Skinny poured soup into the three wooden bowls, the pot still red from sitting over the fire at the end of the lodge. The broth smelled perfect, an aromatic scent of herbs and cured meat, but as the misshapen chunks of meat plopped into the broth, Kyrn found himself a little unsettled.
“Fresh pig,” Dralf muttered with a full mouth, so full, in fact, that bits of broth fell from his mouth and into his beard as he spoke.
“Damn ye, Dralf!” Skinny yelled, pounding a fist onto the table. “Ye don’t talk about the preparations with yer guests.”
Dralf bowed his head and continued scooping the soup into his mouth.
“It’s all right,” Kyrn said, faking a laugh. “My father raised pigs, long ago. I’ve seen and heard much worse.”
“Haven’t we all,” Skinny responded. “Where ye from, young one?”
Kyrn glanced briefly at Dralf, and back to Skinny. He wished Aldir had still been with him. Surely, he’d have known where to take the conversation. “South,” he said, and stuffed a piece of roll into his mouth. “We…” He began again. “My father had a small farm not far south.”
“Had?” asked Skinny.
“We were raided,” Kyrn again lied. “Pillaged by animals who call themselves men. Killed my father. Took my sister.”
Skinny and Dralf exchanged looks, and Kyrn believed they were convinced. He could almost see the sorrow in their eyes, or something like it.
“I’m sorry to hear,” said Skinny.
Kyrn nodded. “The winters have been worsening with each passing year. Surely the cold would have gotten us if the raiders hadn’t.”
“And yer sister,” Dralf chimed in, finally setting aside his meal for conversation. “Yer seekin’ her out.”
“Aye,” Kyrn answered, stabbing at a hunk of meat in his soup. “They took her north, far as I could tell.” He was, at that point, only picking his roll to little pieces. “I guess I was lucky to find you here. I’ve heard stories of the forest of Castrolyl. Its desertion.”
“Well, Master Kyrn,” Skinny said calmly. “Then ye haven’t heard enough, to travel this far and still be plannin’ to head into those woods.” He leaned in low to the table. “Whoever ye be huntin’ down, they sure ain’t in there.”
Kyrn began to tire of his lies, or the effort it’d taken to fabricate them. He was tired, weary. “Don’t worry for those who have nothing left to lose. Now, about you then? This seems an odd place for a lodge, so far out, I mean.”
Dralf let out a bellowing laugh, up from the depths of his gut, like a bubbling cauldron. “Heard that from many a traveler, we have.”
“Aye,” Skinny agreed. “This be a lodge that’s seen many of me blood line. Fallen through many of me ancestors, down to me. Even me father, ’fore he passed, told tales of the elves his ancestors served here, long ago, from the forest above.”
“The elves?” Kyrn asked, more convinced that they’d seen through his tales than of curiosity.
“Sure, me boy,” Skinny continued. “Long ago the elves roamed the parts, and freely, I’d say. That’s how the stories go. This land has been paid for through countless fathers before me. It’s travelers like ye that keep us fed.”
Kyrn, now finished with his meal, sat and thought. Travelers like me? Was it truly travelers like him? Or were there common men that would travel remote parts of Einroth such as this? “Have you heard of these raiders before?” he asked, wondering if, in his lies, he had stumbled over some unfortunate truth.
“No, no,” Skinny said, to Kyrn’s relief. “First I heard of any settlers in these woods.” He stuffed the final bit of roll into his mouth, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “Though, the tales of disappeared elves brings us all sorts: treasure hunters, adventurers, lore master, queer folk at times.”
“Queer folk?” Kyrn asked. “What sorts?”
“Ye know the type,” Skinny answered, not truly knowing whether Kyrn did or not. “Types of men who don’t let a lick of information ’bout themselves slip off their tongue.”
“And you support them in any case?”
Skinny laughed at Kyrn’s candor. “Not me job to support them. No. I be only shelterin’ them. Feedin’ them.”
Kyrn sat quiet, pondering the types of men that sat where he was, listening to only the sound of the dying fire, like cackling old men.
“Best be gettin’ some rest, Master Kyrn,” Dralf cut in. “If ye still plan to be off ’fore sunrise.”
“Yes,” said Kyrn, as he rose from the table. “Thank you for the meal. That’s still the plan. You’ll wake me if I am not up before you, will you?”
Both of the dwarves nodded solemnly as Kyrn retired to his room.
***
In his room, Kyrn laid eyes upon the shadows of the forest of Castrolyl before dressing himself again in his own clothes, now nearly dried. The leather vest felt comforting, less vulnerable than the oversized clothes the dwarves had provided him with. He tucked the amulet beneath his vest, this time quick enough to not let his curiosities consume him.
He sat on the floor for nearly an hour, close to his door, which he’d left ajar, listening to Skinny again loudly berating his fellow dwarf. In fact, Kyrn hadn’t listened, had not heard a word Skinny had shouted, but, instead, waited for the dwarves to retire themselves. For the opening and slamming of doors to cease.
Kyrn had heard his father talk about slave traders in the north many times. And, over dinner, Kyrn noted the bright firelight in Skinny’s eyes when Kyrn had lied about a stranded, missing sister. And he’d noted twice over as Skinny had tried to dull that fire. It sent shivers down Kyrn’s back, and he took out his amulet, wishing that it would light. Just a small reminder of his sister’s safety would comfort him.
Aldir would have reminded him of an evil far greater than the dwarves in this lodge, had Kyrn’s predictions proved correct, but he didn’t care. This was no longer Aldir’s journey, though Kyrn wished dearly they still shared the burden.
He rose from the ground when the lodge was silent, wrapping his fur-lined cloak around him, pulling up his dark hood.
There is no evil greater than another, he tried to convince himself.
Kyrn set off from his room to prove his theory.
Chapter Nine
The Irnost Mountains
Lord Raeli Nulgal sat upon his throne, crafted by his great-grandfather, deep within the Irnost Mountains. For centuries, the Nulgal clan was well known for their experience of black rock within the mountains far south and to the east, though old wars had savagely forced them from those lands. Raeli, hard-headed and begging to fight any chance he found, followed in his family’s footsteps in the taking of the throne. Raeli dunked his steel mug into the large barrel of mead sitting beside him. As he took a large swig, he sunk down into his throne, palming his sweaty dwarven forehead. He didn’t particularly like these events. The day Raeli took the throne was the lowest point in his life, he told nearly everyone, for he was no king at heart. Raeli was proud to admit to being many things. A father, husband, son, friend, and, especially, a warrior—a great warrior, he would add. A king, however, he was not.
“Today is a good day, Raeli,” Iafi, seeing him sulking, said reassuringly. The burly haired dwarf had arrived in the mountains only this morning, trekking quickly from Grimmrich soon as Kyrn had departed with Aldir. He knew that Kyrn was in good hands, and there was much to be done if they stood a chance against the coming storm. He’d never moved so quickly in his life, other than during the war. Now, though, he didn’t have the rage of battle quickening his pace. Not yet.
“Shove it,” Raeli chuckled heartily, wiping the ale from his dark red beard. He thought of how his mother called him ‘my sun,’ since, out of his two brothers, a father, and himself, Raeli was the only member of the family with his mother’s red locks. Now, it was graying, but still the deepest red of all the dwarves in the mountains, and the grey reminded him that his mother was no longer here to keep him in his place.
“Yer people respect
ye.” Iafi combed through his beard as he spoke.
“They are me people.” Raeli looked around the massive hall as the dwarves talked and shouted amongst themselves. “They’re me friends and me family, though I’m not their leader.”
Iafi smiled faintly. Raeli didn’t recognize his greatness. He probably never would. Though, Iafi knew that he’d not be the dwarf he was without Raeli guiding the pack. “And that is why ye have the throne.” He rested his hand upon Raeli’s shoulder, standing at the lord’s side. “We’ve not had peace, nor inclusion in this world since the Great War. Yer people want more out of life than bein’ warriors.”
Again, Raeli laughed, nearly enough to shake his throne. “Ye speak for yerself.”
“I may be gone from the mountains, Raeli, but I’m still yer brother in arms.” Iafi took his seat beside the Lord of the Mountain.
***
Still, Raeli sat upon his throne, waiting for the festivities to begin. He’d only missed this day once in his seemingly long life, when he’d been invited to the city of Grimmrich. He would never pass this up again, even though he loathed his royal attention, not even if invited by all the kings and lords in the lands.
His throne sat high upon the stone balcony surrounding the pit below. The pit, being ancient tradition, was a symmetrical square room, at one point used as a refinery. On the edge of every wall was a raised balcony, sitting almost one hundred feet above the center of the room. On the south side, facing north, sat the throne. This edge of the room was barren, as the lord only invited Iafi, immensely surprised at his recent arrival. The rest were his council, who felt it was their place.
Raeli agreed with most of them. They were all dwarves that had been mighty friends of the Nulgal clan for hundreds of years; however, there were some who cared little for their fellows, only profiting for themselves.
“If it were up to me, I’d isolate these mountains from the rest of bloody Einroth,” Raeli grumbled as if he’d not meant to speak aloud.
“That’d make us no better than goblins, me old friend.” Iafi laughed at his lord’s troubles. His dwarven friend fabricated more issues than ever truly existed.
“Me friend.” Now, Raeli laughed along with Iafi. “If ye were me true friend, ye’d have killed me ages ago.”
They both laughed.
Raeli sat up straight as the crowds on every side of the pit exploded in a deafening roar. Down in the center of the pit stood a round, dark-haired dwarf. His face was covered mostly by his black, bushy beard, and partly by the size of his grizzly eyebrows.
“Welcome, friends and family!” the dwarf shouted loudly through a large auroch’s horn. The crowd screamed in return. “Me Lord,” the dwarf added and bowed towards the southern balcony. At this point, the room altered their cheers towards Lord Nulgal.
Lord Raeli stood and, for a brief moment, he felt powerful. He sat back upon his throne, as he mumbled under his breath, muffled by his beard.
Iafi didn’t waste his breath. Raeli, like most other dwarves, was too thick-skulled.
Iafi leaned into the lord and whispered, “I came back to these mountains to speak to ye about somethin’ gravely important.” He knew Raeli wouldn’t break his gaze from the pit below, so he added, “Not now, mind ye. But soon.”
Raeli spat upon the ground beside his throne. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I was surprised.”
As they sat side by side, sons of different mothers, brothers just the same, they watched the pit below intently. The fat dwarf was still standing in the center of the pit; however, two dwarves now accompanied him. Raeli knew the dwarf on the left. He’d made Raeli’s son, Burlan, his first sword only a few months prior for his seventh birth year. Now, armored in plate from chest to toe, he was difficult to recognize, but Raeli was sure it was the armorer. The shield in his left hand was emblazoned with the Battle-Born insignia, the great auroch horns, and his right hand wielded a great long-sword.
The dwarf on the right was one that Raeli couldn’t recognize. His beard, yellow as the sun itself, was outfitted with iron rings holding together thick braids. The yellow-haired dwarf’s armor was less elaborate: a light mail, covered by a leather tabard. On the ground beside him stood a mighty warhammer, the base of which stood from the ground to the dwarf’s knees, and the wooden handle rose taller than the dwarf, towering over his head.
“Our two mighty contestants!” the fat dwarf shouted excitedly through his horn. The crowds again roared to life. As he stepped backwards, the armorer clashed his shield against his steel sword, and the blond dwarf raised the warhammer over his head, swinging the first blow in a hurricane of power.
Chapter Ten
A Flutter in the Night
The only light in the main room of the lodge was a faint glow emanating from the embers in the fireplace.
Kyrn stood still at the bottom of the stairwell for a half hour, making certain there was no movement within the quaint, little cabin.
When he began to move, he walked softly and carefully. The floorboards whined beneath his boots. He had his pack and bow slung across his shoulders, and his cane in hand, in case he was to find what he suspected. He knew he’d have to travel in the open darkness.
Kyrn had noticed Dralf lift himself from the floor behind the bar earlier that night, when he first arrived. He wouldn’t put it past a dwarf like Skinny, so full of anger, to strike Dralf to the floor. Yet, he could feel in his heart there was more to it. What safer place to hide something than behind the bar, where no customer should explore. It was that or, if Kyrn was wrong, he’d have to try Skinny’s own chambers while he slept.
It was then that Kyrn understood. Only the good-hearted die young, they say. And he truly believed it, but now he understood why. The good-hearted fought for what they believed in, for what was right. While the rest sat idly by.
Kyrn made his way cautiously behind the low-set bar. Even in the dark, he could see that it was a cluttered mess. Unused dough stuck to the floor like moss-covered rocks. Cracked and shattered mugs lay spread across shelves, no doubt the handiwork of Skinny’s temperament.
Kyrn removed his bow and pack from his shoulders and carefully placed them on the wooden floor, laying flat on his stomach with them. It was too dark to see any details in the wood. With the moon concealed by rain-filled clouds, no light crept through the windows.
He let his fingers brush across the smooth wood, occasionally running over chips or cracks from years of wear, until his little finger caught, stuck in a small hole. It must be, he thought. He scooted himself closer, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. There it was: a keyhole in the floorboard.
“Ye’ll be in need of these,” whispered a small voice from above him.
Kyrn slowly turned his head, seeing Dralf grinning down at him. In his hand, Dralf held a ring with only two keys. They clanked together, what seemed to Kyrn all too loudly.
As subtly as he could, Kyrn swung his cane up from the ground with full force, in a direct path for Dralf’s knees. Instead, the dwarf caught the cane in his stubby hand, moving quicker than Kyrn would’ve ever imagined he could.
“Enough!” growled Dralf, and he released the cane. “I be here to help, Master Kyrn.”
“Help?” Kyrn asked reflexively. His mind hadn’t yet caught up with the situation.
Dralf tossed the keys and grinned as Kyrn squirmed to catch them silently. “Help, Master Kyrn.” He looked over his shoulder down a hallway before he continued. “I tire of Skinny’s ways. What yer to find down there, that’d be Skinny’s doin’. Forced me into it, he did. As always.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “If ye want to strike me down after ye see, I’d understand.”
“And how do I know you won’t lock me in as well?” Kyrn asked. “Once I’m down.”
“Oh! I will,” Dralf smiled. “But ye’ve got the keys, Master Kyrn. And ye’ll be findin’ the backway out, I suppose.”
Kyrn studied the dwarf carefully as he slowly unlocked the hidden cellar door. There was nothing
in his eyes, under his bushy, red eyebrows, nothing other than remorse.
When Kyrn began to climb down the stairwell, he looked back up at Dralf. “Heroes die following their hearts,” he said. “That’s what my father tells me.”
Dralf gave the young man an agreeing stare as Kyrn closed the door above his head.
***
A plume of dust erupted from the cellar floor when Kyrn planted his feet firmly on the cobblestones. It reminded him of kicking snow from the streets of Grimmrich.
He heard a quick gasp, followed by a weak voice.
“Who…” she asked. “Who are you?”
Kyrn found himself utterly perturbed at how right he’d been.
A metal chain had been bolted into the stone wall. It coiled down to the floor like a metallic snake. In its vicious bite, it held what looked to be a young girl around the neck.
As he slowly moved closer, Kyrn could see a chafed, bloodied ring where her metal collar had rubbed her raw. Though, there was something else he had never seen before. Where the skin hadn’t reddened, Kyrn saw that it was of a dark blue hue, almost grey. And it was scaled. No, not scaled. But was almost as if her skin were of a sort of tree bark.
He studied her, still getting slowly closer. Her face, her arms, looked the same; flakes of a blue-grey skin, pieced together. “I…” he began, “I’m Kyrn. Who… what are you?”
Creating a gust of wind, the girl leaped from the ground. Small, translucent wings, two on either side, fluttered quickly from her back, and she flew at him.
Kyrn winced, but the chain holding her firmly to the wall hissed as it drew tight, and with a quiet yelp, she fell to the ground.
Kyrn rushed to her side, dropping to one knee. “We must get you out of here.”
She looked up at him with sea-blue eyes in disbelief. “Is this some sort of trick?” she asked.
“Only on Skinny,” Kyrn answered with a fake smile. He fitted the key into the girl’s collar and the snake’s jaw snapped open and fell to the floor.
A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 9