Before the temperature dropped and chilled the porch, Verdant rose and reentered the hospital. The dutiful priest performed his usual responsibilities, checking in on the first floor’s patients. He spent a few minutes with each of them, seeing to their needs. At times, when healing wasn’t enough, all he could offer was comfort.
Tessa met him at the bottom of the stairs. The young priestess had already completed her assignments.
“Please tell Shyla I will take the rounds tonight,” he said.
“Can’t sleep again?” she asked. She tilted her head to the side—her usual look of offered sympathy, the very same she gave her patients.
“Too much work, Tessa,” he replied with a worn smile.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. Light be with you.”
“And you as well,” she said. She wrapped herself up in an oversized cloak and left, heading back to the priestess’s quarters in the Creator’s chapel.
Verdant sighed. Persistent still, Shyla hadn’t given up in her quest for a public denouncement of Dain. More disturbingly, she continued to mistake Verdant’s professionalism and politeness for some form of romantic interest. He always locked his door when she worked the night rounds, trying to hold her at bay.
If the woman spent more of her idle time on her healing instead of stalking me, the hospital would be out of patients in a week.
Verdant entered his office. He began clearing out the haphazard stacks of paperwork scattered around his desk. Then he sat down to complete his daily ledgers before moving on to a long-dreaded correspondence. The letter to Neive had waited far too long. He had avoided it after finding the arrowpoints and put it well out of his mind. He needed to explain why he still hadn’t delivered Maib’s ashes. How would he tell her that her husband’s killers still hadn’t been identified? Maib had been a soldier. Soldiers fought wars against defined enemies. On a battlefield, it should have been easy to say who had killed him, but while the Golden told one story, the arrowheads told a different one.
In the end, he remained vague. Neive would see through it and understand that he had left much out. Once the survivor woke and gave a clearer account of what happened, he could send a second message and better explain the situation.
Verdant had finished the letter and was about to seal it with thick, maroon wax when a knock at the door made him raise his head from his task. He took up a small mace hidden in his top desk drawer before answering.
“Yes?” he asked.
“It’s Razel,” a gruff voice replied.
“Please come in, it isn’t locked,” Verdant said. He set the weapon down and closed the drawer.
Verdant had been surprised when Drogan had sent the moody dwarf as one of the guards. Skilled dwarven miners were always in high demand, and having Razel watch over a wounded man would cost the Lucky Seven dearly in lost production. When asked, Drogan told him the dwarf had started too many fights with his fellows and needed to cool off before returning underground.
The door swung open wide and the stocky dwarf plopped into a chair opposite Verdant at the newly-cleared desk. He leaned his battle hammer against the wall. A shortsword hung at his waist.
“Got time for a game?”
“I really should get some sleep, Razel. I have a lot on my plate tomorrow.”
“Bah, you just don’t want to lose to me again, Priest.”
“Lose…again? Who won the last three matches?” Verdant asked, quirking an eyebrow at the dwarf.
“I won the first two. And I’m feeling good tonight. No way you’ll win again,” Razel replied gruffly.
Verdant shrugged. “Very well, since you are feeling good, I won’t deny you an opportunity, my friend.” He opened a drawer to his left and withdrew a rectangular wooden box. Made of yellow cedar, it had a pleasant aroma that drifted around the room. He lifted the lid’s gold latch and poured black and white game pieces onto the desktop.
“I’ll be black again this time. Suits my character better, don’t you think?” Razel teased. The dwarf sorted out a handful of black pieces.
“Your words, not mine,” Verdant said. “I do worry for your soul, though. You should attend our fellowship and let the Light guard it in the afterlife.”
“Would the fat priestess be there?”
“You know the answer to that.”
Razel shifted in his chair. “My soul is fine. We dwarves have our own gods and our own ways of worship. Besides, your fat lady friend might try to hex me or somesuch. Now, that young one, Tessa. She’s quite the picture. Next time you send someone out to the Lucky Seven, send her. I’ve a mind to take her over my knee and spank her good, even if she hasn’t been naughty. I promise she’d enjoy it.”
The priest opened the box fully and flipped it over to reveal the square checkered playing board. Over the last few weeks, he had learned to ignore Razel’s crude talk.
Both players set their pieces into neat rows, and Verdant began the match by advancing a pawn two squares. The dwarf stroked his beard for a bit, then countered with a pawn of his own. The game progressed turn by turn, each man trying to gain control of the board.
“Who’s your partner tonight?” Verdant asked.
“Yancy. Man’s worthless. He’s always falling asleep and snores loud enough to wake the dead. Also, he can’t make a decent cup of coffee to save his life.”
“Mhmm,” Verdant said, only half-listening, considering his next move. If he could get his knight to the center, he might be able to take Razel’s queen. His knight advanced and the dwarf countered with his rook.
The game moved quickly. Razel tended to play aggressively while Verdant favored a more cautious, defensive approach. The dwarf’s black pieces had claimed the board’s center, but Verdant’s white controlled large portions of the board’s borders and he had kept his pieces grouped together, where they were stronger. He now considered how best to isolate the black king from his support.
“And where is Yancy now?” Verdant asked. His queen moved three squares to the left of the dwarf’s king.
“Well, I don’t hear him snoring. He might be snuggled up with your young healer in one of the beds. Putting the old springs to work,” Razel said, chuckling. Staring at the board before him, the dwarf slowly stroked his reddish beard. The assortment of metallic beads woven in it jingled with each tug. Verdant had discovered, early on, that the dwarf worked the beard faster as he grew more concerned about his pieces.
“He doesn’t really seem like Tessa’s type.”
“Oh, she would have to be pretty desperate and lonely to choose Yancy, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s Shyla he’s snuggling up to. Though I thought she was perhaps more interested in a holy priest like yourself for company,” Razel spoke conversationally, but his eyes were alight with mischief. He retreated a bishop, protecting his king.
“You know, I once wondered if she was part dwarf, what with all those hairs on her chin, but she’s much too tall,” Verdant said. He had also learned, early on, that letting Razel’s verbal jabs get to him was a mistake, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. Razel knew all of this of course. The dwarf possessed a great talent for getting under people’s skin.
“Yes, yes, too tall for a dwarf. Perfect for a skinny little holy man to cuddle up with on the cold nights we get here in the winters, though, eh, Verdant?” Razel said, smiling wickedly and leaning forward. “I’ll bet she’d love to run her fingers through that curly hair of yours. A plump woman like her would keep you warm all night.” He moved his bishop to block Verdant’s queen.
“I have to make the rounds. I’ll trust your dwarven honor while I’m gone,” Verdant said. He advanced a rook forward.
“Dwarven honor is as good as gold,” Razel said without looking, his attention once more focused on the board. The dwarf worked his beard quicker now, searching for a way to free his trapped pieces.
Shaking his head, the priest rose and checked the patients on the top floor. He change
d the bandages for two wounded men and refilled their vases with spring water. Verdant then descended the stairs and worked his way around the room, examining the patients each in turn. He noticed that the bed back in the farthest corner was occupied. There hadn’t been anyone in it earlier. Curious, he approached the cot to see who the forgotten patient was. He pulled back the blanket from over the patient’s head.
Yancy, it appeared, had fallen asleep on the cot. Amused at the accuracy of Razel’s prediction, Verdant left the blanket pulled down at the man’s neck and turned back toward the stairs.
At the second step he remembered the dwarf’s complaint about Yancy’s constant snoring.
He hadn’t even been able to hear the man in the cot’s breathing.
Verdant ran back to the bed and checked for the sleeping guard’s pulse.
“Razel!”
He ran toward the stairs. The distinct ring of steel meeting steel rang out as he cleared the top step. His office door stood open wide, and inside he glimpsed Razel fighting with a golden elf wrapped in dark clothing. The elf moved quickly, wielding a pair of shortswords, striking from all directions at the dwarf. Razel deflected the killing blows with his own sword and battle hammer, but already bled from a dozen small cuts on his shoulders and forearms.
Verdant had never seen a fight before, much less involved himself in one. For a moment, he felt nothing but the vice-like grip of panic. What should he do? His friend needed his help. He had to act before the elf killed him.
Neither combatant saw him as he began a spell to stun the elf, wanting to capture and question him. Here would be conclusive proof the mine operators couldn’t ignore. Just a heartbeat before completing his cast, the priest was knocked soundly from behind.
Verdant fell across one of the upstairs patients and awkwardly rolled left, avoiding a wicked downward slice from a second elf who appeared from out of the shadows. The startled patient woke just long enough to take the elf’s sword across his stomach. His agonized scream roused many of the hospital’s other wounded.
Verdant cast a quick armoring spell on himself, then sent a blast of raw Light into his attacker. Unprepared, the elf staggered back toward the open stairs. Verdant followed up with a second spellstrike, but the elf deflected it by some unknown means.
The priest knew he was no hand-to-hand fighter, and now he feared that his spells would be blocked. In a fit of sudden desperation, he threw himself at the assassin, yelling at the top of his lungs. There was no need for stealth now. The charge startled the elf and he couldn’t get his sword up into position fast enough. He took Verdant’s shoulder mid-chest. Both fell back into the stairwell. The pair tumbled, over and over, until stopping at the bottom.
Verdant recovered quickly, although his attacker didn’t stir. The elf’s neck hung at an odd angle—broken, and he knew how lucky he was to have his own intact.
A crash sounded from overhead. Razel. He needed to help the dwarf before he was overwhelmed. Verdant said a quick thanks to the Light and climbed over the elf’s limp body to aid the miner. He heard the clash of steel ring out again, and knew the dwarf continued to fight.
On the upper floor two patients had rolled free of their beds and were crawling toward the office. What help they planned on offering, he could only guess at.
This time, when he glimpsed inside the office, he saw Razel pinned beneath the elf’s swords. Only the warhammer stopped the wicked twin blades from reaching their destination. Verdant didn’t bother with a large or complicated spellcasting, instead hammering the elf with a direct pulse of Light. His aim flew true and the elf rocked back off the dwarf. The assassin dropped one of his deadly swords. It rattled to the office floor.
Razel tried to gain the advantage by swinging his heavy hammer at his attacker’s head, but the quick elf ducked the dwarf’s strike, drawing and then deftly throwing a dagger at Verdant.
The priest jerked to the side, but the spinning blade still buried itself deep into his shoulder. He fell to the floor, clutching at the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Pain rolled in fiery waves from his arm. He sensed exotic poisons pulsing their way through his bloodstream and began casting healing spells on himself to stave off their lethal effects.
Now he could only watch and pray.
Free again to focus on the dwarf, the golden elf took another quick swipe with his sword and Razel barely raised his hammer in time. The dwarf shoved the hammer’s head down. The assassin tried to step back and withdraw his sword from beneath the heavy warhammer, but Razel pinned the elf’s foot with his own boot. From the floor, Verdant saw Razel reach down and seize a small black object and then whip it forward, viciously driving it into the elf’s side. The assassin slumped to protect his ribs, and the dwarf pounded him repeatedly in the temple with the unknown object. The golden elf dropped at last, blood seeping from his head, and Verdant saw one of the black chess pieces embedded in the elf’s skull.
“Your move, Priest,” Razel panted.
King Elam rode tall and proud atop a white stallion. He wore no crown or armor, preferring lighter cloth and leather garments for traveling. The armor would come when he met his enemies, when he destroyed them on the field and then drove them from his lands.
This would be Elam’s final season of war. His last great victory. He felt age in his bones. He had grown old—too old to be leading armies in battle. Each time he tried to put such thoughts from his mind, pain flared up in sharp spikes that ran the length of his back to remind him. Too many miles in the saddle, he wasn’t used to riding anymore. War and glory belonged to the young.
Gallad guided his own stallion at Elam’s left. Strong, healthy, confident, the prince was a source of pride for the old king. Many battles and victories waited in his son’s future, Elam was certain. The kingdom would be secure in his son’s capable hands.
On this campaign, however—Elam’s last—he would personally lead the final effort to destroy the wood elves. They were his enemies first, and it was only fitting that he finish them in the glorious battle that was sure to come. After consolidating the enchanted lands, Gallad would then be able to focus all his efforts on the orcs. Galena’s rich mines had accepted his offer to transport their gold and would soon provide great wealth for the Golden. Wealth that would strengthen his people, wealth that would allow them to buy even better armaments and weapons and, starved of their stolen gold, the orcs would fall quickly.
With the orc threat removed, the Golden could demand any price they desired for transporting Galena’s riches, assuming they let the humans continue mining at all. Elam had contemplated seizing the mines for his people and then hiring dwarves or using slave labor to dig the valley’s riches for themselves. Why keep only a small fee for the gold’s transport when he could take it all? Well, perhaps after Gallad exterminated the orcs.
Gallad…Elam couldn’t believe he had ever doubted his son. With the child’s death the dark stain on their honor would be cleansed, and once the valley was wholly theirs, Gallad would lead his elven nation to a prosperous rebirth. In the next few days, they would sow the seeds of that rebirth together. Elam glanced over at his son and envied him.
What a glorious future he will build.
When they returned to Mirr, Elam would find a proper wife for him. Being a father would suit Gallad. He needed to find a husband for Koren as well. That might prove the more difficult.
Keeping her in the capital had taken days of arguing. Elam had told her it was her royal duty to remain behind in Mirr to lead the people, but his words had had no effect. Finally, he had convinced her to stay by threatening to kill Haldrin’s murderer on sight, denying her the pleasure of the human’s torture. Koren had crossed her arms and stormed out of his chambers afterward and the matter seemed settled. He trusted her, but as a precaution left Gashan with strict orders to keep her in the capital by any means necessary.
Yesterday, Blythe’s young mage led them to the place where his son’s murderer had reentered the elvenlands. The Hi
gh Mage’s greater ability and skill allowed him to track the murderer further on, into the lands masked by wood elf spells. The trail led Blythe west and south for more than a mile before he stopped and placed a powerful enchantment on the ground, and then the high mage and his escorts had headed straight for the northern border to link up with the army’s main host.
Three lesser mages had been able to lead the army back to the marking enchantment. He used his spells to find the mark while his companions maintained powerful shielding spells to prevent any wood elf attack from reaching them. After finding Blythe’s enchantment, the lead mage held the killer’s discarded arrows and began tracking him into the deeper forests.
Trailing less than ten yards behind the mages, a dozen sharp-eyed scouts watched the greenery for signs of the enemy. Elam knew the wood elves would soon learn of his army. They knew their homeland well and could easily outpace the army, or remain hidden at will. They would be following its movements now. An ambush was likely. Elam expected them to hit the trackers first. They would try taking the human’s quiver. That’s what he would do. But if a lurking enemy broke cover anywhere near them, the scouts could send a dozen arrows in an instant.
The remainder of his forces followed along behind the scouts, almost a hundred yards back. Elam had brought two thirds of his standing army for the expedition. Unlike the armies he’d sent south years before, he had no intention of disappearing into the forest. Eight thousand infantry made up the bulk of his troops, and each marching elf bore an iron shield and thick plate armor for protection. Each also carried an eight-foot steel-tipped spear and wore a sword around the waist. If the wood elves stood to fight, two thousand archers would provide ranged support and a thousand heavy cavalry knights would act as shock troops. A hundred of Blythe’s mages were at his disposal as well. These were the army’s true strength. With so many spellcasters, Elam could incinerate large swaths of forest and any army that was sheltered within.
Success seemed assured, though he desperately wished his troops could travel faster. The dense undergrowth limited their pace to less than ten miles per day.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 19