Tosch nudged his nose into my head, letting out a huff of breath that rustled my hair.
"It's not nearly as light as Ellia's," I responded.
He blew more hot smelly air until I laughed. Then I pushed him away, but he only brought his head back around. I put a hand on his nose and met his eyes; the both of them were growing silver with the darkness. I went very still and everything went very quiet. "You ready then, boy?" I asked.
He didn't respond, but his gaze was calm and constant, and his stance was steady. It was enough. I let my hand fall from his nose, then moved to his side. It wouldn't take us long to be back in the city.
ELLIA:
"So, what do you think, Princess Ellia?... Ellia?"
I blinked, and looked back down at Minstrel. "Hmm, what was that?"
"About the Timble-pods from Bratick? Do you think they really were invisible, or do you think their skin was just green to match their field-lands?" The face of my gnome-friend was perfectly strict, framed by his fair hair and half the size it should be as was the rest of him. He was well-lit by the fire in front of us. It was a Yanartian fire, that came up through an empty hole, with rock all about it. There were many more surrounding us, to say nothing of the massive orange-lit volcanic cave at our back.
We were on the summit at the top of Yanartas. There were others about, but not close to us. Minstrel and I had travelled up here just ourselves today, almost as soon as he'd returned from Byako. Both of us had highly fancied the idea of peace and quiet, and perfect as he was, he hadn't yet even mentioned marriage or unions of anything of the sort.
Luffie and the other chimera flew about around us, or in the caves, creating a perpetual hush of wind that made up for the lack of waves. The stars blinked furiously bright, and it was them I'd been trapped watching that had distracted me from Minstrel's question, but now I considered it dutifully.
"Well, you said the grass was particularly high in those parts...but I have to wonder what would happen in the wintertime. Certainly it would get cold enough to turn the colors, or at worst it could snow, and then the green Timble-pods would stand out even brighter. No, I think that they must have truly been invisible... Maybe for a species underground..."
"Like the Smites," he went on.
"Yes. Something like that. They could stay brown or orange and do well hiding all year round."
He pressed his lips and nodded.
I watched him sigh in his high-pitched sing-song tone and wanted to pretend that I didn't feel disconcerted. Perhaps it was Amalia, perhaps it was the cold. I couldn't shake the sense.
"Did you write any new songs in Byako?" I asked.
"Mm... no." He chuckled in his easy way. "I sang many, but my inspiration lately seems to be at a halt. The ebbs and flows of creation, I suppose."
"You've written so many songs... I think that even if you stopped now, you would have done more with your skill than any minstrel before you."
He held his small hands to the fire. "Well, we will do what we must, won't we?"
"If we're brave... You say that so easily because you're brave."
"I have brave friends as well."
I looked at him, and we shared a smile. I wrapped my arms around my knees and looked up at the sky. The stars were so bright that I thought of Shaundakul. And even though the summit was warm even from within the rocks, the wind was cold, and it reminded me even more of my high mountain home.
"Could you tell a story?" I asked Minstrel, thinking of the days when Scholar Padril told my myths while we watched the sky out by the old ruins. "Not a rhyming one, one of your longer tales?"
"Hmm, shall it be one about the granted? Or of the east or the west?"
"Tell me one of your favorites," I said, "if you haven't already."
He settled back onto his hands, looking at the stars as I did. "Ah. That would be... a cherished one of my home-land, I think."
"Gilgatrox?"
Minstrel nodded. "Sweet land of yellow valleys, mountains, streams. I should like to return once Akadia is destroyed. If only to taste a properly grown squash. There's nothing like the vegetable gardens of Gilgatrox.... But to the tale, my mother used to tell it to me in the same breath that she warned me not to hope too hard to become a minstrel. It had quite the opposite affect. Its hero is a very small one, you see."
I looked at him, but he already had his distant gaze that meant he wouldn't return to me as I knew him until his recitation was complete. So I turned back to the stars and let his voice paint a picture in my mind.
"There was a gnome named Sigurd. He was born without a father or knowledge of who his father might be, but left with a sword as an heirloom. It was of great make and worth, set with jewels and runed with enchantments. Sadly it was broken, but it convinced him that his father must have been either a great king or a great treasure-hunter, so once Sigurd was of age, he left his home and roamed the lands as an adventurer. At first he explored the gnomish kingdoms for a man that might be his father, but finding none, he committed to the life of a treasure-hunter. He fought a great many legends for their hordes. A dragon that lived on a high mountain, guarding piles of gold. Frost giants that guarded an axe made of pure crystal. Creatures that swam and brought him pearls and taught him to breathe as they did underwater.
"He would sell much of his loot to kings and queens for gold, or trade for finer prizes, until he had amassed not only a legendary name, but the greatest treasures of the kingdoms: Seeds, that promised a field's worth of harvest as from just one planting. A satchel, that turned rocks to precious gems when they were slipped inside. A handkerchief, that kept its bearer from aging so long as they kept it to their skin. With these in hand, he returned to his homeland of Gilgatrox. His deeds provided him renown, and his treasures kept him comfortable; for many years he lived in peace. Then the frost giants—whose mountains of Garosh stood close to Gilgatrox—got word that the great treasure-hunter had settled down. They were still fraught with rage over the axe he had stolen from them, and so they came to him and demanded that he return it and that it he did not, they would set frost to the fields of Gilgatrox and invade and destroy what survived of the gnomes. The Frost Giants of Garosh were of course great in size and with terrible powers to control the elements. Sigurd would have gladly returned to them their crystal axe but he had traded it long ago in a game of tricks to the fire-giants: upon entering their mountain it had melted away. Sigurd tried to explain this to the Frost Giants and offered the treasures he had in return but they wanted nothing of them.
"So the night before they were to invade, Sigurd took with him his three treasures and the shards of his father's sword, and he entered into the mountain of the frost giants in secret. It would have been impossible for any normal man; the Frost Giants were great and they were many, and Garosh was a mighty fortress. But Sigurd was so small that he was able to slip by them unobserved. He went to the heart of their mountain, where the ice was coldest and most thick and he put the shards of his father's sword into the ice. Then he struck them with a blacksmith's hammer so that the enchantments that protected the shards were unleashed. They split the ice and then the mountain. It crumbled down on top of Sigurd, on top of the Frost Giants, and their great tunnels. The ice of Gorosh melted after that and it carried with it the essence of Sigurd's treasures, watering the lands of Gilgatrox with long life from the handkerchief, and beauty from the gem-bag, and fertile earth from his seeds. And so the gnomish lands have remained." Minstrel's voice lost its distant tone near the end.
"My mother liked to say it warned of the dangers of leaving Gilgatrox, but I always thought, if he hadn't, then wouldn't it have been less wondrous a life for the gnomes after him?"
I nodded agreement and thought it my own mind that there were many lessons in the tale.
"I like that story, Minstrel," I said.
But then that was all I could seem to speak about it.
We slept up on the mountain that night.
Chapter Five
CYRIC:
This Akadian night was the same as always. The lower districts were dark and sleeping. The palace district filled itself and the rest of the city with the sounds of running celebration: music, drinking, and calls, pouring from the barracks and banquet halls that were still very much in use. Torches drowned out the blackness of the sky. Outside the city smoke rose up the behemoths' cavern, silent except for the hissing river of flames and the shoveling of coal into furnaces.
The tunnels below the city were running equal to the palace district. Miners hammered away with their picks. Diggers hulled loose earth into wagons or sacks. Soldiers worked as overseers.
I walked along a tunnel not far outside one of these mining chambers. The way was dim, scattered in and out with torches; but though it was hard to see, I didn't take one for myself. I kept my head down and when a group of soldiers came up along in my direction, I ducked into another tunnel and took an alternate route.
It was alright if I was seen. I wasn't wearing my lieutenant's armor and wouldn't be easily recognized, but for now it was better safe than sorry; I needed no extra attention. I crept another few tunnels before I came into the large mining chamber. It was crowded with workers and soldiers—not as many as occupied it in the daytime. Either way, they paid me little attention as I snaked around its edge. I came to a small opening in the wall; it led to a narrow passage; there was a single torch at the end of it. Glancing back into the cavern to make sure that I wasn't being watched, I slipped into the passage. As I walked along it, I drew my knife from its hilt and tucked it behind me, into my belt at my back. Then I rounded the final corner to face two guards.
They flanked a large metal door and one had to nudge the other awake when he saw me.
"Here you, this spot's off limits." He put his hand to his sword hilt.
The second guard shifted awake and matched the other's stance.
I didn't slow my approach.
"Did, you heard me? I said this place is restricted. Stand off, or you'll be run through." His eyes widened and he pulled his sword, but only in time to meet my own. I disarmed him in one hard stroke, then bashed his head with my hilt. The second guard paused to gawk, then slashed down at me with his blade. I blocked it with mine, then pulled my knife and touched it to his throat. "Drop the sword," I said. He hesitated. I edged my knife closer.
He let the sword fall, but before it could clash to the ground I caught it on my foot, then I dropped it down silently. Next, I turned the guard around in my grip—so that his back was facing me and my arm was craned around him to hold the knife. I sheathed my sword in the same movement. His pulse was racing, and from the narrow of recognition I'd seen before, I thought he was about as confused as he was terrified.
"You have the keys?" I asked him.
He opened his mouth. I pressed my blade closer before he could speak—not wanting calls for help to play a role in our exchange.
He swallowed and shook his head, nodding down to the fallen guard.
"Get them then," I ordered. If he'd considered using the opportunity to try and break free, when I kept my knife to his neck, he gave it up. He pulled the keys from his partner's pocket, then straightened back up. Slowly, he put them to the door lock, shaking so much that they rattled against the metal.
"Steady soldier. I'm not going to kill you if I don't have to."
It didn't do much for relaxing him, but he eventually got the job done. At my prodding, he put his hand to the door and pushed it inwards.
I waited until I saw a dark shadow rise up from the floor—and then I knocked out the guard in front of me.
The man inside the cell, stepped instantly into the light of the torch. He had silvering brown hair, a stern face, and solid build that hadn't been wasted by months underground. He looked down at the two fallen guards. "Gags then?" he guessed.
I pulled two strips of cloth from my back pocket and tossed one to him, then tucked my knife away and bent down to gag the first guard. "I trained this one myself," I said conversationally.
"You must have held back?" He wrapped the second guard, eyeing mine with a frown that said he hadn't been impressed with the length of the fight. We both hauled the men into the cell.
"I never held back in training," I replied. "He wasn't ever that good with a blade. He did much better with hand-to-hand combat."
"Perhaps he should have stuck to that then." The prisoner dropped the body onto the cell floor, then stood upright, dusting his hands off. "Would it have helped him?" he asked.
I was already shaking my head. He quirked a smile. I took the cord of rope I had on my belt and cut a length of it, then tossed it at the prisoner. He caught it last-second, looking between it, me, and the bodies. The obvious appreciation in his expression reminded me of his penchant for good planning (yeah, I was a planner now). And this man was Commander Tarful of Akadia. Or at least, he had been. Months ago Molec had stripped him of his title and sentenced him to life underground for conspiring with Karatel. It had all been a lie of course, made up by Lox and pulled off by yours truly. Lucky for both of us-as I'd discovered just a few weeks ago—Tarful wasn't one to hold a grudge.
We finished binding up our men, then Tarful went to a corner of the cell and pulled a loose stone from the floor. He grabbed a small bag from inside it then slung it over his shoulder. I was standing at the doorway, looking to the passage outside.
Tarful came up beside me, a head taller, and looking out as I did, but with a pensive expression. "For a while I thought..."
"That I wouldn't come?" I finished. "That's understandable." I didn't look to see his response. I stepped forward and he shut the door of the cell behind us, twisting the keys and holding them out for me. I waved them off and he tucked them inside his tunic.
I took off down the passage. He was quickly behind me. Once we reached the mining chamber, we slowed, both of us keeping our heads down. Tarful had taken a sword from one of the fallen guards, but he'd hid it inside his tunic, which was a wise choice. The tunnels around these parts weren't particularly watched, but weapons always drew attention, and if he was recognized it would be worse than if I was; better that someone assumed he was a worker and me his escort. As we passed the miners I wondered if he was thinking about the days he'd spent working alongside them. He'd not been sent belowground merely to be locked up, that was only for part of the day, most of the time he'd been chained to work the mines. That was where I'd been able to contact him. Being held in the jails really would have made my life easier, but as it was...
After exiting the mines, we weaved through a maze of tunnels. If soldiers intercepted us, we took a different route or ducked and waited. Unless it wasn't bright, then we just passed. We weren't far along when I stopped us in a side tunnel and dug my own pack out from a hole. It was much larger than Tarful's. As I opened it up to check the contents, I noticed Tarful eyeing me.
"You expected me to carry it down there?" I asked.
"I suppose not."
I nodded pointedly; then threw him a cloak. It was rugged cloth, what a servant might wear. He put it on and pulled the hood up.
"I can smell fresh air that way," he said, glancing down our tunnel. "It's been so long that I can tell."
I pulled my pack over my shoulder. "A little longer and you'll have as much of it as you like."
His brows knit as if he wasn't so sure. It didn't matter, I was. I paused to watch a group of men retreat down a far tunnel, then resumed the path we'd been taking before. The stone around us soon grew blacker. The air was good for nothing; I thought if the behemoths saw a few nights here then they'd be down for sure. As miners vanished, soldiers increased, and when I saw one posted at a tight entryway, I pushed Tarful back into a side route and gave him my bag.
"Wait here then," I said, "You shouldn't have to move, but if you do, make sure to double-back quickly. I won't be long."
He nodded, looking happy enough not to be going on with me. I moved back into the tunnel and straightened my armor then raised
my head level. The first guard I passed, sitting in a chair, kicked his boot out ahead of me without looking up. Stilling the urge to kick back, I waited for him to roll his gaze up—and then he choked on the drink he'd been swallowing.
"Lieutenant," he coughed.
"Keeping a careful post, soldier?"
His eyes widened; he looked straightway between me and his boot; he scuffed stone as he drew it back.
I let my gaze linger long enough to let him know I wasn't pleased, then moved past. I hit a few more like this; most recognized me in the same manner, needing to wait for the firelight to define my face or my hair, since my uniform was so unusual. The form of the guards decreased the further I got and when I finally stopped at a barred gate the man beyond wasn't the best-looking sort.
I knocked on the bars. He jerked around.
"Who's this?" he said.
"Someone not used to answering that."
He backed from the bars to judge me. "Dracla?" he guessed.
My brows went high. "Lieutenant Dracla," I corrected.
He straightened his features frowning, glancing over my armor. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I've just never seen someone of your... you know these are the deep cells?"
"You think I came all the way down here by accident?"
He was at a loss for reply.
I tipped my head casually. "I've come to pick up a prisoner. —Can't you open this gate, yet?"
He fumbled out keys and went about the job. Another guard further in took notice of the commotion and came closer. He recognized me quick enough to bow. There was a torch within, but I didn't like the way I could hardly see anything else. The stone was too black. There were bars behind the guards, passages I could only guess at, and the shuffle of bodies, fit with moans.
Fallen Warrior (Fallen Trilogy book 3) Page 6