A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  “She is in the great summoning hall,” Pilfer said, his voice dreamlike and distant. He was trembling slightly, but whether from cold or fear was difficult to tell. “She has a powerful talisman, a shard of volcanic glass, that she will use to cheat death.”

  “What is it?” Portia asked, turning to Loth. “What is he talking about?”

  “I’m not certain.” Loth’s face looked worried and there was fear in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything about this before? What is this shard of glass?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Pilfer said. “But it contains the black lumen, and it has power, great power. I have seen it.”

  “All the more reason why you should help us.”

  “You promised you would let us go home,” Pilfer complained, petulant as a child.

  “Humans are liars and cheats,” Retch said, “and so are elves!” He stuck his tongue out at Loth.

  “We could wander around in there for days,” Ander said, his voice hard. “We don’t have the time. Look, you’ve come this far. Just take us a little further. Show us the way to this summoning hall of yours and we’ll do the rest.”

  “It’s not my summoning hall,” Pilfer said. His shoulders sagged. “It’s hers.”

  Finn put his hand on the goblin’s arm. “Look, I’ll make you an offer. Not far from here, there is a cache of silver coins. I can tell you where it is hidden and when you leave us you can take it with you. You can go to your homes as rich men, er, I mean goblins. Isn’t that better than returning with empty pockets?”

  Pilfer and Retch exchanged a glance.

  “How is it you know about some mysterious hidden treasure?” Portia eyed him with suspicion. “And why have you never told me about it?”

  “Lusive showed me. The Gutter Rats kept hidden caches around in case they were ever forced to flee. I doubt very much that they came this way, so the coins will still be there.” He returned his attention to Pilfer, offering the little goblin a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to dig...”

  “We don’t have a shovel,” Retch said.

  “It’s not buried deep, and it shouldn’t be difficult. I can tell you exactly where to find it, but only if you help us, only if you show us the way to the summoning hall.”

  Pilfer and Retch looked at each other. Retch’s face was twisted with uncertainty and he stamped his foot in frustration. A goblin’s love of money was well known and often superseded their need for survival. Pilfer shook his head and pulled at his enormous ears, mumbling and carrying on as if conducting a silent dialogue inside his head. He slapped his forehead several times for good measure.

  “Alright, alright!” Pilfer said at last. “But you must tell us where the silver is first. You might die before we get there, and then you’d be no good to us at all.”

  “Fair enough, but only if you promise not to run away the second I tell you. You will lead us to the hall. Agreed?”

  Both Pilfer and Retch nodded their heads with renewed enthusiasm. Loth and Ander, for their parts, seemed more than a little incredulous of this agreement, and Portia was looking at him as if she suspected some mischief. He flashed her the barest of smiles, then taking each of the goblins by the arm, led them just inside the doorway. He crouched down and, in a low voice, told them in great detail where to find the hidden cache of coins, right down to describing the rock under which it was buried and the tree by which the rock was set. When he had finished he clapped them each on the back.

  “Now, we are in this together. Our fortunes are entwined. I have fulfilled my side of the bargain. Now it is up to you to fulfill yours.”

  The three of them turned to look at Ander, Loth, and Portia, all of whom were standing just beyond the portal, observing the proceedings with varying looks of concern and apprehension.

  “Let’s go,” Pilfer said. “Before I change my mind.” The goblin made a motion in the air, speaking a word in Lunovarian. A small ball of light appeared, hovering several feet above his head, and followed him as he moved across the chamber. Finn gestured to his companions and started forward. The three looked at each other, then followed them into the dark.

  * * *

  The chamber beyond the door measured 20 feet long and 15 feet wide, with a tall arched ceiling. A giant could have stood comfortably in this room, but only if they’d managed to squeeze through the outer portal first. The air was cold and the darkness impenetrable. At the back of the chamber the walls glistened with frost. Years of dust and grime covered the stone floor, but theirs were not the first boots to disturb it. There were the marks of a great many goblins and orcs, and other larger feet as well. Portia leaned against Ander, her hand on the Northman’s broad chest as she fidgeted with her sodden boots. The heat from their bodies was making the wet clothing steam, surrounding them with tendrils of thin white mist.

  At the far end of the room was a tall opening that revealed a staircase climbing up into the darkness. The stair was wide enough that several men, even men in full armor, could walk abreast. Apparently the orcs were not overly concerned about anyone coming in this way, for they had posted no guards. What threat would they fear? They were now the masters of Arrom’s Rock, and the only force of any consequence within a hundred leagues was the garrison at Nachtwald, and those soldiers were now besieged.

  They mounted the stairs, climbing steadily for perhaps five or ten minutes, their legs moving at a slow, rhythmic pace, their labored breathing loud in the preternatural stillness. They emerged at last into another square antechamber, much like the one through which they had entered, and continued down another short passage that let out into a great hall. This room was more than 150 feet long and at least 60 feet wide. Great stone pillars, each constructed of ornately carved blocks, stacked one atop another, and etched with scenes of ancient battles and forgotten glories of the dwarves race, held up the long vaulted ceiling, which was all but lost in shadow. Great iron braziers were set on the floor at intervals, but they were cold and empty. Each side of the hall boasted three huge fireplaces, six in all, all of them large enough that the company could have stood together comfortably inside them. But the hearths were barren, lifeless as the stone from which they had been built.

  Leaving the hall behind, the goblins led them along a curved passage, the tunnel seeming to go on for a league or more. It felt as if they were following the curve of a giant wheel, and Finn found himself expecting at any moment to return to the place where they began. They passed several side passages, much like the first, and then passed a broad opening, with a passage leading back toward the center. Just beyond this they came to another staircase that followed the same circumference as the tunnel. The stairs were wider here than the ones they had used to reach these halls, and there was no landing in sight.

  The two goblins hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. Retch and Pilfer each put a finger to their lips, indicating quiet. With a wave of his hand Pilfer extinguished the light, plunging the group into darkness.

  “We must be quiet,” the goblin whispered. “Orcs do not often come down to the lower halls, but there may be guards above. Carefully now.”

  They went up slowly, each of them doing their best not to stumble or, worse yet, to fall. Finn kept one hand on the outside wall and as he climbed. The steps were worn and treacherous, and he was feeling the weariness of the past few days. He had slept little and the journey from Nachtwald to The Rock, scrambling over hills, and creeping through forest, expecting at any moment to be set upon by marauding orcs, had been tiring. It was oppressively quiet in the subterranean dark and their labored breathing sounded loud as thunder. As they went up the air grew warmer and a bit of wan light filtered down from above, making the assent easier. Finn began to hear voices, low and harsh, growing louder and nearer.

  Two guards waited at the top of the stairs, but it was obvious they were not expecting visitors. The orcs took their leisure just beyond the last step, leaning on their spears, and grumbling. No doubt they were upset at having to watch an empty s
tairwell while the rest of their fellows were off sacking Nachtwald. The two orcs were so involved in their conversation that they did not notice the shadowy figures coming at them from below, nor did they notice the tall elf as he unslung his bow and knocked an arrow.

  The first shaft struck the orc on the right in the neck, cutting off his diatribe mid-sentence. As the other orc turned to see where the shaft had come from, a second arrow pierced his left eye and took him off his feet. He crashed to the floor, twitched a few times, and then lay still. The first orc slid slowly down the wall, grasping at the arrow as his life’s blood fountained from the wound. Ander ran up the last few steps, moving past the two orcs to scout the passage beyond. After a moment he returned, shaking his head.

  Loth and Ander leaned the bodies against the wall in postures of repose. There was a good deal of blood and any close examination would quickly reveal that the orcs were dead, but there was little they could do about that. Stepping carefully over the bodies the rest of the group moved to the juncture of a perpendicular passage 10 feet in front of them and looked carefully around the corner.

  They moved along the passage, flanked on either side by walls of smooth cut stone. There were torches here, set in brackets along the walls. They sputtered and smoked, sending weird elongated shadows dancing across the floor. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and the dust of countless years.

  Soon they began to hear other noises, random sounds that were distant and indistinct. There was life in the ancient halls of Horgar. There were enemies here, terrible enemies with no love for humans or elf-kind, and the realization set Finn’s teeth on edge. He pressed a hand against one of the hidden daggers beneath his tunic and hoped that Lusive’s training would be enough.

  Finn had never met any of the dwarves, nor had he visited one of their halls. He found the scale and perfection of this subterranean fortress to be more than a little daunting. Pilfer and Retch led them through a series of tunnels, some straight, others following the same circular design as the halls below, but each one as smooth and perfect as the one before it, with great arched ceilings and massive carved pillars. They traveled past closed doors, perfectly fit in their openings, even after centuries, and side passages whose dark interiors gave Finn a thrill of sudden terror as he imagined hulking shapes waiting just out of sight.

  After what seemed like an hour of stealthy creeping, they came to a set of stout wooden doors, each handsomely carved and adorned with large fittings of heavy iron and thick handles. A circular device was set in the center of each, at about eye level. They were carved to resemble dragon heads with a large ring hanging from the jaws of each dragon’s mouth. The eyes of the dragons appeared to be small red gems, perfectly cut. Finn briefly considered how difficult it might be to remove the gems with the point of his dagger, but he was loath to touch them. He glanced down at the floor to see a soft, warm light seeping out from beneath the portal.

  “There,” Pilfer whispered, his voice cracking with fear. “What you seek is in there.” Retch clung to his companion, shaking, and gave a tiny squeak.

  Finn looked at his companions. Portia was standing close to him, her eyes wide and expectant, her staff clutched tightly. Loth drew an arrow from his quiver and set it to his bowstring. Ander drew his sword, motioning for them to step back as he and Loth each took hold of one of the iron rings and pulled the doors open. The doors groaned on their iron hinges, but moved with only minimal effort.

  The chamber beyond was yet another vast hall, lit by torches. Halfway down the right side was an arched opening with a recessed door, the only other entrance in view. The hall was long and wide with a brick-lined pit running down the middle of it. A fire burned there, flames eating hungrily at the dry wood and sending up sparks. Even from the doorway they could feel the heat of it. Beyond the fire pit was a large stone chair, like a throne. A number of tables and benches occupied the front portion of the hall. Some of the benches were overturned and the tables, old and apparently ill-used, showed dark stains, nicks, and gouges. Broken pottery, bits of bone, dried blood, and moldering meat littered the floor and there was a carnal stench to the air mixed with the odors of wood smoke and old sweat.

  The hall was completely empty. Except, of course, for the two ogres who sat on the floor in front of the stone chair playing a game. At first glance they appeared almost like oversized children playing at jacks, but children such as these only appeared in nightmares. The creatures were man-shaped, but much larger than any man Finn had ever seen. They were pale and heavily muscled, with dull round faces and great tusks protruding from the corners of their lower jaws. Each of the ogres wore massive rings of metal in their earlobes, around which the skin had been stretched, to give the appearance of flesh colored earrings of enormous size. Angular symbols were tattooed across their faces and torsos, and they had small metal studs embedded in their faces and foreheads as some kind of bizarre decoration.

  On the floor next to them lay two maces, as large as tree trunks, ugly weapons as tall as a man with a ball of spikes at the end. As the group stood, staring open-mouthed and surprised, the ogres both turned to look at them with small dark eyes.

  “Wort,” said one of the ogres, “do you sees what I see?”

  “I do, Yaug, I most certainly do,” said the other.

  “What do you think we oughts to do about it, Wort?”

  “Well, Yaug, I thinks we ought to kill the nasty buggers and then eats them.”

  The ogres climbed to their feet and reached for their weapons.

  Chapter 19

  Blayde dreamed of an ancient city that looked similar to Nachtwald but was not the same. This was an older city, larger, darker, and far grander in its architecture and scale, with broad avenues, immense gardens, and magnificent houses. However, the city appeared to be empty, an abandoned landscape of stone and silence, steeped in perpetual twilight. On the hill, above the junction of the two rivers, stood a castle, but this castle was much larger than Nachtwald, its walls nearly twice as tall and twice as thick, with towers that touched the sky.

  Blayde stood in the midst of a square, much like the market square in Nachtwald, but there was no sign of the inn or the stables over which she and Rayzer had slept for the past few nights. She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings, the seemingly abandoned buildings that flanked her on all sides and the empty streets that stretched away into the gloom, and discovered that she was not alone after all.

  Her eyes fell upon a single figure standing at the edge of the square. The figure was dressed as a knight in armor of a pale green hue with a heron etched upon the breastplate and a cloak of emerald green. The knight’s helm was tucked beneath his arm and his long golden hair, streaked on one side with a ribbon of green, fell about his shoulders. His skin was the same bronze hue as Blayde’s and his stance was relaxed, confident. He watched her with glacial eyes, chin raised, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. His face was not what Blayde would have called handsome, but a striking visage none the less, and his gaze held her so that she could not look away.

  Blayde called out to the knight. “Who are you?” she said, taking a step toward him.

  “You know who I am.”

  “Sir Veryan Emrallt.” Blayde knew that it was true even as she spoke the name. Here was Sir Veryan as he had appeared in life. “But how is that possible? You’re dead.”

  “Death is not the end. You are elf-kind, so you know this already. You believe in the old ways. That is why I called to you, and that is why you have come.”

  “And where are we?” Blayde looked up at the castle. “Is this Nachtwald?”

  “This is Kalridon as it was long ago, before the forces of darkness destroyed it.”

  “Is this real?” Blayde asked.

  Sir Veryan’s smile grew wider. “What do you think? It’s your dream after all.”

  Blayde shrugged, uncertain. She could feel the damp coolness of the evening on her skin and the earth beneath her feet. She smelled the faint sweetnes
s of lavender and roses in the air. If this was a dream, then it was as real as anything she had ever experienced in waking life.

  “Much of what we think of as real is little more than illusion,” Sir Veryan said, seeming to read her thoughts, “and some things that at first seem to be imagined end up being true. In the end, what we perceive to be reality is. Don’t you agree?”

  “I—” Blayde hesitated.

  “For instance, there are some in Nachtwald whom you perceive to be allies who are not. They are enemies masquerading as friends and capable of doing great harm if not revealed. Likewise, there are those whom you perceive to be enemies who may yet prove to be friends of great worth. The difficulty is always in trying to determine which is which.”

  Blayde ground her teeth in agitation. She hated riddles. If this shade was trying to help, why not speak plainly? “Is that why you brought me here?”

  “Brought you here?” Sir Veryan raised an eyebrow. “I did not bring you. You came of your own free will. I called and you answered. It is as simple as that. Come, let us walk together. There is something I would like to show you.” Sir Veryan turned away and began walking. He made his way across the square to a street that angled toward the center of town. Blayde followed.

  “When I was a young man, I fell in love with a girl.” Sir Veryan slowed his pace to walk beside her. “Her name was Donella. She was a lovely creature, so full of life. We dreamed of a simple existence together, a life away from the difficulties of court, away from the politics and machinations of great kings and princes. We met others with similar ideals and eventually we left the kingdom of King Ehglarion and went into the forest to become part of the natural world, to seek a more spiritual life, one that we thought our people had left behind.

  “Then, the Dream Gate was opened and everything changed.” Sir Veryan’s face darkened as he said this and his eyes were troubled.