Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  “Something warm,” he replied with a smile, “you know, the opposite of you.”

  The bartender, Nanseen, laughed and shook her head. She loved the little games that she and Sharp played. They were fond of one another, and the company was always worth the tomfoolery. Nanseen laid her towel on the dark wood countertop and disappeared through a doorway and into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with a hearty bowl of Fisk Soup. It was her own personal recipe, and it was evident why she brought it: fish soup was easy to make when your city is part of the Seaport.

  The smell of peppercorn, onion, and potatoes wafted through the tavern, carried on the crisp, fresh air as the warmth of the fireplace slowly overcame it.

  Steam rose from the small metal bowl as Nanseen’s calloused hands laid it on the table in front of Sharp. Years of hard work and sacrifice were put into the tavern, and Nanseen could always be found at the forefront, leading the way.

  “It appears we shall have a frigid winter this season.” She looked at Sharp, pointed at his long coat, and continued: “You may need something better than that old halfway made piece of cloth you somehow managed to scrounge together.”

  “Eh, it works.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his soup. “This is delicious, Nanseen, same as always.” He took another sip as Nanseen tried not to laugh as droplets of soup fell from the skinder’s beard.

  A cute dwarf, Nanseen was quite smitten by Sharp, though she could never figure out why. It was not as though he tried to court her, or even showed interest outside of their usual flirting; nonetheless, she always found herself wondering what he was up to, what he was thinking and so forth when he was not around.

  “So how bad do you think this winter will be? Do you suppose we will get snow earlier than usual?” she asked.

  Sharp glanced about the room and took note that there was only one other patron in the tavern. He turned his attention back to his soup for a moment, and as he finished it, he let out a deep burp and promptly excused himself.

  “I do not know, Nanseen. However, I cannot shake this feeling that something nasty, very nasty, is coming our way.”

  Sharp crossed his arms and leaned back in the wooden chair. He knew that most people thought he was just an old loon who loved to make up stories that made little to no sense to anyone. Nanseen, however, was not so sure. She knew Sharp to be an honest man, and as she looked at him, the sense of foreboding began to grow within her.

  “If something wicked this way comes, what shall we do then?” she asked the skinder.

  “We prepare for war. Not a battle, Nanseen, but a war.” He shifted in his chair nervously. He still could not figure out why he felt as though evil was nearby, but he knew something was amiss. He continued his conversation with Nanseen, filling her in on his life before his move to Umuosmar. She listened intently as he recounted the battles with cyclopses and other skinders. She knew who Fogrolir was and did not doubt for a moment that his story was untrue.

  When they finished speaking, Sharp made her promise she would tell no one who he was.

  “I promise, Sharp. You know me, and you know that I shall not utter a word to a soul. Your secret is safe with me, but for all our sakes I sincerely hope you are wrong about that feeling in the pit of your stomach.”

  “Me too, Nanseen,” he said. “Me too.”

  Nanseen and Sharp had spoken for a few moments longer before she decided to go check on her other guest. She turned and left the table, and just as she reached the bar there was a loud noise, and the large, wooden door at the front of the tavern burst open.

  9

  The catacombs beneath Garn Turum were silent. The Demoweir made it to her feet, her head pounded like a thousand drums being beat at once. She was free at last, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before someone would venture into the depths below to check her cell.

  ‘I must make it out of here and find passage back to the rogue islands’ she thought to herself as she scrambled through the various tunnels, hell bent on getting as far away from Umuosmar as possible. She still planned to take over the land, but she now realized she would need an army, and she knew just the military for such a mission - the skinders on the rogue islands.

  She smiled as she made her way through the dank catacombs; The demon smiled at the destruction she already pictured in her mind. Since escaping her cell, she knew her appearance would have to change to make it out of the country without being noticed by the royal guard, or worse, elves. She needed a place to hide until her magic was strong enough to cast a spell and fully alter her appearance while deflecting any semblance of magical use.

  ‘I will have to go to Vel Boramm and seek shelter for the time being,’ she thought to herself. Vel Boramm would be the perfect place to hide. Full of every type of creature from varying lands, it would surely be easier to hide within the streets of Vel Boramm than it would be to hide anywhere else in the area.

  She made several turns within the tunnels beneath the city, hoping to ensure no one could track her. After a bit, she stopped, not because she wanted to do so, but because she had no choice. The wound she suffered when Alormeda was pierced had not fully healed, and the pain caused her to ache. She sat down against the wall and took a deep breath as she rested for a moment before she continued onward.

  The catacombs were pitch black, and she kept it them that way as she walked along. She did not need the light – she knew her way merely by relying on her senses to guide her through the passages.

  ‘I cannot use my magic, not yet. I must rebuild my strength!’ her thoughts focused on maintaining what small amount of power she still held. Her strength would take a while to return, and she would need every bit of it to change her appearance.

  She rose to her feet once more and began to walk through the tunnels. She had only taken a few steps when she heard a small grunt, which caused her to stop dead in her tracks.

  She listened intently, her ears focused in for any trace of a sound within the tunnels. She heard nothing and decided it was merely the earth above shifting or settling.

  Her journey continued for what felt like an eternity, and she continually reminded herself to be patient when thoughts of not moving fast enough flitted through her head. She was free after thousands of years, and it would not bode her well to become impatient and wind up bound, gagged, and eventually tossed back into a dark hole.

  After many hours scouring through the catacombs below, she finally heard the telltale sounds of water. She was certain she had reached Vel Boramm, and though still not fully recuperated, cast a spell of light and lit up the tunnels where she walked. The light seemed exceptionally bright, and she closed her eyes and allowed the light to penetrate her eyelids until she was ready to open her eyes once more.

  ‘I have made it,’ she thought to herself, ‘all of this time spent below these cities, in this abysmal hell! I am free now, and they will all pay for what they have done!’

  Her anger flashed outwardly though her thoughts were internal, and the force knocked out the light in the tunnel. She gasped and fell against the rocky wall as she realized just how weak she had become over the centuries.

  ‘I must learn to control my emotions again!’ Staggering back to her feet, she continued onward. She cast another spell of light and once more was able to see the walls around her. As she walked onward, one vestibule led to another, and before too long she turned and saw the arched thoroughfare, which led to the water’s edge at the heart of the city.

  Her plan had been to come out near the ocean and walk into town, but she realized she had instead come out where the rivers ran through the center of the city. It mattered not; however, as no one saw her and by the time she exited the lower part of the town and joined the citizens on the road above, she would be just another weary traveler in the portside city.

  She walked about the underbelly of the city until she came to one of the many slopes that lead topside. She climbed the hill, and the harsh wind hit her immediate
ly; the buildings about her no longer provided a safe haven from the elements.

  “Umpf!” she said as her teeth chattered at the very sudden change in temperature.

  She wrapped her cowl about her and began to walk through the streets; she mixed in with the other inhabitants, and no one was the wiser of who or what she was. Her journey continued as she passed fresh fish stands, blocks of salt, and various linen and weapons dealers. They called out to her in their typical whimsical ways, but their cries were to no avail as her attention was focused on finding a rundown hole in the wall to hide away from everyone for a bit. Her strength was still returning, albeit very slowly.

  The Demoweir trudged along the city streets until she neared the outskirts of the city. The multi-storied abodes gave way to sparse vegetation that lined the area about it until it died out in the forest. She spotted a plume of smoke as it exited a brick stack, and she knew she had just found the perfect place to get away from the prying eyes of the town.

  She trudged down the dirt road as she used her arm to block the sand from hitting her in the face. The wind was harsh throughout the town, but it felt more jarring still here. As she approached the front of the rundown tavern, she noticed what appeared to be an old in-ground water fountain. The path led straight to the front door, but on either side lay a rectangle of white brick, she surmised roughly four feet deep, filled with water. If the tavern had been cared for properly, there was no doubt it would have been extraordinarily beautiful, but these watery pools looked as though they were a safe haven for anything but life.

  She walked along the path but stopped to glance at the water as something caught her eye. She bent over slightly to get a better look as her eyes tried to penetrate the dark green film that rested on the top of the water. So preoccupied was she, that let her guard down and one strong gust of wind pushed her forward.

  Her body lunged forward, and as she tried to lean backward, one foot slipped on the smooth sand and her left leg slid over the edge and into the water, encompassing her up to her knee.

  “Damn!” she screamed in anger as a momentary lapse in keeping her emotions balanced caused her to release her power. The force, much to her chagrin, knocked the wooden door of the tavern open.

  Nanseen, caught off-guard by the suddenness of the door slamming open, nearly dropped the plates she had in her hands. She paused for a moment as she thought the wind may have finally blown hard enough to knock the door open, but soon realized she was wrong as a figure stepped into the doorway.

  “I am umm… well… forgive me, please. The door got away from me, and the wind must’ve caught it.” The Demoweir stepped inside and closed the wooden door behind her. She glanced around and saw the fireplace alongside the far wall, and noticed what appeared to be a Skinder sitting at the table right next to the blazing fire.

  ‘It cannot be!’ she thought to herself, ‘Skinder's never traveling out of their homeland. I wonder what he is doing here. He looks familiar, as though I have seen him before, but I cannot place his face in this lighting.’

  She made her way over to the fireplace and lifted her leg onto the hearthstone to allow the fire to warm her cloth and lessen the dampness.

  As she stood before the fire, its light casting her shadow over the far wall, she began to feel an uneasiness. She cast a glance at the small man sitting at the table; he made her feel discomfited, as though he possessed a power greater than her own.

  “What is your name?” the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them from raging forth like a river.

  ‘Oh yes!’ she thought to herself as her brown eyes widened with realization, ‘he undoubtedly possesses a power that matches my own.’

  Sharp shifted in his seat and licked his lips. He looked the woman over while doing everything in his power to keep his demeanor steady in outward appearance.

  “What does my name matter to you, lady?” he said. He stared at her, refusing to allow his gaze to falter. He knew what she was, and though it had been over a thousand years, he was certain as he stared at her that he also knew who she was.

  “It matters not to me, really. However, your eyes betray your skin, old man. Those who know you may think you are as young as they are, but I know the truth. Those eyes tell me that you have lived far longer than anyone in these parts would ever suspect. The real question, however, is not what your name is, but rather what you are doing here.”

  She pulled the cowl back from the top of her head, revealing her long black curly hair. Her lips began to curl upward into a sinister smile as she noticed the skinder taking in her full appearance.

  “My business here is none of your concern, you demon.” For the first time since the two locked gazes, Sharp averted his eyes from hers. He reached into the air and signaled for Nanseen to bring him another drink.

  “What did you just call me?” the Demoweir asked. The look on her face was aghast at being called a demon.

  “I called you what you are. You cannot lie to me. I see through your façade, and I know your heart. Your pulse beats quicker, and you fight to hold back the urge to release your power, for you know it would only result in your being tied down and returned to whatever chamber you crawled out of, demon.”

  For the first time in ages, the Demoweir found herself afraid and lonely as she realized there was at least one being in this world that knew what she really was: a demon. Her hands trembled, and she pulled them underneath the cowl that hung down her shoulders, almost to the floor.

  “I am not a demon.” She said flatly.

  “Then what are you, pray tell?” Sharp inquired with a smirk.

  “I am a goddess – an elven goddess of the Faswarian people. They have forgotten their way, and I will remind them of the proper path, and you would do well to not cross me.”

  “I see,” he paused for a moment to take the tankard of ale from Nanseen’s hands as she arrived at the table, before continuing: “if you are a goddess of the elves, then you are all powerful, no? Surely, no mere mortal could contest the mighty power you possess, and yet, I sit and watch as your hands shake and your face tells the story of a dark evil that is very suddenly afraid for its life. Oh, what a terrible thing it must be then, to be a ‘goddess’ and fear death at the same time.”

  The way in which Sharp spoke the word ‘goddess’ was feigned respect and absolute mockery. He was never shy about what he thought, and though Sharp had kept his own secrets hidden for ages, he had no fear of letting the truth be known. He was no ordinary being, for he had been in the courtyard of the mighty White King when the words were spoken that gave power over the land. No one, save for the White King and his son, the Gray Prince, knew what his real power or purpose was in this world, and such lack of knowledge scared the Demoweir as she stood next to his table.

  “I know not what you are contemplating, Skinder, but I assure you, I will kill you one day. On that day, I will ascend to the only throne that matters in this world, and I shall rule these people until I see fit to destroy the entirety of this world!”

  Her voice got deeper as she spoke; the ancient, dark evil within her fought to hold itself back as she wished nothing more than death and destruction upon Sharp.

  “Perhaps you will kill me one day, yes. Perhaps, however, I shall kill you.” Sharp placed his drink on the table and smiled. He watched as the demon woman began to move toward him slowly. As she approached, she stopped suddenly as she heard in a clear, crisp voice, the Skinder speaking his thoughts, and the words scared her:

  “Faeder ure thu the eart on heofonum, si thin nama gahalgod. Tobecume thin rice; Gewurthe thin willa on eorthan swa swa on heofonum. Urne gedaeghwamlican hlaf syle us to daeg.”

  She heard the words echo throughout her mind and she stumbled backward as the phrase continued to pierce her brain:

  “And forgyf us ure gyltas, swa we forgyfath urum gyltendum. And ne gelaed thu us on constnunge, Ac alys us of yfele. Sothlice.”

  She looked him over one last time before she turned and
bolted through the front door. The wind no longer chilled her bones, for the words of the Skinder enraged her, and she knew she must leave the land before any others like himself showed up to thwart her plans.

  Nanseen, though nothing like the Demoweir or the Skinder, also heard the words speak to her mind. She glanced at Sharp as the demon bolted away, and signaled for him to come over to the bar. Sharp complied, and as he reached the bar, Nanseen came around the front side to see him:

  “What just happened? What were those words you spoke? How did I hear them when you did not say them aloud?” Her eyes shown the fear she held within her; a fear of not knowing what was about to happen in Vel Boramm.

  “I spoke the truth to her, and to you. Though you do not know what the words mean, you shall not forget them. They are embedded within your very soul, and if she should ever return, you speak them in your mind, and she will hear them and flee. You say them aloud, and any that are like her that hear the words will fall to their knees in fear of your power. She is the rumbling in my stomach that I feared would come one day. She is the apprehension I have felt while we discussed the fear of the unknown. Simply put, Nanseen, she is evil; and she is just a messenger for the real evil in this world.”

  Sharp looked toward the doorway, and he knew his time had come. If the Demoweir was loose in Umuosmar, then it meant a great battle was coming, and his help would be needed.

  “Can you pack a fine lot of soup and ale for me, my dear? It is time for me to return to Thirndor, for the day is upon us when a war will inevitably touch those areas of the kingdom where the army stand. That army will need my assistance; all of Umuosmar will need my help.”

  Nanseen, though afraid and confused, complied with Sharp’s wishes and moments later the Skinder left the tavern and darted into the woods. The trip to Thirndor would not be comfortable, and the Demoweir’s strength would only grow as she continued to move about freely.

  10