No, Dagbar was responsible for him being here, for what had happened to Akira, his leg and the reason he had to waste his talents in this forsaken place.
The humiliation maddened Ashar. In his youth, his mentor Master Dowynn had taught him to look up to Dagbar. Master Dowynn respected, even revered, the dwarf magister. Master Dowynn had honestly believed every word the dwarf spoke about restoring the balance and equality of the races. He had lapped it all up like a dog.
Ashar knew that was all humans were to the dwarfs. They were nothing more than dogs. Pets to entertain them and do their bidding. To be tossed aside when no longer needed or killed if they were disobedient.
The dwarves called the human's homes settlements. They were internment camps. Dwarven law even allowed them to slay humans found outside the camps, those not under the dwarven yoke. He remembered one instance when Dagbar praised the writings of Hjurl and pointed to the laws against slavery as an example that the dwarves had lost their way from the beginning times. That their God of Law had instructed them to watch over the human race, Daomur never meant for things to devolve to where they were now.
Ashar now knew Dagbar only told Master Dowynn and the others what they wanted to hear, told them what Dagbar needed them to hear, to trick them, to convince them to do his bidding. The Emporium, his Freezone was no different than any other human containment.
It took Ashar losing Akira to open his eyes. How long had he searched for a soulstone in the Fallen City? How many times had he and Master Dowynn secretly scoured through the ancient texts and forbidden writings of their human ancestors? The only reason Dagbar had taught them the forbidden knowledge of reading was to make it easier for the dwarf to reach his goals.
Ashar had been tricked to believe he was chosen. He was the one destined to find a soulstone and bring about the return of Haurtu and with his return, free the human race and return balance to Allwyn.
Ashar kissed his fingers and touched his head then his heart, a gesture that paid reverence to the great, Haurtu. A gesture reminding Ashar that the mind comes before the heart. Knowledge before emotion. A practice lost in time. Like so much other knowledge lost during the Great Purge, when the dwarves and elves tried to erase humans from existence.
Ashar had been ready to help restore balance. To become stonechosen and then prepare for the challenge of the vessel, the final joining with Haurtu. Such lies Dagbar had told him. It was in taking Akira's sleeping form back to Dagbar, in asking him to reverse the process and free her from the burden of becoming a vessel that Ashar discovered the truth.
Dagbar had looked him and Master Dowynn in the face and said once chosen, it was irreversible. A fact Ashar now knew to be false.
Dagbar could never have realized the gift of reading he gave to Ashar would reveal the dwarf's falsehoods. For Ashar discovered in the ancient writings a way to do just that. A way to free his sister.
How Dagbar had tried to play him for the fool. So convincing when he placed his hand on Ashar's shoulder and wept for the loss he was to suffer.
She was too weak, he said. We must not let her wake until the true stonechosen arrives to claim her stone.
To kill her he meant! The true stonechosen? Wasn't Ashar supposed to be the true stonechosen? The lies poured from Dagbar like water from a flask.
Oh, why had Master Dowynn done as Dagbar had commanded and administered the elixir of sleeping death to his beloved Akira? She was like his own daughter. Why hadn't he stopped him?
Where was the determination Ashar had now? At least he had enough courage to steal away with her in the night and bring her to the only place he could think of that would keep them both safe. Safe until he was able to punish Master Dowynn for his weakness and Dagbar for his lies.
Ashar entered his laboratory. He passed between two of the many tables he had found throughout the city and had brought here. Across their various surfaces elixirs frothed and boiled in their beakers. The lights of the many tiny flames reflected through them to cast a myriad of colors about the large circular chamber. Ashar felt the calming effect work always had on him. It centered him, focused him to task.
He stopped and checked the viscosity of one of his unguents. Too gummy, he mused. He dug through nearby baskets, looking for the ingredient he needed. He only found a small amount of what he sought.
Damn, out again.
He stopped and listened for the telltale click of claws on stone that gave away the location of one of his goblin thralls. Nothing. He usually could hear them even over all the bubbling and hissing.
His thoughts returned to his sister. They better not be trying to exhume her again. He made his way to the center of the room. The two small circular mounds of stone lay untouched. He awkwardly knelt down beside one and rested his hand on the unyielding cold slab. He could sense her under there, asleep, wasting away.
He knew she could not die, but after a time, he could no longer watch her skin tighten and grey, her hair, once thick and vibrant, become mere threads.
It pained him to lie to Akira, but he had to keep her complacent if he had any chance of freeing her from her soulstone. If she knew the truth of what he had planned, she might try to stop him, she was still blind to the ugly truth that was life. He had to protect her. He could not stand the thought of what the dwarves would do to her or the thought of another stonechosen consuming her.
No, this was the only chance she had. He promised her he would make it right and he would. Ashar had no intention of fulfilling the soulstone prophecy. Not once he discovered how the soulstones fueled his magic. No, he would use the power promised him to free his sister and then repay Dagbar tenfold. Repay them all for their lies.
He looked at the other nearby mound. The vargan stonechosen was the first to feel the pull of his sister's soulstone. He absently rubbed his mauled thigh. What strength the beast had. But now its soulstone fueled Ashar's powers, as well. Soon, he would add the boy stonechosen and then have enough soulstones to punish Dagbar and then perform the ritual to free Akira.
He heard tell-tale click of claws on stone. “Come!”
Two pallid goblins skulked out from behind nearby tables. Blue veins pulsed just below white flesh. Their rapidly rising chests reminded him of small birds. Drool fell freely from their open mouths. One brushed against the other as they approached, causing the other to bare its fangs and hiss. The two tensed and squared off on each other.
“Attend me,” Ashar said. Were there only two left? He could only afford to send one to gather ingredients. He needed the other to tend the fires.
“You. Go beyond the city. I need more wormwood bark.” Ashar held forth the last bit he had found. The goblin thrall he had indicated skittered forward and sniffed hungrily at the bark.
Of all the mist thralls, the goblins were the most resourceful and cunning. It was a pity there were only so many of them left. They were the first he began experimenting on. It had taken time and cost many.
Humans from the outlying farms of the Emporium were next. He began to turn them into mist thralls more to punish Dagbar than anything else. They were not as cunning as the goblins nor as fierce as the vargan. They also were not equipped with sharp claws and teeth like the others. All attempts to enhance their physical form had failed. The noise those particular test subjects made had grated on his nerves to the point of almost not making it worth doing the experiments in the first place.
Almost.
Yes, the goblins were his favorites. They were also the only ones who seemed to retain some of their base nature. Being natural sneaks, they could avoid the accursed elves and their fae in the surrounding Deepwood with regularity.
The elves were a drain on his other thralls, but an acceptable nuisance. They were a natural defense, keeping everyone else away from the city. They were solitary creatures, never gathering in great enough numbers to pose any serious threat. Best of all, they, along with their fae minions seemed to fear the dream mists.
“Go!”
The
goblin thrall snarled its pleasure and hurried from the lab on all fours. Ashar dismissed the other with a wave.
“Now to see to the boy, dear sister.”
Ashar breathed in deeply, taking the mists deep into him. He then began to chant the words of power, the words even Master Dowynn did not know, forbidden words thought lost in time. He drew upon the mists that cursed the Fallen City and used them as the source of his castings.
He sent out his summons.
He needed the mists, they were integral in not only creating the mist thralls, but also in summoning and controlling them. The dream mist was a gift from Haurtu. Much easier to use than air, it connected all it touched. An abundant and never ending source for his magic. As long as he did not succumb to its hallucinogenic effects.
He had been lucky to find this tower. Not only was it mostly intact, but its jagged summit just pierced the top of the mists and allowed access to much needed fresh air.
Ashar had long ago learned the ingredients needed to mix the antidote which shielded him from the effects of the dream mists, but he sometimes forgot to retake them and the mists' effects took longer to take hold here.
He refocused on his summons. Before Akira became stonechosen, he would never have had the strength to reach out of the city. But now, with her and the vargan stonechosen lying by her side, there was no place within the mists he could not reach.
Based on what Akira said, the boy was young and already had two soulstones. He also only had a small group of followers to protect him. This was Ashar's chance to acquire what he needed.
The longer he waited, the more precarious his position became. It was only a matter of time before the elves considered him a great enough threat and attempted to brave the city's mists. Or worse, Dagbar finally decide that Ashar was beyond redemption and report his and Akira's existence to the Empire.
The culler who had stumbled upon him after visiting Dagbar's camp had cost Ashar dozens of thralls. That reminded him, he would need to check on Knight Justice Griff and see how his transformation was coming. Every situation, no matter how dire, could still produce something positive. Ashar smiled contemptuously.
“Dagbar taught me that,” Ashar said.
Across the many tables the goblin thrall stopped feeding one of the many flames and hissed as it lowered its head in supplication.
Ashar cackled and returned to his musings.
He knew he could not survive an organized assault by the dwarves or the elves. Not yet. He still needed time to prepare, grow stronger. But, with two more soulstones he would have what he needed. The young approaching stonechosen was his best chance to fix everything. And once he had the power of all four soulstones fueling his magic, then he would be unstoppable.
He heard screams followed by the rattling of cages drifting down from the upper levels. Those who had not yet turned. Good, the mist thralls were responding to his summons. He would need to work on turning as many captives as possible once he had the other soulstones.
A pack of thralls appeared at the top of the stairs. They were mostly vargan, with a smattering of humans among them.
Ashar had only ever climbed those winding stairs to the top once. At any other time, he would have marveled at the view over the Fallen City, but until Akira was free and Dagbar paid for his lies, Ashar did not have the luxury of enjoying such frivolities.
The thralls descended the stairs that clung to the outer walls. The humans, like all mist thralls, ran on all fours. Ashar noted they almost kept pace with the vargan, which was impressive. Yet another gift his potion bestowed upon them.
The creatures finally reached the bottom level, some of them leaping the last section of stairs in their haste to reach him. They all stopped a short distance away, their chests rising and falling at that abnormally fast rate he had come to associate with them.
“Good. You must go to the south, to the edges of the Deepwood. A small group of humans travel through the woods there. They will be somewhere between the Ghost Fens and the human settlement I sent you to raid. Find them. Kill them all and then bring the male bodies back to me,” Ashar said.
He knew they would be unable to truly kill the stonechosen, but the wounds caused would force his body to shut down while the soulstones healed him.
Of course, he would never be allowed to wake. Ashar looked at the two stone tombs in the center of the room. The crushing weight of the boy's tomb would see to that.
Ashar needed to see to his studies of the ancient texts. There were a few yet unanswered questions regarding the soulstone ritual.
Soon, he would have everything he needed.
11
The Outcrop
Finngyr disengaged the intricate steel harness with a practiced slam of his fist and swung his leg over Safu's feathered back to slide down from the griffon with practiced ease.
“Thank you, Safu.” He undid the straps that held his hammer and pack, all the while taking time to stroke her muscled side and whisper encouragement.
Safu eyed him approvingly, the thin transparent membrane of her eye flicking rapidly.
“You have carried me this day in safety and comfort, and I thank you.” It was the same thing he always said to her while dismounting. He had learned early on the importance of the bond between knight and mount. He breathed in her comforting scent, a combination of down and musk. A lesson not enough knights appreciated by far, present company included.
Finngyr undid the buckles of his riding saddle and heaved it off Safu, propping it on a nearby stone spur. The stone was part of the large outcropping where he had chosen to stop and make camp for the evening. The outcropping jutted up out of the Nordlah Plains like a giant clawed hand grasping towards the sky, breaking the monotony of the smooth rolling hills. The red stone stood out in stark contrast to the sun baked yellow grass and cloudless sky stretching on forever over this hostile land.
Finngyr had camped at this landmark before, on this very plateau, and knew it meant they were halfway through their journey. They were a week north of Daomount and three days into the plains. Their destination lay to the north, but Finngyr couldn't help but look west. If he flew in that direction for ten days he would be able to join his fellow knights. Them and whatever smattering of the Empire's military the High Council deigned to send with them to deal with the gathering barbarians.
With the information he now had from the Lord Knight Justice, it didn't take a beardling to figure out why the humans were gathering. They knew the Time of the Stonechosen was upon them. They knew and were gathering to protect those abominations. He should be there to stop them. He breathed in, as if the call of righteous battle was a scent he could inhale and savor.
It was not the first time he wished he was there with his brother veteran knights instead of here with these two youngling ingrates. Neither had even earned the title of Knight Justice, having never officiated over a culling ceremony, or Rite of Attrition as others of weaker dispositions named it. They were freshly raised knights with no respect for anyone or anything.
It was obvious they felt this assignment was beneath them. They never came out and said it to Finngyr's face, even they were not that stupid. But, through hushed conversations and shared looks, Finngyr knew the truth of it.
Finngyr turned and ran his gloved hand over Safu's beak and enchanted bridle. He drew in a calming breath. “Go now and hunt. Return at my call,” Finngyr said, completing the ritual. Safu took to the darkening sky, the powerful strokes of her wings kicking up a cloud of dust.
Horth, having just slid down from his griffon, covered his face, coughing. “A little warning next time, Finngyr?”
Horth turned his back to Finngyr and started in on the straps holding down his riding saddle. Where Finngyr had a simple backpack, Horth's gear filled a pack and two swollen saddle bags. Like his belt and gloves, the saddlebags were not simple, but made of fine leather with detailed etchings. Horth was a dwarf who appreciated the finer things and had the coin to pay for it. His father's as
sociation with the coin mongers appeared to be a lucrative one.
Kjar's griffon pranced impatiently nearby as the lean dwarf still fought with his riding buckle. He had been trying to imitate Finngyr's quick release since first seeing it a week before, to no avail. Even after a week, Kjar was still awkward in the saddle. He spent as little time with his mount as was necessary and never spoke to it save muttered curses. His griffon fought against the bridle as soon as Kjar gave the reins some slack as he tried to work the buckle free.
Horth smirked. “Having trouble, Kjar?” He slapped his own griffon hard on the hind quarters, near its leonine tail. “Go hunt!”
Enough was enough.
He would not suffer the impertinence and ineptitude of these two any longer. They would know their place before they reached the Freehold. Too much rode on his quest. They would know their place before they left this outcrop or they wouldn't leave it at all.
Horth turned from the billow of dust, not bothering to watch his griffon's departure, and right into an explosion of rock shards and debris.
“What in the name-” Horth fell back, stumbled over the uneven ground, and dropped heavily onto his back.
Kjar's griffon bolted to the air with an indignant screech. Startled and still half in the saddle, Kjar and his curses rose back into the sky with it.
Finngyr stepped over what remained of the stone he had just crushed and let his ornate hammer fall to rest on his shoulder, its immense head framing his own like a dark halo. He didn't need to look at his hammer to know the smooth metal surface was unblemished. He leaned forward to tower over the now prone Horth.
“Your lack of propriety is at an end. You will address me by title and name, Knight Horth,” Finngyr said.
“What are you on about?” Horth actually had the audacity to look incredulous. Finngyr didn't know if the reddening of the bigger dwarf's face was from embarrassment or rising anger. Horth slapped some of the dirt off his hands and started to rise.
Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2) Page 13