He spoke quickly. “Then she’s to come with me.” He glanced up at the hovering elleinor. “If that’s what she wishes, that is.”
Syonne smiled down at him.
“The elleinor are bound to those that planted them,” the old elf continued. “Over time, as their masters wilt and fade, they realign themselves with the next of kin.” He bowed slightly. “The king’s glaive you wield is proof alone to me, do not mistake me,” he said. “Though, should Syonne choose to bind herself with you and succeed in doing so, it will only further the proof of your hidden heritage.”
Kyrn looked at Syonne. She still smiled down at him.
For the first time, Syonne felt free. A choice, she thought to herself. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had such a thing. At least, not one that didn’t place her before Castreeth’s council.
“I would have it no other way,” she said to the old elf, “than to travel with my friends.”
Only for a moment, Kyrn was washed with considerable guilt. How could he knowingly bring along such a happy creature to such dangerous places? But he needed her at his side, that he knew.
Syonne landed on her feet and knelt before Kyrn.
He looked at Magmi and Brailen, unsure of what to do, but they only watched with amazement. An elleinor’s rebinding was not of uncommon nature, but Kyrn seemed to bring unexpected change wherever he went.
Syonne’s head was bowed, her eyes closed. Still, she quickly snatched Kyrn’s wrist and pulled him, like her, to his knees. She peeked through a squinted eye to see him lower his head and close his eyes as well.
To those standing around the two, it seemed nothing more than a moment of silence between Kyrn and his elleinor.
Kyrn, however, felt all of Syonne flow through his body. He felt her naive happiness make his mind giddy with excitement. His skin felt as if it dried up with the cold winds of Grimmrich, parting itself into bark-like fragments. Upon his knees, he felt as if he, too, had grown wings and hovered at Syonne’s side. He opened his eyes.
Syonne still smiled at him. “I rise and fall with you, Master Kyrn,” was all she said.
Kyrn stood, gently helping Syonne to her feet. “You may be bound to me,” Kyrn began. “That I can feel. But your life is now your own. I serve you as much as you do me. If you fall for me, know that I have fallen first.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Fault within the Mountains
Iafi rushed through the halls of the Irnost Mountains, following the quickening pace of Raeli. He’d locked eyes with Lord Raeli, hearing the screams simultaneously, and caught Flame-Weaver when Raeli thrust it towards him.
Now, he followed Raeli, holding his sword in hand, and Flame-Weaver trailed in a magnificent blaze of red and orange flames at Iafi’s side. He felt confused, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong at the tournaments. Though, Iafi already knew. They had come. It was only a mattered of time. He’d raced so furiously from Grimmrich to the Irnost Mountains, in hopes that his short dwarven legs would get him there quicker than the evil magics of the Dark Ones. Surprised that he had beaten them, he should have known they weren’t far behind.
Rounding the corner leading to the pit, a horde of horrified dwarves met them head on. They didn’t stop for Iafi, nor their lord. Elderly dwarves hobbled on past, mothers shielding their children from the hail of arrows and spears flying overhead. The sight alone sent a brief shock through Iafi’s bones, but he trudged through behind Raeli.
Some of the female dwarves, feeling far enough away, handed off their young ones to the elders, readied their swords and axes, and charged back to the pit, sprinting past Iafi and Raeli. One of them fell in line with the two dwarves, a younger dwarf named Tuskon. Her hair was wild and black, braided from her forehead down and draped nearly to her knees. It was loose and frayed. “Me Lord,” she stammered, ducking and dodging as the arrows fell like rain. “Goblins have breached the halls, from the mines, be me guess.”
“Goblins?” Raeli questioned, spitting again as he ran. “Goblins have never struck so much fear in the hearts of the dwarves of the Irnost Halls!”
Tuskon looked as if she’d been hit by one of the descending arrows, though, truly, she’d only been struck with the fear of upsetting her lord. “Not just goblins,” she continued. “They bring with them demons, dark beasts from the cracks of the mountains.”
“Like Malhaim’s tale,” Iafi muttered.
Raeli shot him a quick glance of confusion, but it didn’t last. They hadn’t time for questions. They slid to a halt as their three sets of toes hung over the edge of the southern balcony, looking down into the pit. A sea of goblins charged through the halls and into the pit like a frenzied hurricane. Some of the dwarves had already made their way to the bottom of the pit, fighting off the goblins with whatever they could get their hands on. Some still climbed down the steep walls, no harness to save the few that fell to their doom into the pit below. Goblin spears flew, and rusted swords were held high, as they uttered disturbing, guttural shrieks.
“Quick!” Tuskon shouted. “The stairs!” She pointed to the northwest hallway that led down to the base of the pit.
Before the party could set their feet back into motion, the ground trembled beneath them, nearly throwing them from the balcony. In unison, the three dwarves turned back towards the lord’s throne. The south wall had cracked from top to bottom, revealing a glowing red light from within. Whatever had led the goblins into the mountain hadn’t done so from outside, but from within.
“Brace yerselves!” Raeli shouted, holding his sword in front of him, now with both hands. The etchings down the rectangular blade were jagged and beautiful, telling tales of the Nulgal clan from centuries past.
Tuskon slid an arrow from the quiver on her back and fitted it into her bowstring, drawing the string taut in anticipation for whatever came through the thick mountain’s wall.
Iafi watched her arms quiver as she did. Whether it was from the strength of the bowstring or the fear in her heart, he was unsure, but he assumed it to be both. Planting his feet firmly upon the stone ground beneath him, Iafi spun his axe before his face, creating an intimidating display of fire before him. Though, he knew that whatever burst through the wall before him, fire was the last thing it would fear.
Head-sized rocks began to tear away from the wall, falling down like a solid waterfall before them. The crack that had formed widened as two massive humanoid hands came through, gripping either side of the tear. They were surely as large as any of the dwarves within the mountain, and the knuckles pulsed red like the crack in the wall before them; surely larger than any hand Iafi had ever seen, even that of a snow-giant. When the hands had planted a firm enough grip on either side of the crack, the muscles in the attached arms bulged as it tore the mountain in two.
“Finally!” Raeli shouted. “A worthy battle!”
Tuskon let her arrow loose from her bow as soon as the beast’s head emerged from within the mountain.
Iafi and Raeli diverged, one left, the other right. Their shouts filled the balcony, even over the roar of the massive beast.
Tuskon watched her arrow chink off the beast’s rock-like forehead and fall down into the base of the pit, but she’d already fitted another. She studied the monster’s features before she let the second arrow soar. Its eyes were red as the flames dancing from Iafi’s axe, dark and solemn. Two elegantly-curved horns protruded from where its eyebrows might have been, and it let its knuckles land upon the ground with a crash to support its weight. The beast was coated in a natural stone armor, and it stood over ten times higher than the tallest dwarf. Yet, Tuskon saw that Iafi and her lord had not slowed in their advance, and she let her second arrow loose.
This one pierced a thin slit beneath its torso. The beast howled and ripped the arrow from its body like a mere splinter. When it slammed the arrow into the stone ground, it found an angry dwarf upon its hand, climbing higher up its arm.
Iafi was relentless with the spinning of hi
s axe, blinding the monster with his dazzling display of fire. An arrow whipped by his head, so close he could feel the gust of air whip his beard to the side, and before the beast could reach across with its free hand, he leaped off the mighty beast, slashing at its throat with Flame-Weaver. Sparks greater than any display of Northal’s fireworks splashed from the beast’s throat, yet again blinding it.
Iafi landed upon his knees, sliding just out of reach of the monster’s pounding fist. A thick smoke burned his nostrils, and, through a fit of coughing, he saw that his beard had been lit aflame. He rolled out of the way of the stomping monster, keeping his face low enough to the ground to extinguish his scorched facial hair. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in nearly three centuries, and a new form of rage had built within him.
Raeli felt a similar anger deep within the pits of his stomach. His kin and all those they loved had been forced from the mountains to the south long ago, and that was something that could not ever be forgiven. He wouldn’t let that happen yet again. He leaped over Iafi, rolling on the ground. If he’d been a wittier dwarf, he would have used his time in the air to insult his companion.
Instead, in the air, Raeli funneled his rage, snatching one of Tuskon’s many arrows mid-flight, and came down hard, jabbing it beneath the beast’s living armor. He felt the arrow pierce the flesh, a thick muscle beneath the stone-like covering. While the beast howled, he seized his opportunity, sliding his finely-etched sword into the same slit, splintering the arrow, and with a quick thrust of his body, he pried the armor clean off the beast’s knee.
“Quickly now!” he shouted.
Tuskon didn’t hesitate. She quickly bounded forward, letting her bow fall to the ground. While she sprinted forward, she removed the axe fitted into her leather belt, and by then she was beside her lord. She hacked at the exposed knee of the monster, until it fell upon them both. They stepped back, quickly lifting Iafi from the ground, and Raeli let out a brief chuckle, seeing the dwarf’s ridiculous beard.
Together, Raeli and Tuskon heaved the singed dwarf into the air.
Iafi soared high above the beast, like a starving hawk circling its prey. His eyes locked with those of the beast, its neck tilted back to watch the falling dwarf. It must have been shocked to see how powerful three little creatures could be, Iafi thought; a wolf backed into its cave, a bear in its den. They were all nothing compared to dwarves backed into their mountain.
Iafi fell with one perfectly-timed swing of Flame-Weaver, slashing fiercely at the exposed flesh of the beast’s tilted neck. When he landed beside Raeli and Tuskon, the three dwarves were showered in molten ooze from the beast, and they slowly separated as it crashed to the ground.
Lord Raeli let his sword crash at his feet and rested his hands on his knees, hunching to catch his breath. “We’ll dispense of these unwelcome goblins,” he said. “Be it demons or monsters. They’ll all fall at our hands. Then,” he added, looking towards Iafi, “you will tell me what you need from the dwarves of the Irnost Mountains.”
Iafi nodded. “Nothing more than ye can handle,” he said. “Only three of yer best fighters.” With a smile, Iafi led the dwarves down to the pit, to finish the remaining goblins.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Down the Creek
Kyrn was seated beside Syonne in the long boat. He watched as the council stood, hands folded behind their backs, seeing them off. He could tell Syonne had been entranced by her thoughts, completely invested in new-found bliss.
When the ship began its slow roll down the river, Kyrn leaped from his seat. “Brailen!” he shouted over the starboard side of the boat. “Come with us.”
The golden-haired elf chuckled. “I wish I could, Master Kyrn. There is much restoration to be done in Castrolyl. I must remain in my home and help.”
Kyrn placed one foot upon the edge of the boat, now drifting uncomfortably far away from Brailen. “If I don’t return,” he said, “there will be no Castreeth to speak of. The council said they will keep the city in order.” Kyrn looked at his elleinor and the old wizard, seated closer to the bow of the ship. “We’ll need your sword.”
Brailen smiled at Kyrn. He truly believed the young boy was the true king of Castreeth. Nothing remained of the fallen King Ezroch, nothing other than his trinkets and the stories written in their lore. Though, Brailen knew that Kyrn shared the fallen king’s heart. He looked back at the council. Each and every one gave him an approving nod.
As Brailen raced alongside the floating vessel, not misplacing a single step, Kyrn reached out his hand, far as he could, over the edge of the boat. He felt the strong tug of Brailen’s grasp on his forearm, and Kyrn pulled the elf from the riverbank and into the boat.
The golden-haired elf returned Syonne’s playful smile and sat facing Kyrn. “Along with the elleinor,” Brailen said, “I place myself at your disposal, Master Kyrn.”
“It won’t come to that,” Kyrn said, hoping his words weren’t as hollow as they felt.
The ship floated along under the River Bridge, and out of Castrolyl.
***
“We entered through the Crystal Caverns,” Kyrn said. He looked out past the stern of the ship, and the forests of Castrolyl obscured the city. “There’s another way out?”
Brailen nodded. “And only out.” He pointed out over the river, in the direction the ship was traveling. The trees of the forest reached over the water, sheltering them from the façade of a sun. There was no breeze in the realm, not now, the fervor of the river the only thing carrying them down stream. “King Mayhlan created the entrance through the Crystal Caverns. We’ve not been able to safely mimic them.”
Kyrn cocked his head. “Magmi,” he said, “did you not help enchant the stone?”
Magmi nodded with a slight smile. “Yes,” he said. “And the necklaces you and your sister wear. Though, it was the old king’s life that created the portal. The magics only assisted him in doing so.”
Kyrn pictured the door etched in stone in the Crystal Caverns. “So, a life must be given to create another?” he asked.
Again, Magmi nodded. “But not just any life.” A quizzical looked formed on his face. “Perhaps Glahlan could have given his life to form another,” he said.
“It would have been for the better,” Brailen mumbled.
“We can’t dwell on that.” The words rushed from Kyrn’s mouth like he’d not meant to say them. He felt Syonne still coursing through him.
“You’re right, Master Kyrn.”
“The elves did, however, manage to create another exit,” Magmi said. “With my help, of course.” And his sense of well-aged pride again came out with his words.
“Will we feel it?” Kyrn asked.
Magmi smirked at the young boy. “No more than you feel the wind upon your skin.”
Kyrn did feel it, however. He knew precisely when they’d left the realm of Castrolyl and returned to the forsaken lands of men, dwarves, and the other abandoned races. High overhead, the sun flared brighter than it had in the past few days, and it warmed Kyrn’s cheeks. He lifted his chin and closed his eyes, letting the honest rays land upon him. “We’ve made it,” he said.
Brailen looked about him. He’d not seen any change, felt any either. He wondered how Kyrn had been able to tell. But he didn’t dwell on it. This was why he swore his sword to him. “I have never traveled beyond Castrolyl,” he said.
Kyrn watched as the golden-haired elf admired his surroundings.
“No, you haven’t,” the old wizard agreed. “Not many elves from the last two-hundred years have. The elves deemed it too dangerous, as we’ve seen with Syonne’s recent events.” He gave her a disapproving glare, but turned it to a wink when he saw her eyes widen. “The elves use their elleinor to scavenge from the outside world the little they may need.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Kyrn asked Syonne.
She only nodded.
Kyrn could see through her mischievous expressions now, past her lively demeanor. He could see the wei
ght that her captivity held upon her. “It’s in the past, now,” he said to her. “We can only look forward.”
Syonne faked her best smile.
“Though,” he muttered. “I’m not sure we have much to look forward to.” Kyrn watched the river curve before them, slightly west. Quite a way in the distance he could see it straighten itself out again, heading south. Over the starboard side, Kyrn saw the flat grasslands linger on as far as his eye could see. It was the land east of the mountain pass where he’d been split off from Aldir. Somewhere, buried in those lands, lay Skinny’s Lodge.
“We could travel west,” he said to the group. He stood in excitement. “Make our way back to Grimmrich. My father will set us on a ship quicker than we’d need.” His hopes dulled and died when he saw the old wizard shake his head in objection.
“We must continue south,” Magmi said softly. “I know you yearn for your home, and you will again be there soon.” He looked out over the bow of the ship, down and out to where the river straightened.
“What’s south?” Kyrn asked.
“The Sand Wastes,” Brailen said, realizing the wizard’s intent.
Syonne gasped for her and Kyrn both.
“The land of pirates,” Kyrn said. “Barren lands of miscreants and criminals. At least, that’s what my mother always told me.”
“Not entirely false,” Magmi agreed. “Though, you’d also grown up to believe that the elves were long gone, had you not? That you, young Kyrn, were but a man.”
Kyrn brushed his hands over his forearms. He felt the same to the touch. His heart felt the same, beating unrestrained in his chest. Elf, he thought to himself. He’d not been sure if he’d ever be fully convinced. He knew, now, with undoubted certainty. But he wondered if he’d truly ever feel it.
“Nonetheless,” Magmi continued, “Skoval has flown ahead. Cast aside what you’ve heard of the Sand Wastes, Kyrn,” he said. The old wizard hunched in his seat, setting his gaze upon Syonne’s lowered eyes. “You, as well, little elleinor. We have friends in the Wastes. From there, we will sail west.”
A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 19