by Ron Glick
“That is why I said 'believe', Nathan,” corrected the God. “I am not certain. I did not see the sword, but there is a great disturbance that places a strong suggestion that something of great power has emerged there.”
“You are being vague again,” muttered Nathaniel.
“Please do bear with me,” pleaded the God. “The people there have destroyed a shrine of Galentine, the New Order's God of Honor. They have nearly all branded themselves with the New Order's heresy symbol, the inverted horns. And there is talk in the streets of the return of the Old Gods, though none of us receives tribute from this town.”
Nathaniel considered. “It does seem strange. But nothing speaks to me of being the result of one of the swords surfacing...”
“Nathan, this is all very recent, within the last few days at the latest.”
“It could be coincidence.”
“No coincidence could surely be so precisely timed,” urged Karmel. “And with the priestess headed there as we speak, can we afford to dismiss the possibility?”
Nathaniel considered that. “No,” he grudgingly admitted. “I suppose we cannot.”
“Loafin' on the job now, Nate? Jawin' when there be work ta be done?” Braken's voice startled him from behind. Nathaniel looked over his shoulder to his friend and received a stark image for his effort. The dwarf was easily as disheveled as he was himself, his friend's once proud beard burned and singed beyond repair. “No' that the lady be no' a fine distraction, but there may yet be life un'er all this, if the Gods coul' spare the lux'ry.”
Nathaniel turned his head sharply to see that, indeed, Karmel had reverted to her feminine form when he was not looking. The Goddess bowed her head. “I fear there are not, good dwarf. The butchers were quite thorough.”
Bracken stared open-jawed for a moment before placing his hands upon his hips defiantly. “Wha' a sour thing to be sayin', lass,” grunted the now former innkeep. “I fer one have no' surrendered hope as ye'!”
“Bracken, I think you should take her at her word,” interjected Nathaniel. “She would know better than any.”
“Oh? An' wha' makes her so reli'ble, eh? She a seeress ya have no' chosen to share your knowin' of ta me?” demanded Bracken.
Nathaniel could only sigh. “Bracken, may I introduce Karmel, Goddess of Magic and Chance,” he said, hardly believing the words himself as he said them. How did one introduce a God without feeling foolish? Of course, he believed who she was, just not that anyone else should.
“Oh, tha's rich, Nate!” guffawed the dwarf. “Tha'd be one of them dead Gods, righ'?”
“Not dead, sir dwarf,” said Karmel. “Only absent, by no choice of our own.”
Bracken narrowed his eyes. “Ya truly 'spect me to buy tha'? Nate's always been a bi' gull'ble fer 'is own good, bu' I be a tad more seasoned than tha'. You'll no' be findin' me so easy ta fool, lady.”
Karmel smiled. “Gelfer would be proud of your loyalty, good sir,” she replied, “even if you would not be so ready to believe it so.”
Bracken blanched. “How do ya know tha' name?”
“Though the dwarves have long since forgone the devotion to Gods, if not the belief in some demi-Gods who would pass themselves off as better than their station, still you exist within the mortal realm, and as such are subject to divine knowing.”
Bracken blinked. “She always so vague?” he asked Nathaniel.
“Usually, yes,” acknowledged the man.
Bracken turned back to the Goddess. “You'll 'ave ta do better'n a name, lady,” he said. “If you're so pow'rful, prove it. Restore my home!”
“Oh, sir dwarf,” giggled to Goddess, “you are a trickster at heart! But though I have the power to do as you say, I am bound by covenant not to do so. I may not aid a mortal in wealth or fame beyond what they themselves invest.”
“Fine words,” grumped the dwarf. “Finer 'scuse to 'void the proof.”
Karmel stepped forward to place her hand upon Bracken's shoulder. “Though I may not give you back your home, I can restore something of which you have lost.” As the Goddess spoke, the dwarf's beard, singed and soiled, once again became the full growth it had been before the fire had scarred it. Stepping back, she admired the dwarf. “A fine beard, indeed.”
Bracken's eyes bulged as he felt the beard literally grow back into place, his hands quickly moving to tug at the new growth once Karmel had stepped away. “Wha' do ya think you're doin'?” he grumbled as though in panic. “None fiddles wit' a dwarf's beard, least o' which wit' magic!”
“Would you rather I return it to as it was?” asked the Goddess in amusement.
“Wha', more magic? I be thinkin' not!” Bracken snorted, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Nate, you need ta teach your lady bet'r manners. Seems bein' dead has robbed 'er o' 'er wits!”
“I'm afraid she's well into her habits,” chuckled Nathaniel. “However, if you would like to teach her a lesson...”
“Bah!” scoffed the dwarf. “She's no' my 'sponsibil'ty!”
Nathaniel turned serious. “Bracken, Karmel brings news that I cannot ignore. I have to leave for Scollhaven at first light, after all. I know you need to stay to take care of things here...”
“Fah!” snapped Bracken. “It seems there's nothin' lef' doin' tha' others canna be doin' on their own. The tavern's a complete loss, so all I coul' do was ta poss'bly plan ta rebuild. But at the moment, tha' seems poin'less. 'Sides, the snow would be here 'fore I could get much star'ed, e'en if I ha' the purse ta buy materials. So springtime's as good a time as any fer such plannin'. An' I've given ma word to ya 'ready. Soon's we take care o'... your place...” Bracken stumbled at his words, unable to say what needed to be said.
“Mariabelle has been taken care of,” inserted Karmel, turning to Nathaniel. “The Gods will watch over her, preserve her form in hopes that one day her spirit may be restored.”
Bracken scowled. “So tha's the hook ya got in young Nate,” he nearly snarled. “The man 'as lost 'is wife, so's ya promise him a chance ta have 'er brough' back, an' then he'll dance howe'er ya like. I've seen some common schemes promisin' sim'lar, an' the grift only bein' run by human miscreants. When a God deigns to play at it, though, it adds a truly sick twist, don' i'?”
“Bracken...” started Nathaniel.
“This needs sayin', Nate,” Bracken interrupted. “Ya are one sick ghoul, lady, ta pray 'pon a mere mort'l's despair ta get what ya want. So wha'? Nate's promised his soul? Is tha' the goin' price fer mir'cles in this day 'n' age? An' wha' you be wantin' fer tha, then, eh?”
Karmel did well to cover her anger, but Nathaniel could tell she had been affronted. “Nathan's soul is his own, sir dwarf,” she uttered menacingly. “And I do not take kindly to words accusing me and mine to common soul-bartering as though we were demons! You should think more carefully before you accuse, Sir Helmen!”
Bracken stepped back as though struck. Nathaniel noticed his friend's discomfort and wondered at the name. Helmen? Who was Sir Helmen?
“Do no' speak tha' name,” mumbled Bracken after a moment, though still visibly shaken. “Helmen's dead an' buried, an' bes' lef' tha' way...”
Karmel visibly calmed. “I apologize, good sir. I misspoke. Still, you should not so readily anger a Goddess. A slip of the tongue is but a small measure of what I could do if aroused.”
The Goddess then turned to Nathaniel. “You will find two horses with tack and supplies at your homestead. It is in the general direction you must travel and well enough removed that they will go undiscovered until you may retrieve them. There is some coin amidst the supplies to purchase what you might need along the way.
“Mariabelle has... been taken away, so that you need not face that again as yet. I would suggest riding swiftly so that you might possibly overtake Brea before she reaches Scollhaven. I need not remind you of what may happen if she reaches the sword first.”
“Sword? Wha's this 'bout a sword?” grunted Bracken.
“Nathan will explai
n all that he wishes,” responded Karmel. “Blessed be your trek. We shall be watching over you.” And then Karmel was gone.
“Pow'rful frien's ya been keepin', Nate,” laughed Bracken self-consciously. “Ya sure ya know wha' you're gettin' yerself mucked up wit'?”
“No,” confessed Nathaniel. “But I'm learning.” He paused to look at the lighting in the east. “We'd best be going if we're going to. The day's already begun.”
“I'll be needin' ta leave word quickly and retrieve somethin' first. Gi' me a handspan 'fore leavin' wit'out me!” Bracken trudged out of the rubble to where a couple of men stood talking, calling out to them as he went.
Nathaniel found a relatively stable pile of debris and sat down to wait. Suddenly, he was very tired. And more than from the heavy labor and sleepless night. It finally struck him how alone he now was. His wife was gone, his son taken, and his life destroyed. Now he was taking leave of the only community he had ever called home. And though he would at least have along a good friend, Bracken's companionship could not replace all that he had lost this night.
All because of this game the Gods played amongst themselves. All because they had drafted him into their game without even consulting him first. And now he was expected to put his own life on the line for a group of immortals that the rest of the world thought long since dead and gone. It just did not seem fair to ask so much of a man who had so little to begin with, and so much less now.
It was only a few minutes before Bracken came trudging back, hefting a familiar item upon his shoulder, and carrying an all too familiar satchel at his waist. “All set?” he called.
Nathaniel blinked. “How did those survive all of this?” he gasped.
Bracken turned a deceptively casual look at the great axe, once bright and polished, now dark and smudged. “Ah, this ol' thing?” he said. “Why, Hal'braken be made o' much stern'r stuff'n one might think. Mayhaps I'll tell ya it's story 'long the way.
“As for these,” he added, patting the small satchel hanging from his belt. “Found 'em beneath wha' was left'a the bar. Jus' plain dumb luck, tha...” The dwarf shrugged, his shoulders barely moving upwards against the sides of his thick neck.
“Hal'braken?” Nathaniel asked. “You named your axe after yourself?”
Bracken's eyes twinkled. “Now, tha's part o' the tale, lad. But I think I' don't give too much 'way ta tell tha' it is the other way 'round. It be my name tha' is taken from it.”
“I think I just might listen to that story,” Nathaniel said, standing up and beginning to walk clear of the former sight of the Wyrm's Fang.
“Ach, an' you don' listen ta my other stories?” grumped the dwarf. “Well, this one ya'd bes' hear from me first 'fore tha' loose-lipped Goddess o' yours blurts it ou' on 'er own! Slip o' the tongue, indeed!”
“You know, Bracken,” Nathaniel said, putting all levity aside, “you can still turn back. You don't exactly know what you're getting into...”
“Gods an' swords an' murd'rous miscreants. Wha' else do I need knowin'?” Bracken asked. When Nathaniel did not immediately respond, Bracken's smile completely faded away as he added, “Seriously, Nate. What else do I need ta know?”
Nathaniel found himself laughing in spite of himself. Taking a deep breath, he started to tell his story as the two began the first steps of their journey away from Oaken Wood. “You remember that stranger who you thought smelled of magic...?”
Chapter Sixteen
“No' tha' ya woulda heard as much, bein' human an' all,” explained Bracken, “bu' 'Bracken' was act'ally the name o' the dwarven God o' Hillfire, wha' yer lot call 'lava' or such.” The dwarf snapped a twig and threw it into the fire. “Hal'braken was 'is weapon o' legend. It was lost along wit' the God hisself some thousand years gone.”
Bracken and Nate had made camp for the evening, and with the dwarf's help, had begun a fair-sized fire. The two now sat to the edge of the pit, facing the path that passed for a road through the wooded terrain through which they traveled. Bracken had insisted that they be at least somewhat back from the path, and so there were a few trees between themselves and the road, but not so far as they could not see someone approaching by that route.
The pair had been gone out of Oaken Wood now for two days, and had only earlier that day found the first evidence that they were likely on Brea's trail: an abandoned campsite with tracks of three people and horses. Bracken's information from those he had spoken to before leaving had said she had hired two retainers for the trip, so the evidence at hand fit with what they knew of her party. The campsite was fresh enough to suggest that her party had only been there that morning.
Most of the remainder of that day had been spent in quick riding in an effort to gain ground upon the trio. Nathaniel was disappointed that by nightfall they had not yet seen any further sign of them, but Bracken was far more optimistic that they were gaining. Brea's party would presumably not expect to be followed, especially if they assumed their raids upon Nate's unsuspecting family were successful. After all, if that were their conclusion, the presumption would be that Nate would be dead along with his wife. Therefore, they had no reason to actually be fleeing and Bracken was certain that the priestess would be moving with the unhurried pace of the overconfident.
The rocky terrain had been another inhibitor to moving too fast, as well, not to mention the need to conserve their own horses' strength. Even further, the sound of hard pursuit could just as easily expose their efforts, especially if Brea were crafty enough to have one of her retainers ride a distance behind the other two.
“It's wha' I woulda done in the ol' days,” had said Bracken elusively when asked how he knew about such things. And no amount of prying by Nathaniel could get the dwarf to divulge more at that time.
So they had kept the horses from a full gait, yet had ridden faster than a casual canter. Though the pace was certain to not overtake Brea's party with any haste, Bracken assured his anxious companion that it would overtake them. They had time, and Bracken saw no point in pressing their advantage solely to sate Nathaniel's lust for vengeance.
Most of the time prior to the discovery of the camp, including the first night's encampment, had been spent by Nathaniel answering the dwarf's questions as best he could about the Gods and their purpose, about being appointed as an Avatar and the quest he was being compelled to undertake for the nine swords. They had slept late that first morning as a consequence of two full days and a night without sleep, even though they had agreed to stand guard. Bracken had successfully completed his own watch, though Nathaniel had succumbed to exhaustion and failed to wake Bracken at dawn. The dwarf had accepted the man's mistake well enough, though with an off-handed comment about “green'orn advent'rers”. It always took awhile before the novice learned the ways of the road, had commented the dwarf more openly.
For Nathaniel, the only conspicuous aspect of the trip so far had been the notable absence of the Gods themselves. Nathaniel would have wagered on their persistent presence along the way, though held no true disappointment that, at least so far, he had been wrong.
Now on their second night, Bracken had finally decided to open up to Nathaniel. In spite of the innumerable questions the dwarf had poised to Nathaniel, he had been completely silent upon his own promise to discuss his past before the Gods could “blurt I' out”. So at last the dwarf had begun speaking of himself, for the first time in over a dozen years speaking upon his own mystery. It was not prompted by any questions or suggestions. Bracken simply started talking during an otherwise quiet moment between the two.
“Karmel had said something about 'foregoing the worship of Gods' or something like that,” Nathaniel commented.
Bracken nodded. “Aye. The dwarves call i' the Battle o' Ascension. Which is a fancy way o' sayin' we ou'grew the need fer Gods and cast 'em out. In truth, our Gods were petty an' vindictive, cons'antly strivin' fer strength and keepin' the dwarven tribes always a' war wit' each other an' other races. Though mos'ly wit' each other. The War o'
Ascension marked the end o' their reign. An' it's also where the story o' how I came by Hal'braken begins.”
Nathaniel gave the dwarf an odd look, but Bracken only grunted. “Hal'braken translates from the dwarven tongue as Axe o' Bracken. Lore says tha' Bracken used his axe ta open cracks in the groun' ta set the hillfire loose. 'Twas always at the God's side, and i' was said tha' if 'e ever laid down 'is weapon, 'e would die.
“Well, Bracken's greatest nem'sis 'mong the other Gods was Palo'ak, the Goddess o' Stone. Whenever Bracken would cleave a new vein o' hillfire, 'twas said, he'd strike a blow 'gainst Palo'ak, an' every time she would thrust stone 'round an' block Bracken's precious veins, 'e'd 'come enraged.
“The legends always said tha' wha' yer lot calls a 'volcano'”, Bracken's pronunciation was slow and forced on what he considered a foreign word, “'n' wha' the dwarves call 'rockfires', was where Bracken an' Palo'ak fough' fer dominance. O' course, Palo'ak woul' always 'vent'ally win, 'cause rockfires always stopped spewin' fire an' turned ta stone. Bu' tha' would'n' stop Bracken from tryin' o'er and 'gain to win 'gainst Palo'ak.
“Deep within the bowels o' the worl' where dwarven tribes lived, the worsh'pers o' Bracken and Palo'ak were the bitt'rest o' rivals. Murder was the leas' o' the travesties they'd inflict 'pon each other. An' the rest of the dwarven society reflected this barbaric feud in one way 'r 'nother. This battle ha' been ongoin' fer generations an' showed no signs o' bein' won by either side, though the losses were staggerin' on each side.
“Then one day, a priest o' Bracken – Landar, by name – fell in love wit' a young lass tha', as fate would 'ave it, was a follower o' Palo'ak. He was committed to 'is God though an' resigned ta be denied 'is love. 'Til one day 'e learned she 'ad died in an attack 'e 'imself had been a part o'. Lander could'n' live wit himself fer his guilt, bu' ult'mately came ta a thought tha' no other dwarf ha' dared utter: Killin' each other fer the sake o' the Gods who ne'er died would sooner 'r later destroy the dwarves as a race alt'gether.