In The Depths Of Winter

by Bradley Mitzelfelt

  “No,” Daedre said. “We don’t stop until nightfall. I want some distance between us and the fortress.”

  “But it will be dark at night fall,” she said. “I won’t be able to see anything!”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Persephone huffed. It was true, of course. She would be able to see just fine at night. She was a Devan as well as a human. Devan could see in pitch black. That wasn’t really why she was upset, though. She knew from books that certain animals were less likely to be seen at night than in the day time. She wanted to see them all, not just some of them. Still, she figured she should be happy that she got to see any of them. Their father wouldn’t have allowed it.

  “How long until we stop?” she asked.

  “Hours yet. It’s barely past noon,” Daedre responded.

  That was not what she wanted to hear. Her legs were already sore, and after several more hours she was certain that she wouldn’t be able to walk around when they did stop. Even if she could see in the dark she wasn’t likely to see anything but what came nearby. That made her grumpy.

  “How long until we get into Brivan and find somewhere proper to stay?” she asked.

  “Days. Many days. Be quiet and ride. If you keep talking it’ll be even longer.”

  Persephone sighed and slumped her shoulders. This is not going to be a fun journey. I wish it was over already. I wish I was still at home.

  Chapter One

  The sound of metal clashing reverberated on stone walls. The dwarves acted like it was nothing new to them. The sounds were steady in the forges, but these crashes didn’t come from there. The overpowering noise of grating iron was resounding from a single, large chamber carved into the mountain.

  The walls were carved as flat as a smooth piece of freshly honed iron, and a seemingly delicate, but hardly so, latticework of stone adorned the ceiling, centered on a carving of the mountain being hit by a star. Those that stood within the room paid little attention to the ceiling. All eyes were focused on the two individuals in the center of the room as they slammed weapons against opposing shields and blades.

  Dearic was sweating profusely, and they’d only just begun. Each swing of the heavy axe wore him down, but after months of practice he tired less quickly than he used to. The familiar heft of a thin bladed rapier had dwindled to the point where the axe he practiced with now felt keenly familiar to him. He swung it as if it were his own arm.

  “Fight harder and stop thinking,” the dwarf across from him said as he slammed his shield forward.

  Shield met shield as Dearic moved the tower shield in front of him to defend against being dazed at the attack. That’s happened more times than I can remember now. I won’t let it happen again. After months of living with the dwarves, even his thought patterns had begun to change. His speech was changing as well.

  “I’m not the one who hasn’t landed a blow yet, Shakrin,” he replied.

  Shakrin swung his own axe at Dearic’s legs, but he maneuvered out of the way of the strike by stepping into the safety of the shield. As the dwarf’s blade swung through air, he stepped forward and swung his axe at the exposed arm. It didn’t connect, as Shakrin merely rolled his shoulder down and away, leaving Dearic’s blade to slice through air mere inches from the back of the plate armor the dwarf wore.

  He rebounded by jabbing the butt of his axe against the dwarf’s shoulder, pushing him away so that he could recover with his shield. Settled again, he stared across the short expanse, keeping the shield against the left side of his body, only his right, where he held the axe, was now exposed.

  “You are getting better,” Shakrin said. “But you are still human.”

  The way the word human was said made Dearic’s lips turn back. I hate when he gets like this. He’s angry because I’m beating him so he attacks my race instead. We may not live as long as dwarves, but that doesn’t mean we are lesser for it. He shook his head.

  “Being human gives me a distinct advantage in this fight, Shakrin. I have longer arms and a longer reach. Why do you think you can’t get close to me?”

  They’d had this same argument almost every time they’d sparred, which was every single day for the past month. Dearic started off losing, but slowly grew stronger and more practiced. He adapted to the axe. It felt brutish, but swinging it made him feel as if he’d developed some form of new power. He needed to be strong to make up for his shortcomings. He’d lost enough companions, and he didn’t want to lose any more of them. He figured if he grew stronger that would help keep it from happening again.

  The dwarf charged at him again, swinging his axe across at knee level. Dearic shifted to be protected by his shield, but the attack was only a ruse. Instead, Shakrin suddenly spun and slammed his shield against the tower shield, sending Dearic tumbling backwards. The tower shield caught on the stone and pulled from his grip, leaving him with nothing but the axe for defense.

  “You still have much to learn,” Shakrin said. “Holding onto your shield is more important than holding onto the axe.”

  That didn’t make sense to Dearic, but he figured that there was some technique the dwarves had developed which allowed them to fight with nothing but a shield. It wouldn’t surprise him. They almost all carried one.

  “I disagree, but I suppose we will find out, won’t we?”

  The dwarf seemed to smirk, but it was hard to tell with all of the facial hair hiding his features. With dwarves, unless it was a female dwarf, it was nigh impossible to read them. He’d had more than one strange altercation that had led off with him misinterpreting the dwarf’s emotions.

  Shakrin struck while he was thinking, but he stepped out of the way, then forward, and slammed his axe into the dwarf’s shield with two hands. It was strength enough to push the much shorter being backwards, and leave the dwarf rolling his shoulder. Someone clapped amongst the onlookers, but he didn’t turn to see who it was. This was a fight that he had to treat as real or he’d be beaten senseless.

  “Try harder, Shakrin,” he said, smirking. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  The dwarf growled, and charged forward in a whirlwind of motion that sent Dearic back peddling, his axe barely keeping the other at bay. Blunted weapons or not, he didn’t want to get hit. There was a cool fury to the way that Shakrin attacked him. It isn’t berserker speed, and yet his strikes are so fast I can barely keep up! He narrowly avoided getting clubbed in the head by lifting his axe to catch Shakrin’s.

  The dwarf responded by slamming his shield into Dearic’s middle, causing the wind to rush out from his lungs so swiftly that he thought his insides had suddenly fallen apart. He felt hollow and full at the same time as he slumped downward, hands holding his stomach and chest as he tried to grab a breath of air.

  “As I said, your shield is more important than your axe,” Shakrin said as he moved to stand in front of Dearic, shield mere inches away from bringing it all to an end, and axe poised to do so. “You should go home, as I’ve been telling you. There is nothing here for you. Leave this place and never come back. Humans have no business here.”

  Dearic sucked in a gulp of air before letting it out again. “No,” he said, the sound not more than a wheeze slipping through still air. He’d barely gotten it out, and it hurt at that.

  The dwarf grinned. Now he was aware that the pain was about to intensify, and yet he felt something welling up within him that he hadn’t felt before. It was raw, intense and powerful. The axe came down, and Dearic lifted his axe in an attempt to catch it, but instead there was a sudden, intense light before his eyes.

  With the light came a smoldering explosion of sound that rattled his teeth but otherwise left him unharmed. His ears were buzzing. Shakrin wasn’t as well off. Whatever had happened, it had sent the dwarf flying across the room to slam into one of the support pillars with enough force that it cracked. A tremble rolled through the room, but nothing fell and all stilled a few moments later. There was, for a few brief seconds, no sound.

  Then
chaos reigned as the dwarves who had been watching rushed into the room. Many went towards where Shakrin had fallen. Many others circled around Dearic, drawing their weapons on him. There was no mistaking the emotion on their faces this time. They were angry. He’d hurt one of their own. They didn’t like that.

  I did hurt him, didn’t I? I did that. Whatever just happened, I made it happen. Suddenly he felt very much like the villain these dwarves now thought he was. Shakrin was seriously injured and it was his fault. He didn’t know how he’d done it, but apparently he’d awoken that side of him he’d never seen before, the one Aiyana had told him about. Now it was making him out to be like his uncle rather than his father.

  The dwarves started advancing on him, backing him towards a corner of the room. He didn’t lift his weapon in defense, but he did back away. Whatever they were going to do, he wouldn’t fight it. He probably deserved it. Not just for Shakrin, but for all of the others that he’d gotten killed or injured. Wasn’t as if he hadn’t already died inside for the loss of Macullo.

  A voice boomed through the room. “That is enough!”

  Dearic recognized the source of the voice. It belonged to the Hallmaster himself; Shakrin’s uncle. Dwemorin Ironshield stood at the entrance to the hall, resplendent in full armor that was dulled to not shine in any light; a trick so that any light within a dark space, or a light one, wouldn’t give him away. Dearic didn’t understand why a dwarf would care anything about stealth, but that seemed to be the aim.

  “Stand down immediately. Back away from him,” Dwemorin commanded as he looked at the dwarves around Dearic. None questioned him, and all moved away. The Hallmaster turned his attention to those around his nephew. “Take Shakrin to the pool immediately. He will need time to soak. Everyone else is to leave the room at once.”

  No one questioned the Hallmaster. Dearic didn’t move as he watched the dwarves file out of the room. Part of him was glad that Dwemorin commanded so much respect from his fellow dwarves because if he hadn’t, he was certain he would be dead.

  When they were alone, the Hallmaster walked over to inspect the damage to the stone pillar. He didn’t immediately say anything. The silence lasted long enough that Dearic began to shift back and forth before he leaned down to set his blunted axe upon the floor. There was no point in carrying the weapon around now that he’d done the damage he had.

  “Do you know what you did?”

  The words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Dwemorin wasn’t facing him, despite speaking to him.

  “No,” Dearic said at first. “And yes.”

  “Explain.”

  He suddenly felt like he was back in Brivan, talking to his old Ardour teacher, Jarome. The tone that the elder dwarf spoke with was enough to tell Dearic that what had happened was no mystery. The questions were purely for teaching him, and the answers weren’t going to matter much.

  “I know what I did was Magic, and I know I did it,” he said, still not moving from where he stood. “What I don’t know is how I did it.”

  “Nor do I. You are correct that what you did was Magic. We don’t practice Magic here, but through years of confrontations with the elves, and trade with the humans of the Vale, we’ve come to a distinct understanding of its workings. What you have done is not possible.”

  “Then how did I do it? What did I do?”

  The dwarf finally turned to look at him, watching him from across the hall. It felt like he was being burned by the fire of a thousand suns. His left hand slid to rub his arm, but he didn’t look away from the dwarf. If he looked away, then he was conceding weakness to the dwarf. He had to be strong. He had to learn.

  “Magic requires an incantation to cast it. While it is present in every living being, save those of Brivan, it cannot simply be accessed,” Dwemorin said, waving a hand through the air. “I cannot make things happen by simple movement and thought. Magic is focused by spoken word. What you did was impossible because you didn’t speak. You didn’t focus the Magic within you, it simply came out.

  “It is impossible, and yet it happened. It makes little sense, but I know what I saw, and thus it is no longer impossible. You are the first, and possibly the last, of a breed this realm has never seen. If you can use Magic without talking then you may actually be capable of beating your Uncle. His Magic takes incantations where you can cast instantly. It’s an advantage for you.”

  Dearic didn’t fully understand what he was being told. On one hand there was the revelation that he had done something that was thought impossible to do. On the other, there was the fact that he was likely the only one who could do it. If this is real, then I should be able to do other things. Maybe there’s a chance I’m stronger than I ever knew. Aiyana may have been right about me after all.

  “Let’s test it,” he said, lifting his hand and gesturing to the center of the room.

  As he shifted, his mind focused on what he wanted to happen, and all of the lights within the room suddenly winked out, replaced by a ball of electrical energy that floated in the center of the room, providing even greater light than the artificial light sources had. He’d nearly created a new sun, but without the severe heat. It floated in the air, a roiling mass of energy. He was so enthralled by it that he didn’t notice Dwemorin was moving over closer to him. It wasn’t until the dwarf was right beside him, offering a piece of cloth, that he noticed him.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” he said, holding the cloth for Dearic to take. “It is impressive, to say the least. I have seen great feats of Magic performed in battle, but always by battlemages who stood and weaved their incantations or rituals from behind the battle lines. You could be a true battlemage, capable of casting and fighting at the same time.”

  Dearic took the cloth and wiped his nose, and then looked back at the ball of light, watching it as it floated. If what Dwemorin said was true, then he’d missed out on saving a lot of people so far in his life. It also meant that he could do more in the future, and that was what he intended to do. More. He wasn’t going to let people just die for no reason. Not anymore. He was going to bring this whole mess to a conclusion.

  Something was bothering him, though. If he had all of this power, what were the negative side effects going to be? Power didn’t just come from out of nowhere and grant someone the status of a god. There was only one God, the Almighty himself, and if God had created Magic, which he clearly had, then he wouldn’t make it without limitations, even for someone who didn’t have the normal inhibition of having to use spells.

  Looking to the side, he focused his attention on Dwemorin before speaking. “If I have this ability, there must be some consequence of it. Magic doesn’t exist so that one person can be all powerful. If incantations are the normal limiting factor of Magic, and I don’t have that limiter, then I must have a different one.”

  The dwarf motioned to his nose. “That could be part of it.”

  For a while, Dwemorin didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, hands now clasped behind his back, watching the ball of light the same way that Dearic was. For some reason, that bugged him.

  They stood there for so long that people started to return, expecting the room to be completely empty by now. Dearic and Dwemorin were still standing there, watching the ball of light. The others stopped to stare at it as well. Magic wasn’t common within dwarven halls, so it was no surprise that it made them curious when it did show itself. It really just made Dearic nervous.

  Supporting the sphere wasn’t a problem because he wasn’t supporting it. Once created, it maintained itself. The fact that it was becoming a spectacle was bringing all of the previous attention back to him, however. He thought about what he wanted to happen, and the sphere broke into several smaller lights which flew like lightning throughout the room to take purchase within the previously lit lights. It was this that prompted Dwemorin to finally speak again.

  “I can’t offer you any deep knowledge on the subject for two reasons,” Dwemorin said. “For one, there
has never been anyone that can do what you do. Secondly, we don’t know a lot about Magic here because our Magic is our crafting and fighting ability, not conjuring tricks.”

  Tricks? Now they’re tricks? He just said he’d seen it used in battle. If that is true, he’s seen Magic kill. How is that a trick? A frown grew on his face as the dwarf turned to start walking towards the entrance to the room, where people had been gathering, but were now dispersing since the light show was over.

  “Then how do I find out what my limitations are if you don’t know? Who does know?” he called after the departing figure.

  “Probably no one since, as I said, no one has ever been like you. You’ll just have to wait and figure out things on your own. That’s how discovery works. Have a good evening,” Dwemorin said before he disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

  It was hard to decide what to make of what Dwemorin said. Either I take it at face value that he doesn’t know, or he does know and doesn’t want to tell me. It’s hard to tell whether anyone here likes me aside from Fanan, but I haven’t seen much of her lately because her father sent her away. Shaking his head, he went to collect the tower shield from where he’d lost it, and then left the room.

  He hadn’t gone far before he became aware of the fact that someone was following him. The footsteps stopped every time he did. After a few halls worth of the stop and go, he stopped and turned around, finding himself looking at a female dwarf that he hadn’t seen before. She had dark hair that flowed down her back, and looked like she could break him in two, but somehow managed to maintain an air of delicateness. How a dwarf could be delicate was beyond him.

  “Going my way?” she asked, grinning at him.

  Something about her grin bothered him, but he forced himself to relax. She was just flirting. He’d expect that from Fanan, but he didn’t think there were any other weird dwarves in Pabila.