Delver Magic Book II: Throne of Vengeance

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 15

  Ruins—destroyed buildings, crumbled roads, crushed carts, and ransacked stores—this was the sight which welcomed Ryson upon his arrival at Connel. Smoke still plumed from burnt out homes. Rubble waited in every alley. Bridges spilled over the water in tattered shreds. For every building that stood unscathed, another three lay in devastation. What was left of this city was nothing like the Connel that Ryson remembered.

  It had been over a season since he walked these streets. Once he made his commitment to Linda and to Burbon, Connel was no longer his home. Yet, he could not avoid the pain of seeing its destruction. Though he had left it, Connel still represented a part of his life. To see it in ruins was to see his memories crushed.

  Ryson walked slowly through the debris. While disbelief weighed upon his shoulders, little else served as an obstacle. Most of the main streets were cleared. The shredded remains of broken stands and merchant carts were simply pushed aside, mixed with the waste of crumbled walls and store-fronts. This meager attempt of cleanup did little to diminish the picture of utter chaos. He walked like a mindless zombie, captivated and discouraged by this grievous spectacle.

  He was not alone. Shock gripped the stragglers on the streets. He assumed them to be residents burned out of their homes. They walked in the same daze, staring vacantly, moving with no destination, many just walked past him without notice as if he was just another lamp post.

  Soldiers also stalked the streets. They, however, moved in large groups, much larger than normal patrols. In walking a mere five blocks, he encountered three separate groups of heavily armed men. Some expressed fear, some anger, but they obviously did not see Ryson as a threat. They ignored the delver, treated him as just another homeless castaway.

  One word burned in his mind, one word held the answer to all of this.

  "Dwarves," Ryson cursed.

  Just as Burbon had been attacked so too was Connel, but obviously with a greater force. Ryson could only wonder as to how many dwarves comprised the assault. Obviously many. This much destruction could not have been carried out by a mere few dozen. Ryson was well aware of Connel's armed strength. The city housed thousands of soldiers, and many delver scouts as well. For the dwarves to wreak this much havoc, they must have sent at least thousands of their own warriors. The fighting, the slaughter, it must have been beyond brutal.

  Fighting these horrific images, Ryson moved onward. He sought the Church of Godson and the reader Matthew. This was the reason he came to Connel. He found himself walking faster and faster as panic crept over him. He worried over the well-being of the reader. He imagined the church destroyed, the reader mortally wounded in the rubble. He tried to cast away these apprehensions. He failed. Over and over, his imagination played out the worst possible scenarios.

  Worse, he considered why Connel was attacked. Burbon and Connel, the elf camp, even the algors; these were the targets of the dwarf attacks. Why? The answer haunted him. He was considered an enemy to the dwarves, just like the elves and the algors. Yave would seek him out. She would order the attack of his home just as she ordered the attack of Lief and Holli's camp. Burbon was his new home, Connel was his old. He had brought this upon these people. He had brought this devastation. The thought crashed upon him. Everything that happened here was because of him.

  Though he found the strength to momentarily press aside his guilt, he cold not cast away his fear for the safety of the reader. If Yave ordered attacks upon those remotely connected to Tun's death, then certainly Matthew was a potential target. It was at Connel's Church of Godson where those who would assault Sanctum first met. Matthew, though he did not enter Sanctum, played a major role. He might indeed have been a target himself. Ryson was certain that if Yave had her way, the church would have been razed.

  The thought brought even more despair. His fear pressed him faster, like a whip at his backside. He battled with it, fought for control. He did not race with the speed of a delver. Though Connel was now used to such a sight, he did not want to send the soldiers into a panic. He did, however, match the pace of a trotting human.

  Passing near mindless wanderers and concerned soldiers, he ignored more than one question as to his hurry. The destruction he passed faded from his focus, his purpose fixed upon one sole destination.

  When it finally came into view, he welcomed his own relief. From a distance, his eyes narrowed on the church's outline. There was no sign of damage. He slowed slightly, but his desire to see his friend moved him beyond a slow walk. While maintaining the grace of a softly floating cloud, he dashed up the tall stone steps of the church and bounded through the front door. The momentary spell of relief disintegrated in an instant.

  This was not the place Ryson remembered. It was not the place where algor, elf, dwarf, human and delver met to deal with Sanctum. It was not a Church of Godson. It was no longer a place of worship at all, but a hospital.

  Instead of waiting seats for faithful followers, beds lined the expanse of the church's open interior. The benches were removed. They rested haphazardly atop each other off to the side. Instead of a simple altar, the front of the room stood covered with blood soaked sheets. There was no joy of faith in this room, there was only suffering and slow agony.

  Attendants moved about with empty hands and sorrowful expressions. The patients no longer called for them. The injured and dying knew there was nothing for them. Meager bandages barely covered their wounds and little else covered their frail bodies. The lucky ones were sheltered in old, dusty wool blankets. Others made do with old clothes for covers.

  The sight of this horror was burden enough for the delver, but the sound was haunting. The silence overwhelmed him. A few soft moans or sick coughs broke it for a heart beat, but it would return like some unrelenting fog. It held more than despair, it held shock.

  Ryson moved with heaviness, as if the silence was a weight upon his shoulders. He sought an attendant, someone he believed he recognized. He remembered her name as Rachael, a follower of this church. He hoped she would direct him to Matthew.

  His stealth startled her. He apologized as he greeted her.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I just didn't want to disturb anyone."

  She looked vacantly at him at first. She had been approached by so many relatives looking for lost family members. She was never able to give them the news they wanted. It had reached a point where she now recoiled from visitors. Then, a spark of recognition brought a beam of hope to her face.

  "Ryson?"

  The delver returned the smile and he nodded.

  "Thank Godson." She threw her arms around him.

  Though surprised at the reaction, Ryson did not retreat from her. He returned her hug. "Are you alright?"

  Rachael nearly laughed at the inane question. She released him and moved to an arm's length. "Is anyone alright? I guess I'm better than most. I'm just so glad to see you."

  Ryson spoke a single word in the form of a question, simply to confirm his obvious suspicions. "Dwarves?"

  Rachael's expression went gray. She spoke as if recalling a nightmare. "Thousands of them. It was terrible." Her voice cracked and she had to stop.

  "It's alright. You don't have to say anymore. I think I understand."

  Rachael forced herself to speak further. "Then explain it to me. I'm so confused. I remember the dwarves coming here before. They were here to help. Matthew told us all of what happened at Sanctum. The dwarves were on our side. One of them even died to save the land. Why are they doing this now?"

  Ryson spoke as soothingly as possible. "Because they lost sight of what happened. It was the queen's son who died. She wants to blame us all for his death. It doesn't make any sense, but that's what's happening."

  Rachael simply shook her head.

  Ryson did not want to dismiss her questions, but again time made its demands. He moved to the point of his appearance. "I'm here trying to stop all of this. I'm here to see Matthew. I need his help.
"

  Rachael's expression of confusion was now clouded with sorrow. She obviously did not want to speak words of explanation. She dropped her gaze to the floor. She floundered with uncertainty. She finally spoke, but it was more of a disheartened whisper.

  "I'll bring you to him. Follow me."

  Ryson followed, his delver curiosity matching his apprehension. He moved behind Rachael, walked in her footsteps to the reader's back room. Another sight of tragedy greeted him.

  Just as the benches had been cleared away, so too was the reader's desk. A single bed rested in the middle of the room. Matthew slept there, pasty white and frail. He appeared older than the delver remembered. While sleeping, Matthew's chest rose and fell as if breathing was a constant struggle. His arms rested over his covers, the gray color of his hands seemed to blend into the dingy tint of the sheets. Other than the fading yellowness of some bruises, there were no other signs of injury around his upper body. Ryson's gaze followed the outline of the reader's form beneath the sheet which covered him. One of his legs did not show through. Ryson groaned.

  The noise woke the reader. His vision, clouded at first, slowly found the delver. His eyes cleared as again the sight of Ryson brought joy to his beholder. Matthew grinned, laughed with relief until he coughed. The weakness in his body could not overcome his delight.

  "I can't believe it's you," the reader marveled.

  "It is." Ryson attempted to maintain high spirits. "I guess I've been away too long. How are you holding up?"

  Matthew laughed again. "You have a delver's eye. You tell me. Are you going to pretend you didn't notice my leg, or the absence of one?"

  "I noticed. I still want to know how you're feeling now."

  "It's not my time, if that's what you're worried about."

  Rachael could not hold back a sob.

  Matthew looked at her with comforting eyes. "It's alright, Rachael. You have to stop worrying about me. I'm going to be fine." The reader redirected his attention back to the delver. "For some reason, they don't believe that. I guess they think I'm just fooling myself. I tell you, though, I really believe it. Godson doesn't want to take me now. There's more for me to do. Don't know what it is, but I'm still in the grand plan. Do you believe that?"

  Ryson considered all that was happening, all that had happened. "I've learned to believe about anything now. I know how strong your faith is. If you believe it, it's probably true."

  Matthew heaved a heavy sigh. "It's good to finally hear that." He turned back to Rachael. "Did you hear him? He believes me, and he's been touched by Godson."

  Ryson felt a twinge of embarrassment. He felt uncomfortable with such statements. It distanced him from others. He did not want that, did not want to be considered a prophet or a holy relic.

  Matthew ignored the delver's momentary blush. His attention remained fixed upon Rachael. "Why can't the rest of you believe me? I tell you I'm not going to die, yet you keep coming in here thinking it's the last time you'll see me."

  Rachael rattled off her fears. "The doctor. He said your time was short. You lost too much blood and your wound was not healing."

  "Phhh! Doctors. They're all nothing more than witch doctors and snake oil salesmen. When I get out of this bed and start hobbling around on a cane, they'll look at me like a medical mystery. The fools might even call it some kind of miracle. They wouldn't know a miracle if it spat in their faces. I'll get better and it won't be any damn miracle." Matthew suddenly blushed himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to curse, but it's true. It's just not my time."

  Ryson flashed a smile toward Rachael. "I think you better believe him. He may try to get up sooner than he's ready just to prove he's right."

  Rachael looked to Ryson with expectant hope. She spoke to him as if he was the holy symbol he did not wish to be. "Do you really think he will get well?"

  Ryson weighed his answer. He did not want to give this woman false hope, but did not want to crush her spirits, or the reader's. He searched for a noncommittal answer. As he did, he looked upon the reader. He saw a spark of life. In that instant, he began to believe himself that it was just not Matthew's time. Despite the reader's pale cheeks, the grey pallor which covered his exposed arms, Ryson sensed an urgency to live.

  "Yes. I don't think he's going to die, not yet anyway. There's something about him…I don't know why, but he's not going anywhere." His words hung in the room like the notes of a triumphant choir. Matthew reveled in the glory of the statement. Tears rolled down Rachael's face.

  Ryson's own smile grew broader. "I hope you can learn to get around with just a cane."

  "I'll get along fine."

  "I'm sure you will."

  Rachael bubbled over with enthusiasm. After many long days of trying to console the inconsolable, she finally grasped a piece of hope for herself. She wished to share her joy. "If you don't mind, I'd like to leave you two alone. I want to tell some of the others."

  She didn't wait for an answer. She nearly ran from the room.

  Matthew shook his head. "I don't know why they're so concerned about me. Even if it was my time, they shouldn't consider it such a loss. I'm not so special."

  "Evidently you are," Ryson quipped.

  "Well, I shouldn't be."

  "Hey, you said it yourself. You still have a destiny here - something important, something about a grand plan. Isn't that how you put it?"

  Matthew fell short of complete agreement. "That doesn't mean I'm more important than any other follower of Godson. If something happens to me, the task will fall upon someone else."

  Ryson rubbed his hands together. "I don't think you believe that. Otherwise you would have accepted what the doctor said about you. You probably would have given up and died by now."

  Matthew simply shrugged.

  Ryson moved on. "Why don't you tell me how this happened, how were you hurt?"

  Matthew strained to repeat the tale of destruction. The memories obviously pained him. He spoke with grunts of dread as he recounted the scene. "Waves of dwarves attacked at twilight, appearing right out of the ground, crashing out of buildings and onto the streets. Thousands of them, heavily armored, they lashed out at everything in their path. They growled like angry lions and swarmed through the streets like wasps ousted from their nest, but there was also method to their seemingly deranged assault.

  "It seemed as if each cluster had its own purpose, some more deadly than others. Formations of dwarves would cross in the streets, ignoring each other but always bent on their independent objectives. To and fro, tightly woven groups of them rambled through the open streets as even more emerged from hidden underground tunnels. With such division, tracking them became impossible. It was just as impossible to know which set of dwarves would openly attack, which would sack the stores of food and supplies, or which would simply set upon destroying the structures of the city.

  "The constant barrage, the continuing movement, it all added to the confusion. They kept the soldiers in disarray, the people in panic. The only saving grace rested in the fact that the dwarves were slow and did not use ranged weapons. As long as their intended targets remained out of reach, the dwarves could not cause injury.

  "Unfortunately, the soldiers were expected to battle these dwarves, to stop them. Every confrontation was one-sided. The casualties to the army were too numerous to count, the devastation too horrible to recall. Hundreds dead in just the first moments."

  Matthew then turned to his own downfall. "I heard the screams from the streets. Godson, you would have had to have been deaf not to. I herded many of the townspeople into the church. It felt safe and the dwarves seemed to ignore us. They appeared more interested in the merchant stores. I guess a Church of Godson meant little to them, or perhaps they worried about some kind of sacrilege. I don't know what kind of religion they practice. Whatever the case, they left us alone. From the top of the steps, I could barely see a battle take place down the road. It seemed to be growing darker with each s
cream I heard, and the screaming didn't stop. But for some reason, I could make out the shapes of this battle. I counted only about ten dwarves. They went through thirty humans soldiers as if they were facing paper cut outs. They didn't kill them all. I heard a few cries for help. I couldn't ignore it. I tried to move quietly. Godson, I was scared. I could hear two or three of our men calling for help, whispering really, but I couldn't move fast. I was so worried the dwarves would hear me. Truthfully, I wanted to turn back. I kept trying to force the fear out of my head. It didn't work very well. I just about moved like a snail to get to them. The whole time all I could think of was what might happen to me. I did everything I could to keep from being seen. I even tried to stay in the shadows."

  "They can see very well in the dark," Ryson interrupted.

  Matthew snickered within a cough. "I should have guessed that. I know they live in caves. But I really wasn't thinking. I was too scared. I finally reached what was left of the soldiers. The first few I checked were dead. I didn't hear any more cries. I began to think I was too late. I heard one gasp and I moved to a soldier near the edge of the road. He was hurt bad, but not fatally. If I could get him back to the church, I could save him. I never got the chance."

  Matthew paused. He steadied himself as he recalled his last memories of that night. "When I started to lift the soldier, I caught movement ahead of me. A dwarf had snuck up to my position. A female warrior. She didn't look happy. I guess I wasn't a threat as a reader of this church, but I became one when I tried to help the soldier. She pierced the man I was trying to help in the middle of his chest with her broadsword. She then took a slash at my hip. You know, I didn't feel any pain, but I saw my leg topple out from under me. It really was a strange sight. I know I must have lost my balance almost immediately, but I seemed to be hanging in the air forever. The next thing I remember I was here. I've been told a few of the church followers saw me leave to help the soldiers. They followed behind and brought me back, put a tourniquet on what was left of my leg. I have no idea who it was. The only thing I can really see clearly is the face of that soldier when the dwarf woman finished him off. He felt it. I know it."

  The reader coughed. He endeavored to press these blood soaked images from his mind, but they would never release him. This particular nightmare would never fade completely from his consciousness. It would become the sole event which would always remind him of the brutality which was possible in this world. Whether he lived only one more day or one hundred more cycles of the season, he would never forget the carnage of this single battle.

  The narration haunted Ryson as well. He pictured what might have happened had the dwarves focused their strength on Burbon instead of Connel. What if they attacked there with thousands instead of just a few? What if they were planning to do so that night? The question caused an ache, and yet again, he felt the pressure of time. Each moment which passed, Burbon remained vulnerable, Linda remained in danger. He had to move quickly, but unfortunately, he had no further moves to make. He came to the church hoping for advice from the reader, perhaps the reader might accompany him to Lief’s camp in Dark Spruce. He hoped if he could reassemble those that stood at Sanctum, it might carry more weight in convincing Petiole not to use the seeds of the shadow trees. He knew it would be asking the reader to take a great risk, but now, with the reader's injury, such a request moved beyond difficult and into the realm of impossible.

  Matthew seemed oblivious to Ryson's contemplations. He continued his narrative with a dull sorrow as he described the aftermath of the attack.

  "Most people are homeless. At least two thirds of the structures sustained damage. I haven't seen for myself, but some of the other followers have scouted around town. They've been trying to set up temporary shelters. They're trying to rebuild as quick as possible. Not a good time for that. It's not like it's the beginning of the growing season. Dormancy will be here in a matter of days. I can feel the chill of the wind even in here.

  "It's a good thing we have a new mayor, an honest one. She's getting the people together, but she's facing many problems. The army has to rebuild, and people that might be helping in the construction are training for war. We have no idea if the dwarves will come back.

  "That in itself has created another problem. A good many people are leaving now. They're just picking up and heading east, out into the plains. Rumor is spreading that the dwarves don't like the ground out there. It's too soft. They say the dwarves live mainly in the hills and the mountains. They think they'll be safe in the flatlands.

  "I don't know whether to believe that or not. I just know that most everyone's beyond just being scared. It's fear and uncertainty mixed together. We didn't know why the dwarves attacked. Even now that you've explained it to me, I have a hard time understanding, and we don't know if they'll be back. I can have word sent to the mayor as to what you have told me. She'll try to explain it to the people, but do you think they'll accept it? Two seasons ago most everyone around here didn't even believe in dwarves. This is insanity to them. People dead, the city destroyed, all by creatures of a dream.

  "I guess we should be somewhat thankful. Most of the farms were completely untouched. The stocks of grain in the silos remain. Those of us that stay, we won't starve, but I don't know if we will survive the fear."

  Matthew coughed again. Once in control of his breathing, he realized he had been doing all the talking. He took a long look at Ryson and considered his appearance. He saw the conflict, saw the doubt within the delver. It raised many questions. "You didn't think you'd find us this way, did you? You didn't come here to help us with the dwarves; you came here for something else."

  "In truth, I came for your help," Ryson admitted candidly

  Matthew's intuitiveness was rather remarkable, especially considering his situation. "Was Burbon attacked as well?!"

  "Yes, but not like this. They only sent a few. Our soldiers managed to fight them off. We were very lucky."

  "Then why did you come here?"

  Ryson quickly explained his intentions. When he spoke of Dzeb's refusal, Matthew displayed disbelief.

  "He wouldn't offer his help?"

  "He said it wasn't his place."

  "So he would let everyone suffer?" Matthew seemed almost incredulous.

  "I don't think that's how he sees it. I guess he thinks we're creating our own suffering and it's up to us to stop it. Either that or he wants more of a sign from Godson. Maybe you understand it better."

  "I don't understand it at all. It's inexcusable." Matthew was rather resolute in his judgment. His face soured at the thought of the cliff behemoth refusing to help.

  Ryson offered solace so as to calm the wounded reader. "Don't be too hard on him. I was at first. I was mad at him. That's hard. Just looking in their faces, all you can see is peaceful content. It still bothered me he wouldn't help, but I started to think about it as I was coming here. It may be a blessing that they can remain so detached from such things. I mean, what would happen if the cliff behemoths started to think it was their right to interfere in every single matter? I don't know how many of them live up in those mountains, but I'm sure there's enough to basically take over. If they wanted to, I'm sure they could dictate everything we do."

  "We're not talking about that," Matthew objected. "We're talking about Dzeb's unwillingness to stop this war."

  "It may be the same thing," Ryson countered. "I know it sounds strange. I'm arguing against my own point, but I'm also a delver. I have to examine things, learn from what I see and hear. Dzeb doesn't want to help me, and at first that really angered me. It still does. I think he should step forward. He was at Sanctum. He knows that what happened was no one's fault. He should say so, but that's only my opinion. He has a reason for not acting. Whether I accept it or not, I have to admit that the reason holds at least some merit."

  "You're defending him?"

  "I don't think so. I'm just taking a hard look at what might happen if they interfered all th
e time."

  "Interference is not the equivalent of correcting a grievous error," Matthew stated firmly.

  Ryson shrugged. "I know, but that's his decision."

  "So you came here to see if I would go with you to speak with this Petiole." Matthew paused to contemplate the idea. "I would like to go, but I would have liked some time to heal a bit more."

  "I appreciate that, but I can't have you go with me now. It would probably kill you, and you'd slow me down. I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. I can't think of anything else to do. The dwarves won't listen to me. They'll continue to attack. The algors will send their sand giants and the elves will drop the seeds. I guess it'll all be over soon enough. No way to stop any of it now. It still bothers me, though, even after seeing all this destruction. The entire city of Dunop shouldn't be destroyed just because one woman went mad with grief. I only hope the delay I caused didn't lead to more deaths in Burbon. That would be hard to live with."

  "If that is the case, you can't blame yourself. You did what you thought you had to do."

  "It wasn't enough," Ryson responded sadly. "Anyway, if you're worrying about the dwarves, my guess is they won't be back here in force. At least not right away, and probably not at all. Both Lief and Holli agree. They think the dwarves are going to set their sights on Burbon. Besides that, the algors will be sending the sand giants, and I probably won't be able to stop Petiole from dropping the seeds. Dunop and the dwarves will most likely be destroyed in a few days. You can tell your mayor that."

  The reader nodded, almost with a thankful nod to the heavens. "I will. It will probably help her a good deal. It's already easing my mind."

  Ryson placed a hand on the reader's shoulder. "I'm glad I could be of some help. If you need anything from me, just send word to Burbon. I'll do whatever I can to get it to you. I'll be back when this is over to see how you're doing."

  Matthew nodded. "Thank you. I look forward to seeing you."

  He watched the delver turn to leave. As he did, he saw the sheath of the sword at Ryson's side. An image ignited. He thought of the sword and its power as he remembered it. He blurted out a question. "Is that still the magic sword? The Sword of Decree?"

  Ryson stopped and eyed the reader with a perplexed expression. "Yes, it is."

  "The same sword that Dzeb told you to hand to Tun in this church basement?"

  "Yes."

  "Tun didn't believe the sphere should be destroyed,” Matthew noted out loud. “I remember that clearly. He was against the release of the magic. He wanted to encase the sphere, bury it again. He wouldn't listen to reason. You let him hold the sword and his opinion changed. He saw the truth behind the sphere, he saw what he needed to do."

  Ryson understood in an instant. "You think it would work on Yave?"

  "If it has been blessed with such a power, I can not see why not."

  "I didn't even think of that." Ryson rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "I would have to get her to hold it, and I have no idea if it would do anything. It doesn't work on command or anything like that."

  Matthew tried to sit up. He pulled himself forward slowly as he found strength in his own faith. He considered the events of the past two seasons. He thought of the prophecies of Godson and how the future and their fate now seemed to be in their own hands. He remembered the scene on Sanctum Mountain where the delver found the power to destroy Ingar. He believed that that was a blessing of Godson. He spoke of the present with the same conviction. "If you were meant to stop this war, it will work. You have to have faith in that. You intended to enter Dunop with Dzeb. You must still go. I don't envy you. I don't even know what your chances might be. I guess you have to ask yourself if you really believe it's your responsibility to stop this."

  Ryson waved aside any concern over his own safety and focused on an immediate question. "But how do I get to Yave to hold the sword?"

  "How did you intend to enter the city without them killing you on sight even if you were with Dzeb?"

  "I figured I'd be worth more as a prisoner, they'd want to question me."

  "If they question you, you can challenge them to hold the sword. Again, I go back to the basic question. Do you believe you still must try to stop this?"

  Ryson did not pause in his reply. "I saw those shadow trees, saw them up close," he said holding back a shiver. "I saw what they could do at Sanctum's bottom. I heard about how they destroyed a dwarf city the first time they were used. If there's something I can do which might actually stop this, then yes, I have to give it a try."

  "Then you have your answer. It seems your destiny with Godson's will is not quite over."

  Ryson considered what he went through at Sanctum Mountain. He now thought of facing an army of dwarves and their vengeful queen. His shoulders drooped with the burden. "Why does it have to come to this? I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to be blessed or anything like that."

  Matthew simply raised an eyebrow. "I think that's what they might mean when they say a blessing may also be a curse."