One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  “An' so Lander plotted with a priest o' Palo'ak, who ha' been a rel'tive o' Lander's love, ta end the Gods' reign. They devised a strat'gy tha' called 'pon the Gods in person fer a final head-ta-head battle, ta convince their Gods ta possess mortal dwarves so's ta end the fight 'tween 'em once an' fer all. Bound to mortals, 'twas said, the loser'd die an' stay dead. Only the priests ha' rigged the field o' battle. When the two Gods were locked in combat, the two priests caused the floor o' the cavern ta give way, sendin' the Gods' hosts plummetin'.

  “It'd been the plan ta send both Gods inta a hidden vein o' hillfire deep 'neath, but Palo'ak somehow escaped the trap so's only Bracken fell, 'pparently to 'is demise 'cause 'e was ne'er seen 'gain after tha' day. The story goes tha' Palo'ak, seein' the resolve in the two priests an' divinin' the reason, b'came much wiser an' took her brethren 'way from the dwarves lest they might 'gain try to slay more Gods.”

  “Wait a moment,” interrupted Nathaniel. “I'll admit I'm kind of new to dealings with the Gods, but I distinctly remember being told recently that Gods do not possess one form, but several, co-existing at the same moment with the same mind. That each form contains only a part of the essence of the God himself. So Bracken could not have died just by falling into a pit of lava. Only that body would be destroyed at best, while the essence of the God would have lived on.”

  “Perhaps i' did, Nate.” Bracken shrugged. “Palo'ak did take all the r'mainin' Gods 'way. Perhaps she took Bracken as well. I c'n only tell ya the legen' as 'twas tol' ta me. I certainly was no' there. Nor was any dwarf livin' Three hundred years is ancient fer a dwarf, Nate, an' this was s'posed ta 'ave 'appened a thousand years 'go.”

  Bracken hefted his axe. “'Course, 'twould not 'count fer this if tha' weren't true,” he said wistfully.

  “You really believe that axe belonged to the original Bracken?”

  The dwarf nodded. “I' bears 'is name 'ere on the handle,” he said, indicating what appeared to be some form of runic symbol, “an' considerin' where I foun' it, I canno' b'lieve it ta be other than genu'ne.”

  “Sounds like there's another story still behind that,” prompted Nathaniel.

  The dwarf gave a heavy sigh. “Yer the first I've spoken ta 'bout any o' this in near on twen'y years, Nate. 'Bout Bracken, the axe, anythin'. I lef' all tha' behin' me when I lef' home. An' I'da jus' as soon seen it stay buried. Bu' seein's as this may be a longer task'n just a stroll 'cross the Wildeland, I think it best you un'erstand a li'l more of who yer travellin' wit'.”

  Nathaniel sat patiently as Bracken stared aimlessly into the fire, the great axe in question lying across his knees. In this light, he looked more a warrior than Nathaniel had even seen him, even the day the dwarf had gone into a blood rage over his mother's death. There was a quiet strength in his posture that held more power than any show of physical strength or prowess ever could have.

  “Fer starters, as ya might'a guessed by now, my name's no' Bracken Hillfire. The first I took from the God 'ose axe I carry, an' the secon' fer wha' 'e was God o'er. Any dwarf that'd heard the name woulda known straight 'way tha' it was no true name. There's no Hillfire clan, fer one, and none woulda named their chil' aft'r a dead God withou' wishin' ta curse 'im. An' the two t'gether were fair blatant stolen from the legend. Bu' they seemed right ta me, as I ne'er intended ta go back ta the dwarves an' humans woul' not've known the diff'rence.”

  Bracken took a deep breath and let it out with a rumbling sigh before continuing. “I was born Helmen Stonerichter, o' the Kelmic Clan. My sire, Gelfer Stonerichter, was a pow'rful an' wealthy dwarf in 'is own right. I was 'is youngest of three sons an' two daughters. Ya kinda gots ta un'erstan' wha' tha' means ta a dwarf ta un'erstand wha' happened ta me la'er on.

  “My two elder brothers woulda inher'ted any titles my father woulda passed down 'pon 'is passin', since by dwarven custom, only the first an' secon' sons were entitled ta inher'tance. I woulda been 'spected ta break from my family ta make my own way within a dozen 'r so years.

  “Gelfer di' not completely follow custom though, an' i' was well known 'mongst my siblings tha' he intended ta gift title of one o' his lesser mines ta me when the time came fer me ta go out on my own. I' angered my brothers ta no en', e'en though they stoo' ta inher't each estates ten-fol' richer than my own. Bu' they woul' have ta wait for our sire ta pass, while I would be workin' my own mine within a dozen years. I' was the only way my sire could o'ercome the tradition ta assure he could leave me a leg'cy – ta gift the title 'fore 'e passed.”

  Bracken cleared his throat. “All three o' us, my brothers 'n' me, worked in various differen' mines an' i' happened tha' one day, my next eldest brother, Lelferm, an' I were workin' in the mine which I ha' been promised when 'e struck through a wall ta expose a rich vein o' ore tha' none 'ad known was there. The early guess placed the value o' the load inta such a high value as it woulda almos' equaled my sire's highes' yieldin' vein. I' was an incred'ble stroke o' fortune, an' it woul' be decades spent extractin' the find.

  “Lelfer though' ta hide his discov'ry, ta keep i' from me and our sire. I came 'pon him tellin' a worker ta seal off the shaft 'e 'ad been workin' and ta tell noone wha' they'd found. Once I 'ad 'eard 'im though, the secret tha' somethin' worth hidin' was ou' and' he coul' no' keep the discov'ry from our sire. 'E knew that Gelfer woul' preserve the claim fer me, shu' down the mine so's it woul' no' be d'pleted, while Lelfer wished ta fin' a way ta steal the find fer hisself.”

  Bracken grunted, almost a scoff at the memory. “I dinna make it outta th' mine righ' then, as I'd 'tended. As I b'gan ta leave, my brother – I mus' assume, 'cause I ne'er saw the 'ttack comin' – knocked me col' from behin' there on the mine floor. By the time I came to, i' was late, an' the workers 'ad all left.”

  Bracken paused, screwing up his courage to continue. “When I go' home, my matron – my mot'er – an' sisters were in tears, an' horr'fied ta see me. My matron cursed me, askin' how I dared r'turn home af'er wha' I'd done. The others were ou' lookin' fer me, she 'ad said, an' if I valued my life, I'd best keep on runnin'.

  “I was confused, an' did no' un'erstand why she woul' talk ta me like tha'. I' was my eldest sister, Gelda, who tol' me tha'... Gelfer had been foun' wit' my pick in 'is back, beaten an' pummeled ta death. I 'ad been named murd'rer, worse still sire-slayer. Lelfer 'ad sworn 'e 'ad seen me leave the mine in anger, fearin' I woul' lose my claim now tha' the mine ha' produced a stronger vein. O' course, I pleaded my inn'cence an' tried ta tell my side, bu' Gelda forced me ou' the door as my matron started af'er me.

  “In dwarven soci'ty, murder was the wors' crime secon' only ta claim jumpin', e'er since the Battle of Ascension. Dwarves were forbidden ta take each other's lives, an' fer a son ta kill a sire was e'en more foul. In truth, I 'ad no defense. I 'ad no witness o' where I 'ad been, 'cept the worker who 'ad been wit' my brother, an' I 'ad no doubt 'e woulda spoke up b'fore then if he woulda. An' it was my tool used ta bludgeon my sire. I realized all o' this as I stood starin' a' the outside of my fam'ly's door. I knew I could no' stay, an' so I di' wha' my matron ha' said ta do: I began ta run.

  “I did no' know where ta go. I 'ad just started runnin', off inna direction I though' none e'er went. Bu' I was seen an' dwarves started chasin' me. I don' know 'ow long I ran, but i' musta been fer hours, keepin' 'head o' those chasin' me, though not by much. 'Fore too long, I was runnin' through caverns I'd ne'er seen b'fore, an' e'en had I 'scaped, I was no longer certain I coul' ge' back outta where I 'ad run.

  “At last, I came ta the edge o' an abyss an' I was cornered. There was no place else ta run, an' the others were righ' there when I turned ta see. My eldest brother, Timolth, stepped forward from the crowd, 'is face like granite. He did no' say a word as 'e came righ' up ta me. I tried ta talk, ta tell 'im i' was a mistake, bu' I was too outta breath. I tried ta reach out ta 'im, ta get some sign o' support, bu' 'e brushed my hand 'way. The next thing I knew, 'e shoved me an' I fell backwards an' 'way o'er the edge o' the chasm.”

  Bra
cken paused again, taking a deep ragged breath. “I can no' blame Timolth. 'E though' me a killer, tha' I 'ad slain our b'loved sire. I 'ad no', bu' 'e did no' know. 'E though' 'e was takin' the life o' a crim'nal. I can no' say tha' I would no' 'ave done the 'xact same if our roles ha' been reversed.

  “I don' know 'ow far I fell. I' seemed fere'er 'fore I blacked ou'. All I know is tha' I woke up hot. Really hot. When I opened my eyes, I foun' myself danglin' o'er a pit o' hillfire. My wrist 'ad caught on somethin' 'bove me, my arm wrenched by the sudden stop. An' tha' was all tha' had saved my life.”

  Bracken hefted the axe again. “I' was Hal'braken, stickin' outta the side o' the rock tha' my cuff ha' snagged. I swear, I'll ne'er know if I live 'nother thousand years, how my weight 'ad not sent us both inta the pit o' hillfire, bu' somehow, it'd no'. I' took some work, bu' I fin'lly managed ta ge' my good hand 'round the haft an' pull m'self up an' onta a percarious balance on the shaft i'self. Righ' then, the imposs'bility o' it all di' no' enter my mind, so I jus' sat there catchin' my breath.

  “As fortune'd 'ave it, there was a great rift in the rock 'bove where the axe's blade 'ad come ta rest. I' was wide 'nough fer me ta work inta. Once inside, I was bas'cally safe from fallin', so I wrenched the axe free. Fer all the weight i' 'ad held, I was shocked at how eas'ly i' came free. There, in the glow o' hillfire, I first read the axe's name. I 'member feelin' a chill run through me in spite o' the heat. Only a God's weapon coulda survived so well 'bove a pit o' liquid rock an' hol' my weight as it 'ad. Withou' realizin' it, I musta found the ancient battlesite where the God Bracken 'ad fallen. An' though I 'ad no love fer the Gods o' old, one a' least – an' a dead one a' tha'! – 'ad seen fit ta spare my life.”

  Bracken stood, stretching after so long a seating. “If'n the legends were true, Bracken 'ad let go o' 'is axe an' died in the hillfire b'low. If no', 'e 'ad lost it some ot'er way. Either way, I counted myself blessed ta 'ave foun' Hal'braken when I did, tha's fer certain!”

  The dwarf stood where he had risen, staring at Nathaniel as though challenging the man to question a single word of his story. Nathaniel had no intention of doing so though. It was a remarkable story, to be sure, but after all that had happened in recent days, he was more inclined to believe in the fantastic now than he might have been just last week.

  “How did you get out?” Nathaniel asked instead.

  Bracken grumped. “I wedged m'self in tha' crack an' worked m'self up as far as i' went. Was no' far 'nough though. Af'er tha', i' was hand o'er hand, with the axe used fer support when I could wedge it inta someplace. More'n once I though' I was done fer, tha' I could no' go on or tha' I 'ad run outta stable rock ta climb. Bu' somehow, I kept goin'. When I fin'lly di' reach a ledge, no' the top from where I 'ad fallen, I was 'bout dead. Bu' the ledge led along the wall an' 'ventually, led ta a passage tha' took me up an' outta the chasm.

  “The passage I followed I fig'red fer a vent fer when the hillfire burst out, 'cause 'ventually the shaft took me ta the surface. I took it fer an omen. My people though' me dead. I 'ad been saved by a God's axe an' pure luck. There was nothin' left fer me b'low an' so the passage 'ad taken me up an' out. An' tha's where I would 'ave ta make a new life fer m'self, I d'cided.”

  “So that's when you came to Oaken Wood to open Wyrm's Fang?” asked Nathaniel.

  “Nay. I spent many a year wanderin', learnin' the human tongue, earnin' coin 'nough to set up a new life. I spent quite a few years delvin', wha' you might call adventurin'. I hooked up wit' a band o' people, mos'ly human, though wit a couple o' elves, too, an' spent some time treasure huntin'. Delvers were those tha' found ancient sites, ruins, ol' lab'rinths an' such, an' searched the ol' places fer valu'bles left b'hind 'r stashed there by monsters an' the like.”

  “I've heard stories,” admitted Nathaniel.

  Bracken nodded. “Plenty o' bards' tales out 'bout adventur'rs. Some are prob'ly e'en true. I know I saw 'nough things in my time ta make me grateful ta r'tire when I could. Le' me just say tha' there's more livin' on an' un'er the worl' then folks livin' in a quiet li'l place like Oaken Wood could possibly 'magine. An' I saw more'n my fair share, I did.”

  The dwarf shook his head. “No' tha' I needs ta go inta all o' tha'. All ya needs ta know of all tha' is I earned goo' coin a' wha' I did an' chose ta give i' up. I 'ad wandered through Oaken Wood once years 'fore an' chose i' as a likely spot then, moved there an' opened the tavern. The rest ya know.”

  “So why the fake name? If no one would recognize Bracken Hillfire, and that's a famous enough name amongst the dwarves as you tell it, surely no one would be looking for Helmen Stoneriter, much less recognize the name...?”

  Bracken grunted. “Stonerichter,” Bracken corrected. “An' call it pride, I 'spose. Too proud ta admit my past, not too proud ta use a dead name fer a new life. An' I guess, a' the beginnin', I did no' know who woulda known the dwarven clans on the surface. A story 'bout a clan's rogue son woulda been a big tale 'mongst the dwarves, an' any trader doin' bus'ness un'er the mountain would be likely ta hear it.

  “'Course, bein' raised 'round dwarves, I 'ad somethin' of a 'flated 'pinion o' how important we were. Turns out, most humans rarely question where their precious stones an' ores come from. Sure, some are mined by humans, bu' most is done by dwarves. We're built fer it an' we can do triple the work a' finer refinement than a human, so our wares are highly sought af'er. Bu' once the ore trickles down, so ta speak, none asks from whence i' comes.”

  “So as ya can 'magine, no one e'er heard o' me nor, fer tha' ma'er, di' anybody care. I coulda just as eas'ly kep' my name as no' fer the same effect. 'Course, by the time I re'lized this, I was already well 'nough known as Bracken, an' there was no point in undoin' wha' I 'ad done. 'Sides, Helmen Stonericheter was be'er off dead an' buried. My name woul' ne'er 'ave been grand ta b'gin with, bein' a third son an' all. Be'er ever'one believe Helmen fell ta his death in some bottomless pit than livin' in exile fer a crime 'e ne'er committed.”

  The dwarf continued to maintain his stance, clearly waiting for more for his companion before settling down.

  “So what now?” asked Nathaniel at last. “No more need for Bracken Hillfire. Your tavern's gone, your history unimportant now. Couldn't you give up the pretense and try to be yourself again?”

  “Ta wha' point, Nate?” Bracken asked, a deep sadness clearly visible in his eyes even in the sparkle of the fire. “I 'ave no her'tage ta claim, no clan tha' will 'ave me. I'm a vagabond now. I'm either nameless 'r Bracken Hillfire. A' leas' the la'er leaves me some dignity.”

  The two fell silent for a time. Bracken's final words had held more emotion than anything the dwarf had said all evening. Even after nearly twenty years, his loss weighed heavily upon him. Nathaniel had lost a great deal in his life: a mother, a wife, a son. And though the latter two stung deeply for being newly delivered, still Nathaniel had had his people to fall back upon. Bracken had been denied even that.

  The dwarf had never been given a chance to grieve for the loss of his father, nor even to clear his name. These burdens wore heavily upon him, and they told more clearly tonight than ever before. Nathaniel now saw in his mind's eye the distant aloofness the dwarf had always tried to maintain, a firm reluctance to get close to anyone. Now the man understood why. Nathaniel and his kin had been the single rare exception, and only the Fates themselves likely knew why. Perhaps it had had something to do with some buried memory in the dwarf's own childhood, or perhaps just casual chance. But the closeness Bracken had developed to Nathaniel had ever been genuine, even before his mother had died in front of the dwarf's inn.

  Suddenly, Nathaniel remembered how enraged Bracken had been when his mother had been struck down. And he now better understood that, as well. All the years of pent up rage and frustration had come crashing down upon the dwarf when he saw a similar fate befall Nathaniel's mother as had befallen his own father. He had never had the chance to vent that anger before. When Maribel lay bleeding upon the street, some long suppressed fury must
have come rushing to the surface and taken over.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I think I'll go stretch my legs a bit,” he said. The man sensed that the dwarf needed some time alone to readjust his composure, though the dwarf's pride would not let him ask for it. It was visible in the firm stance the dwarf yet maintained over the fire.

  “Don' get lost,” Bracken grumped. “An' watch fer anythin' wild.”

  Nathaniel chuckled at Bracken's humor. “I think anything wild would be staying clear just from the smell of fire-toasted dwarf singing by the fire tonight!”

  “You'da be'er be getting' ta stretchin' those legs, young Nate, 'fore I get a mind ta come choppin' 'em off 'nstead!” For emphasis, Bracken squeezed his fist around the haft of his axe.

  Nathaniel slipped out of the firelight without another word. Chances were that Bracken would be able to see him for awhile yet. He knew the dwarf's eyesight was especially powerful in the dark, being able to see heat as visibly as light. Of course, it meant that the dwarf's vision in daylight was not as good, though Nathaniel could not say his friend was exactly blind in that environment, either. Just less able.

  The dwarf, of course, would never admit to the weakness, which made it difficult to judge to what extent his vision was limited by bright light. Dwarves as a race lived underground and had adapted well to their environment. Yet there was a trade-off, and the loss was in the ability to move above-ground as well.

  Few dwarves ventured from underground to make lives for themselves on the surface, or at least as best as Nathaniel could determine from stories. Bracken was the only dwarf he had ever met, in fact, though stories of dwarves in other parts of the land filtered even as far as Oaken Wood. And poor eyesight was likely a contributing factor to that lack of migration by the dwarves as a whole.

  “A truly tragic tale, that one,” came a female voice from behind Nathaniel. Yet when the man turned to see who had spoken, no one was there.