime, ride with me.” He held out his hand and Kirsten swung up behind the hunter.

  Besra grinned and clambered up in front of Grumm. “Let me steer,” she laughed.

  Grumm just blushed as they rode south through the afternoon.

  IV

  Plax found an eagle form came naturally to him. As he flew south, he sensed the tremor in the weave coming from the Whitemantle Mountains. From this height, and gifted with the eagle’s vision, he noticed a flickering glow come and go in a deep valley that was still leagues away. He closed in to see what it could be and was shocked to realize that a Calling was taking place. He had heard of such events but never witnessed one.

  As he soared to within a league, he realized that the glimmering figure was moving with weave augmented speed, and was being doggedly shadowed by another. Far to the rear of this pair travelled a throng of people. Longwood elves attempting to accompany the one who was being summoned to Xlaesin. According to tradition, they should have been heading towards Elyslaesin, the Shore of Tears. Instead, the pair were angling closer to a human fishing village near the mouth of the Raelyn. It was puzzling.

  Plax veered away to catch a glimpse of Dria in the throng and despite several close passes over the course of an afternoon could not find her anywhere. Then the light of the Calling vanished and the throng below burst into cries of confusion.

  ***

  Once Cinn had told him about Eko, Siandros left his wardens along the northern edge of Longwood under the command of Jiror, and spent the entire day in pursuit of the Calling. He had just reached the trailing groups when the distant flickering gleam of Eko’s summoning disappeared like a moon behind thick cloud. The night was approaching fast and Siandros had no patience for the bewildered questions that pelted him as he passed by.

  “Where’s Woodmother Dria?” he demanded. Most shrugged. A few pointed uncertainly towards the front of their haphazard column. He brushed them aside and broke into a run.

  When he reached Galen, he was red-faced with temper and shivering with fatigue.

  “Third Warden,” Galen exclaimed. “We are grateful for your company but why the haste?”

  “Why did the light go out?” Siandros demanded. “There’s something wrong.”

  “We are as surprised as you. Perhaps the light of the Calling is being blocked by a ridge of the mountains.”

  “Have you seen my promised mate?”

  Galen nodded. “She took some time catching up to us and then hurried to the front of our column. I am sure that you will find her there.”

  “Rest awhile,” Dorak encouraged. “Renew your spirit with some dried fruit and hedelma.”

  Siandros took a long pull of the wine and stuffed a pocket with the offered food. “I won’t be able to rest until I know all is well,” he said, and then dashed away.

  Dorak looked at Galen and smiled lightly. “He is finally in love with someone other than himself.”

  Galen returned a grin. “It will make him a better person.”

  ***

  Aldo Corebit waited patiently in his hunting blind for his quarry to funnel through the only pass westward. His traps were primed for use and expertl
y concealed. Still, something had prompted the male to eliminate his illumination and then activate a shadowcharm. Corebit had seen this behaviour before. He swung the eyepiece down and smiled. There he was, still creeping westward, clumsily crushing plants and leaving a trail of debris. The elf was cluelessly closing on one of his traps.

  But it wasn’t the male that Corebit had his sights on. He reached into his pocket and flipped a small switch. The trap nearest the male instantly deactivated. He watched as the elf passed the traps, passed under his blind, and continued to the west.

  Such a stroke of luck to have a Calling occur while he was setting his lines. And to have these young fools so far ahead of the rest. Why, Corebit almost drooled, he couldn’t have asked for sweeter pickings. But he didn’t need the male. Let him answer his Call.

  No. It was the tenacious female elf he was hunting now. Promises were promises, he told himself, and contracts were gold. As promised, she would fetch a fine price from King Lornen. Land, title, and riches. Corebit could build a lodge that would be the envy of the world and hunt for nothing more than pleasure after this.

  And there she was. Ahh. A beauty. Surely worth haggling the price upward. Corebit reactivated his trap.

  The female stopped to note the trail that her friend was leaving behind. And then, with a surge of confidence dashed forward—

  FLASH—sizzle

  She collapsed, wide-eyed and paralyzed. Corebit rubbed his hands together. Then he heard some stumbling through the undergrowth from the west. The young buffoon had heard the trap and turned around.

  Corebit raised his rifle and waited.

  The elf male stopped suddenly, noting the female laying helpless in the grass and then casting his wide eyes in all directions. He took two hesitant steps towards her and stopped once more. Then he bit his knuckle, turned and ran.

  Corebit lowered his rifle, waited until he was sure there would be no more surprises, and then came down from his perch to bundle up his prize.

  Aldo Corebit was a consummate professional. He collected his traps and packed them away neatly. He bound his quarry, slipped her inside a breathable locked container that would keep her from being damaged during transport, activated the levitation sparkgems on its sides, and prepared to depart.

  Then he stopped.

  There was a sound like a gusting wind but far too regular in its cadence. He had fought elven wardens before. He had happily collected the bounty on seven so recognizing this sound was not worrisome. It was an elf warden running at speed.

  Corebit had a plethora of moments to spare so he whisked his luggage into cover, took an overwatch position with his rifle, and waited. The best hunters knew when and how to wait.

  As predicted, the warden appeared. He slowed to examine the crushed grass where Dria had fallen. That’s when Corebit fired.

  ***

  A crack of thunder filled Plax with dread. It was from the same general area where the light had vanished. Plax shivered with tension and descended.

  ***

  “What was that?” Galen exclaimed.

  “The sky is not right for lightning,” Dorak replied.

  Tyrin jogged up to the elders. “Did you hear that? I’ve heard those sounds before when scouting Lornen’s camps. That was a Halnnish gun. One a single soldier could fire.”

  Galen paled. “We’ve had our people killed before by such hunters.” “And Eko is way ahead of the rest of us,” Tyrin added.

  Dorak scowled. “I am too tired for flight. Go, Tyrin. You must go!” Tyrin’s jaw twitched with anger and he transformed into an owl.

  Dorak nodded. The owl was usually his choice. Tyrin had been improving. “Go! Find them,” the forestward urged.

  Tyrin cried out and launched into the dusky sky.

  ***

  Corebit slung his rifle with a smirk. He had caught the elf in the shoulder and dropped him hard. That was better than a kill. The wounded always slowed pursuit.

  Corebit knew others would soon follow but this did not phase him. He took four mechanical weasels from his backpack, placed each on the ground, twirled the compasses on their backs and activated their small sparkgems. They dashed away in four directions creating subtle trails to follow, and emitting the occasional swear word in gnomish.

  Corebit smiled. They’d expect him to head west but he knew a shortcut that would take him to Splintjack’s hunting lodge along a slightly circuitous route without any chance of detection. In the meantime, they could waste their time chasing his weasels.

  ***

  Plax was the first to swoop down upon the body. He transformed back into Longwood Plax and rolled the elf over. He gasped and took several steps back when he realized this was the same elf who had stolen the Fahde from Kirsten and almost killed him with it. Siandros was unconscious, thankfully, but there was a lot of blood. It hadn’t been a spell or an arrow. Plax chilled. It had been a bullet from a Halnnish gun. There was a gnome trapper in the area, and he might have his sights set on him next.

  Plax ducked behind a tree and peeked around its edge. There was no sign of Dria or Eko but he noticed trails heading in several directions. This was the only a small spot of blood. Eko and Dria could still be out there somewhere, and wounded.

  Plax took little time deciding. Eko could look after himself. He would save Dria. And as for Siandros—

  Plax paused to stare down at the wounded elf. The Third Warden looked smaller now.

  He should leave. It would serve the bastard right. But—

  A stabbing pain gripped Plax’s temples and was gone. Suddenly he knew how to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t something he had ever learned and yet there it was instinctively, just when he might need it. Plax was not superstitious but he took a deep breath, reached down, let the short foreign phrase spill from his lips, and touched the wound.

  Plax swore and staggered back with a stabbing pain in his own shoulder. Looking at Siandros, he could see the bleeding stop. “You owe me, now,” he whispered.

  Fatigue swarmed through his body once more but he knew he couldn’t remain. He had to pick up Dria’s trail and the only way to do that was from the air. This time his body shrunk and twisted into the form of an owl, and he was in the sky once more following the most obvious trail westward.

  ***

  Tyrin landed beside Siandros and, with a gentle nudge of the weave, roused him.

  Siandros bolted upright and pushed Tyrin’s hand away. He tore off his leathers to expose the wound and swore quietly.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” Tyrin said. “Where’s Eko?”

  “Who cares about that little prick,” Siandros spat. “Dria was following him, I’m sure of it.”

  “Do you know who shot you?”

  Siandros stood up and his eyes were as hard as stones. “I’m gonna find out.” He looked at the wound again and softened his tone for a moment. “Thanks for the healing. A woodmother teach you that?”

  Tyrin paused while his mind jumped between answers. “No—problem,” he said.

  Siandros covered the wound with a paste he kept folded in a leaf and then began donning his leather tunic once more. “There’s several trails. Likely meant to throw us off. You take one and I’ll take another. Maybe we get lucky.”

  Tyrin nodded and in a wink was winging away once more.

  Siandros readied his bow and chose the northwestern path. “Whoever you are,” he hissed. “You’ll die slow.”

  ***

  Early the next morning, Aldo Corebit strode through the doors of Splintjack’s hunting lodge. Even there, beyond the northern edge of the town, he could hear the sea gulls and smell the ocean. He winked to the owner and tossed him a platinum Halnnish coin. The owner grinned and tossed a key to Corebit. It was a semi-annual routine. As long as Corebit paid, and he always paid well, he would be treated like royalty—even if most of the town would rather burn a gnome alive.

  “Twenty gold for someone who can hire me a boat to Graniteside,” Corebit announced to the motley
hungover crew still populating the common room. Three jumped to their feet, flattering words spewing from their gobs, and raced one another towards the docks.

  Corebit laughed. “I’ll be in my room. Make sure no one bothers me.”