“Piss off.” The guard threw him a contemptuous look. “We’re busy here. Who do you think you are?”
“You dare address me in that manner once more and I’ll show you who I am.” Sulrad raised a fireball and slowly shoved it toward the man. The ball of emerald sparks spun and emitted a shrill whistle as it made its way slowly toward the guard.
Sulrad had hoped that this would be enough, but the guard stepped to one side and smirked. “Nice try, but you’re a bit slow.”
Sulrad shrugged. He reached out and gave the fireball a twist with his magic. The spinning ball of sparks arched toward the guard once more.
The guard stepped to one side.
The fireball followed him.
The guard stepped again, his face falling into a scowl.
The fireball curved to follow him once again. It was drawing close. He could no doubt feel the heat of it. Let him piss on that.
“All right,” the guard shouted. “What do you want?”
Sulrad closed his hand, and the fireball winked out of existence. “I need to see what the commotion is all about.”
“There. The stairs. Tell them Nykel approved you.”
Sulrad nodded. “Thank you for your kindness, Nykel. I won’t soon forget this.”
“I wish you would,” the guard muttered.
That gave Sulrad a twinge of satisfaction he immediately felt guilty for. Was he becoming one of those? One of the wealthy and pompous? Certainly not. He’d have to watch it. If only Ignal were here. This was all a distraction that he didn’t need. He should be off looking for her, not confronting the baron’s men.
He climbed the stairs with little enthusiasm. One foot before the other. That was all he could do. Just keep moving onwards. He could worry about Ignal once he had dealt with the king’s men, if indeed that was what they were.
The last step was higher than the rest. He’d been told it was to make it harder for enemy troops to ascend and attack at the same time. For him, it was just an annoyance and something that made his day a little less pleasant.
He emerged onto a wooden balcony that projected from the wall. The thick stones had been trimmed, polished, and fitted together, leaving crenelations and arrow slits at regular intervals all along the wall. It was through one of the arrow slits Sulrad peered.
Off in the distance, a cloud of dust rose into the midmorning air. It was thick and brown and impenetrable. There was no way he could see who was coming, much less do anything about it.
He leaned forward, trying to get a better look.
No luck. The dust was thick and whatever was responsible was too far away.
If only there were a way to see what was off in the distance. Sulrad searched his memory for anything that might help. One of his classes had explained how light was bent by glass, but he had no glass and wasn’t sure he could form the sort of lens he had learned about even if he did, or if one would even work.
But. The idea wasn’t all bad.
He concentrated on the air before him, squeezing the edges of an imagined circle until the distant vision wavered, growing larger and larger as he pinched the edges of his imaginary lens closer and closer together.
He peered into the lens.
The dust was still thick, but he could make out figures in the dust. His lens magnified them and filtered out some of the dust.
Horses. There were definitely horses, but as they grew clearer, it was plain to see that they were no ordinary horses. None of the armor the king’s horses wore was evident. These were sleek animals that stood low to the ground, almost as if they had been stunted, their legs shorter than normal. Would that not make them slower on the gallop? Who would breed such a horse?
As if to answer his question, the wind shifted, and the dust was swept away. At the head of the procession rode three magnificent small horses. Their tack was glistening leather, studded with gold and silver. Their saddles were oddly formed, if ornate, and astride each rode a cloaked figure of a child. No, not a child. They were short, but not frail and not thin.
Could it be?
Sulrad leaned closer to the lens.
The vision became blurry.
He leaned back.
Things swam, then came into focus.
There, at the head of the procession, surrounded by her parents, sat Ignal. She wore a crown of silver similar to that worn by her mother.
“You sly fox,” Sulrad muttered.
“Sire?” a nearby guard inquired.
Sulrad waved him away. “Nothing. Nothing.”
There she was. And she had brought help. He knew he should never have doubted her. A pang of guilt rose up in him. Yes, he would have to make it up to her, even though she might never know he had doubted her. When she arrived, that was, but why wait?
Sulrad focused his gaze on Ignal and relaxed. He reached out, opened the void, and stepped through, stumbling as he emerged from the void onto the dusty street.
The lead horse reared up, its forelegs twirling in the air in fright. The figure on the horse deftly brought the animal back under control and glared at him.
“Sure do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?” She glanced over at Ignal. “I take it this is the wizard you spoke of?”
“Priest,” Ignal said.
The woman shrugged. “Priest, wizard, magic wielder; that is what they are to me.”
“He is the hand of Ran on the earth, Mother. I’ve explained that all to you.”
Sulrad bowed to the woman, waiting to be introduced. When no introduction came, Sulrad straightened up and extended his hand in greeting. “You must be Queen Urnard.”
The woman snorted. “We don’t go in for those fancy titles as you overgrown children do. I’m Urnard. Plain and simple.” She nodded, showing off the gold crown she wore as if it were a simple headband. Perhaps to her it was. The band of gold circled a head of black hair. Delicate engraving on the crown depicted mountains and valleys.
“Urnard, then,” Sulrad said. “Welcome. I have heard so little of you and your folk, you will have to forgive me for my ignorance. I am unfamiliar with your ways.”
Urnard threw Ignal a glance once more. “Sure is a slick talker, isn’t he?”
Ignal beamed with pride as she spoke. “He is called Father Sulrad. He speaks with the voice of a god.”
It made Sulrad a bit nervous. Her devotion was something that always made him feel undeserving, but at the moment, he feared it was less than endearing to a woman with whom Ignal had a tenuous relationship at best. Better to diffuse the situation.
“Just Sulrad. You need not address me by title.” He watched Urnard’s face soften at his words. “My home is yours, humble as it is.”
“I thought it belonged to my daughter. Bequeathed to her by that soulless sniveling cur who stole her son.”
“Mother. I have gifted all my worldly goods to the temple. It is no longer mine. I have only returned there while the temple is blocked from our use. Once we release the temple from the spell, I will once again reside there doing the work of Ran and spreading his mercies to those in need.”
“Forgive me, but I’m a bit suspicious of anyone who requires you to hand over your worldly goods.”
“Not require,” Ignal interrupted. “I volunteered.”
“Please. While Ignal has donated the residence to the temple, I still consider it hers. She is free to come and go as she pleases, and so are you. You are welcome there as long as needed, for the duration of your toils and beyond. You are like family to me and family takes care of one another. It’s the least I could do given the generosity you have shown in coming all this way.”
Urnard reached out a hand. “Tall as you are, I’d expect you to be able to jump right up, but it’s only courteous to lend a hand. Since you didn’t bring a horse with you through that fancy travel portal you used, you’re either expecting a ride or you’re planning to walk all the way back to the city. I’m thinking you need a ride. Grab hold and let me heft you up here, and mind you, d
on’t drag your feet when you do get settled. Makes the horses nervous.”
Sulrad took her hand. She had a grip that would put most blacksmiths to shame. She yanked so hard, he thought she was going to rip his arm off, but before he knew it, he was nestled into the saddle behind the woman.
“Don’t be afraid to hold on.” She took his hands and joined them across her middle. “And keep your hands low, at least as long as Omer is nearby.” Her laughter reminded him of Ignal.
“I’m thinking we’ve got two glasses before we get where we’re going. Why don’t you tell me all about this god of yours and what he can do besides heal my grandson so well that you’d never know he was born with a curse? Not that it helped much, and if I ever get my hands on the weasel of a father of his, I will definitely leave him looking like the boy did before you healed him, that is, if I let him live. Haven’t decided that one yet.”
It looked like the ride to Ignal’s residence was going to be more interesting than he had first believed, but here was his chance. If he could get Urnard on his side, it would make things better for Ignal, and he owed her more than he could ever repay, especially now when he had so unjustly believed her capable of the same level of treachery as his own mother.
“Ran is all powerful, all knowing, all merciful.” Sulrad began explaining to Urnard how Ran touched the lives of everyone around and doled out mercy and healing as if it were water from an endless well. Urnard was sharp and interrupted him with questions more often than he would have liked. He was grateful for Ignal’s help as he spoke of the code of Ran. Certainly, her influence on his thinking was what seemed to be endearing the queen of the dwarves to him the more he spoke. Perhaps he would get more out of this visit than labor to dig beneath the temple.
Ran certainly did move in mysterious ways.
21
Sulrad sat at the communal table in Ignal’s home. This was where meals were served for the faithful, the elite of the temple. With the temple barred to them, this was once again their home. This morning, when he had entered the dining area, not all the seated guests stood and bowed as they usually did. Two remained seated, their gaze fixed on Ignal.
“Father Sulrad.” She bowed deeply, held it for half a hand of heartbeats, then straightened up. Her face bore a broad smile that Sulrad hadn’t realized he’d missed until he saw it. It drove a needle of guilt into him at the thought that he had doubted her. He reminded himself yet again that he needed to make it up to her.
“Please,” he said. “No formalities while we have guests. I’m just Sulrad.” He glanced at Urnard and Omer. He had been trying to overcome their inherent distrust of humans from the moment he’d had laid eyes on them. Even so, he didn’t feel like he was succeeding. Still, he was determined to win them over, even if it killed him.
“Our folk began excavating before the sun rose,” Urnard said in a voice almost indistinguishable from Ignal’s. “We appreciate your hospitality and the hearty morning meal your cooks were able to prepare, but know that we are eager to complete our work and return to our home. I cannot shake the feeling that all eyes are on me, even when I am safely within the walls of this sturdy home.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience. Words cannot convey my gratitude. You have done me a great honor.” Sulrad bowed to Urnard with an exaggerated flourish, holding his bow twice as long as Ignal had. He straightened up to see the barest hint of a smile fade from the woman’s face.
“I can see why my daughter likes you. You’re not bad for a tall one.” Urnard said. “At the rate they are digging in this soft soil you call earth, they should reach the bottom of the spell well before nightfall. Another day of this and we should have you free of the mischief of these wizards.”
“I take it you are not a friend of wizards?” he asked.
“Neither friends nor enemies. We sell them crystals and gems for their use, and they supply us with sky iron. We value it for its strength and ability to hold an edge.”
“Would that I could say the same,” Sulrad explained. “For some reason, they have taken to making my life as difficult as possible.”
“Are you certain it was the wizards?”
“You are saying that this spell, this attack on my temple was not created by a wizard?”
“It certainly was, but the feel of the magic. It has a strange flavor to it. It’s not the raw magic we mine, nor the magic that’s been handled by a wizard. There is a flavor to it that I cannot discern.”
“I thought you could not handle magic?” Sulrad asked.
“Handle it? No. Recognize it? Most definitely. We collect gems and crystals from a wide range of rocks and strata. We are familiar with almost every type of magic there is, but this — it’s not something I recognize. It has a peculiar scent to it. Musty as if it were old, stagnant as if it has lain dormant and been confined for eons. This magic is far older than anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen old.”
Sulrad tried to understand what she was hinting at, but before he got too far, Veran rushed in, breathing hard.
“Father Sulrad, they’ve found something you need to see,” the younger priest said.
“Can it wait?” Sulrad inquired. “I’m with guests who deserve my full attention.”
“Father, this concerns them, too.”
Sulrad threw a glance over at Urnard, who shrugged and pushed her chair back. She placed a hand on Omer’s shoulder as she rose and bent down to whisper in his ear. He nodded and remained sitting while she extended an arm to Sulrad.
For a moment, Sulrad hesitated, then reached out and took the proffered arm, feeling a strength and bulk of muscle he had never felt on Ignal. The two of them might look like sisters, but Urnard had surely seen days of hard labor that her daughter had not.
“Where to?” Sulrad asked.
“The tunnel,” Veran said. “The miners have struck something.”
“Surely no mere rock has stymied my folk,” Urnard said.
“It’s not a rock. It’s a wall, and it’s spelled. Their tools won’t even make a scratch on it.”
Urnard hmphed. “No mere wall can stop my folk. Wizard or not.”
Veran shrugged and disappeared down the tunnel ahead. Sulrad wished he could rush ahead too, but he knew better. He’d done enough walking with Ignal that he’d learned the pace and cadence needed to allow her to keep step. He had earned his way into Urnard’s good graces and didn’t want to do anything to risk it.
The tunnel ahead was carved from the raw rocks, even though Urnard had referred to it as soft soil. No chisel marks bore witness to the process the dwarves had used to carve or cart away the stone. It was almost as if they had created the tunnel from magic.
Rounding a turn, Sulrad came to the foot of a grand staircase. It was nothing short of spectacular. The stairs themselves were perfectly formed. Flat and polished. Carved into the wall of the stairway were handrails that appeared to be formed of wood, so intricate was their detail. Why? Was there a purpose to the artistry they had wrought or was this something the dwarves were compelled to do.
He thought back to the caverns where Ignal had disappeared. That one had been roughly hewn, almost carelessly so. If they had not been compelled dig with such craftsmanship where they lived, why here?
“There,” Urnard said. “Feel that?”
“Feel what?” Sulrad extended his senses. Magic. Old magic. With a strange twist to it. Whoever created these walls was a wizard of some power, and ancient by the feel of it.
“This reminds me of the spell on your temple,” Urnard said. “Same flavor to it.” Firm fingers gripped his hand. “We have skills you never dreamed of,” she said. “And, I think we are close to your stones if my guess is correct. There is little need to continue tunneling. I can feel the spell above us. The gap you hoped for is indeed there. I will tell my folk. By this time tomorrow, we will be done. We can return home and you can resume building your temple.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Sulrad said.
&
nbsp; “My daughter,” Urnard said, “She is very fond of you and has some intriguing things to say about this Ran of yours. Before we leave, I’d like to know more. If he was able to heal my grandson, and mend a rift between me and my daughter that has gone on for half her lifetime, perhaps there is something to all this Ran business. The dwarves were never big on any religion. Not the dragons, not the mythical elder races, not even the sun god, especially not the sun god, but this Ran, he seems different. Practical. Who wouldn’t want a god like that?”
Sulrad felt his heart race. Had he won over the whole race of dwarves? Ran be praised if he had, but he had his misgivings. Ignal was fanatical, there was no doubt about that, but Urnard seemed much more practical than her daughter. He could see why there was a rift between them and surmised that should they remain in contact, that rift would widen again. It was good to see them together, but Sulrad was certain that peace would be short-lived. It was fortuitous that the miners were almost finished. He appreciated their help, but it was time to get back to his primary mission — spreading the power and mercy of Ran to the populace of Tustow and beyond. He had to locate a suitable site. Notwithstanding, he’d make sure the word of Ran had a path to the land beneath the mountains. One never knew where the seed of faith would take hold.
Before Sulrad could think what to say, Urnard grabbed his arm and guided him to a doorway set in the wall they had worked around. The stones surrounding it appeared to be set in place, not naturally occurring like those the tunnel had been carved through.
The door was more of a recess in the wall that had been sealed with stone. The mantel sported words written in a strange tongue. The arch of stone that housed the door had been fitted together as if by magic. The lines where each stone met the next were barely visible, and the stones themselves radiated a magic with a distinctive flavor that even Sulrad could detect.
“What are you going to do about this?” Urnard placed a hand on the stone and traced the engraving. Two trees had been engraved in the stone, each one tall and strong on its own, but with intertwining branches that made it certain that the two trees had been joined as one and were now inseparable. Sitting in the branches of one of the trees were songbirds, arrayed in a line. Hanging from the branches of the other tree were bats. Large bats, their ugly faces clearly visible.
Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2) Page 14