“There is no room in my company for you, Tovak, son of Graybor. Nor will there ever be, so long as I am its captain.”
Dagon fell silent for a long moment as he glanced down at the folded Warrant. His hands shook.
“If it were up to me, you would be escorted out of the encampment and left to fend for yourself on the plateau.” The captain tapped his desk with an index finger. “But there are rules we must all abide by. Karach, like the Academy, takes your kind in. Why he does that, the gods only know. He does, however, leave the decision up to the individual company commanders.” Dagon fell silent for several heartbeats. He clenched and unclenched his hands and looked about to speak. He hesitated a heartbeat more. “I will not sully my Legend by exacting any sort of petty revenge against a son for the sins of the father. I will not seek to further humiliate you. Perhaps you can find a place in the warband with one of the other companies, perhaps not. There are few among us who will not remember the name Graybor Stonehammer. Your journey to the Badgers may have been for naught. Seek one of the other companies . . . perhaps amongst the skirmishers or even the auxiliaries . . . .” Dagon sucked in a breath. It came out in a slow hiss. “There is a great need for labor. Somehow, someway, you might even begin to atone for the sins of your father. I will say nothing of your visit here, this day. That is the only kindness I will ever offer you. Find what position you can”—Dagon’s tone hardened to cold steel—“but it will not be with the Second, ever. Understand me?”
Tovak gave a miserable nod.
“Go, now, and do not return. You are not welcome in my tent. Dismissed.”
Tovak didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. There was nothing he could say that would change the captain’s mind. He had thought his Warrant would earn him at least some scrap of respect. He had been wrong.
“I said, dismissed,” Dagon repeated.
Tovak took the Warrant off the table, turned, and moved towards the tent flap.
“And Tovak,” Dagon said, “if I were you, I’d lose that Warrant. Take another name, son. Granted, there is shame in that, but I think you’ll find that many believe stones don’t roll far from the mountain.”
Tovak gave another nod. Then, without looking back, he pulled the tent flap aside and stepped out into the night.
The guard, who had wished him well only a short while before, had heard everything. Tovak could see it in his face. The friendliness was gone. There was no smile, no kindness, only cold, disdainful eyes and a grim line of tightened lips.
Tovak averted his gaze and walked out into the street of grass that stretched to his left and right. He paused, his emotions tearing at him. Rage, shame, despair—they were a maelstrom, ripping his heart to pieces. He turned his eyes towards the sky. Why? He sent the question up, a soul-felt plea to Thulla. He had clung to his faith, desperate for some sort of answer that didn’t promise a lifetime of rejection and pain.
Will it ever change?
As he stood there, torchlight flickering faintly around him, the sounds of the camp were little more than a distant drone in his ears as memory washed over and threatened to drown him.
CHAPTER THREE
Ten years earlier . . . .
Tovak shifted on the hard, wooden seat of his school bench, his stylus held over a wax tablet covered with names, dates, and a litany of details regarding the Battle of Farkahl Valley. He’d copied his notes from what covered the black slate board behind Master Gaelon, all of it part of a history lesson about the most recent Dvergr-Syrulian war. He was a good student and nearing graduation. He had always favored this class. He loved history, particularly learning about the great battles and heroes that had shaped the Legend of his people.
The slate blended almost perfectly with the granite walls of the school. It was the same for the desks arrayed about the room in orderly rows—twelve for the students and one for the instructor. Like every other structure in the city, the school’s walls, ceiling, and even the furniture, wherever possible, had been cut, carved, or shaped from the native stone of the mountain above. A dozen mirrored lamps of silver filled the room with warm light, and a half-dozen wide windows opened up onto a shadowed stone courtyard beyond, with a splashing fountain at its center.
“As a result of her losses along the Farkahl River,” Master Gaelon said, “the Empress of Syrulia was forced to withdraw with what few troops she had left. Our Thane, the mighty Rogar Bladebreaker, through speedy action, was able to cut off the human army before they could make their escape. He surrounded them with three of his best warbands: the Dragon Fist, the War Hammer, and the Blood Badgers. Bladebreaker was subsequently able to force not only a surrender but a long-term peace upon the Empress that secured our southern borders against further incursion. After many long years of bitter and bloody fighting, it was a peace on our terms.”
Gaelon raised his eyes from the thick tome he held in his hands and then placed it upon the granite desk beside him. Looking almost stately in the green and black robes of the school, he was one of the youngest instructors, and yet his beard was still mostly gray, with streaks and hints of the auburn he had enjoyed as a youth. Like all instructors, his head was shaved and covered by a skullcap. It was made of plain copper, without jewel or rune, indicating he was at the bottom of the hierarchy of instructors. He was also Tovak’s favorite, with a sense of humor, a delight in history, and a fondness for sidetracking lessons in favor of glorious tales of victories and heroism across the ages. “Can anyone tell me why the non-aggression pact is important today, so many years later?” There was a pause, and Gaelon’s eyes shifted to the middle of the classroom. “Adelluh?”
Tovak turned at hearing the name. He had a liking for the raven-haired lass, although he’d never worked up the nerve to say more than “hello” to her in the halls of the school. He often wondered if she felt the same.
“It brought a lasting peace,” she said. Tovak smiled and nodded. She was right. But there was more to it.
Hoping to impress her, Tovak raised his hand from where he sat at the front of the classroom. He felt his friend Andol rolling his eyes—again—at Tovak’s habit of knowing the answers when it came to history.
“Yes, Tovak?” Gaelon asked, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“The Horde,” Tovak replied easily.
Gaelon raised an eyebrow. “Insufficient, and I think you know it. Explain your answer.” It was a game the two of them often played, and Gaelon seemed to enjoy indulging Tovak’s growing wealth of knowledge and reasoning.
Tovak cleared his throat. “It’s my understanding that the Horde is concentrated well to the south. If they were to begin another advance, they would have to go through Syrulia to get to us, here beneath the mountain.”
“True,” Gaelon said. “Anything else?”
“The Horde will have a much more difficult time getting through them to us,” Tovak said. “Especially now that we are no longer fighting the Syrulians. In addition to that, the Syrulians don’t have to garrison the border. More importantly, the longer the empire holds, the stronger and better prepared we become.”
“Precisely,” Gaelon said. “And that is, in fact, how Thane Bladebreaker convinced the Empress to cease hostilities. That and the fact that we had her and the remains of her army surrounded. It was diplomacy at sword point.” The instructor gave a low chuckle at his own joke.
Gaelon let his eyes move over the faces of the rest of the class.
“There was Legend to be had at continuing the conflict with Syrulia—the Thane could have taken the Empress’s head—which would have removed one threat. Several of the Thane’s advisors wanted to do just that. However, Bladebreaker chose to weigh the short-term risks of continuing the conflict with her successor versus the long-term threat of facing our true enemy, the Horde. It is important that you understand this point and why he did it. The Syrulians are a buffer between us and the Horde, which has already swept over much of this world our people have found refuge on. There will come a point when the Hord
e once again advances and we shall have to find a new home, perhaps even on another world. Do you all see the difference between a short-term gain versus the Thane’s long-view strategy?”
Tovak looked to see several of the heads nodding, although Adelluh’s incongruous frown seemed directed straight at him. He turned away, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Andol, sitting to his right, also gave a nod, although his understanding of history was less than rock-solid. Tovak often helped his friend study for their exams, drilling him with dates and names. Sometimes, it was for naught, but such was their friendship that Tovak helped when he could.
As Tovak turned back towards Gaelon, he saw Headmaster Grahk step into the classroom, a grim expression on his wrinkled, ancient face.
He fixed beady, piercing eyes of blue upon Master Gaelon, who had turned at the headmaster’s intrusion. Grahk’s thin, ash-white beard reached nearly to the floor, and the green and black robes of his station looked like they’d been draped over broom handles. A polished gold skullcap covered his head, with black runes etched along the edges. A small white crystal adorned the center of the widow’s peak, and it glittered with reflected light as the headmaster moved forward with a shuffling gait.
“Excuse me, Master Gaelon,” he said in a gravelly and serious tone, “but I require the presence of one of your students.”
“As you wish, Headmaster,” Gaelon replied, his copper skullcap glinting with lamplight as he bowed slightly for the Headmaster to proceed.
Grahk’s eyes shifted to the class, passing from one face to another, until he fixed them upon Tovak. The headmaster’s eyes narrowed as Tovak’s widened.
Tovak couldn’t imagine what sort of trouble he might be in. He’d never been called upon by the headmaster—a privilege generally reserved for those who misbehaved at school or underperformed—and he had always been an exemplary student. His father required nothing less, and he’d done his best to exceed expectations. The headmaster pointed a bony finger and then motioned for Tovak to follow him.
“Come with me, boy,” Grahk said. “And bring your things.”
The headmaster turned in a swirl of robes and disappeared through the doorway.
Tovak turned worried eyes to Andol, who had a questioning look upon his face. He could only shrug as he stood. There were harsh whispers and sideways glances as Tovak quickly picked up his stylus and tablet. He moved to the doorway and grabbed his cloak and pack off a hook by the door. Draping the cloak over his shoulders, he slipped his things into the pack, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out where the headmaster stood waiting. His ancient features were a strange combination of anger and sadness, as if Tovak had done something to offend or deeply disappoint the headmaster.
“You must go home,” the headmaster said. He turned on his heel and walked briskly down the hallway that led to the front entrance of the school. The hallway was softly illuminated by oil lamps set in mirrored recesses along the granite walls.
Confused, Tovak followed in the fluttering wake of the headmaster’s thick robes. Fear gripped at him, and bewilderment. Never in his life had that hallway seemed so long. What was wrong?
“Headmaster,” Tovak said meekly, “what’s going on?”
Grahk didn’t turn his head. “It is best we not speak of it, here or elsewhere. All will become clear to you once you return home.” His quick footsteps echoed off the walls, broken only by the swishing of his robes as they brushed along the stone floor.
“But—”
“Enough,” the headmaster hissed in irritation.
So, Tovak followed, his anxiety growing with each step as they neared the main entrance to the school. They passed a dozen doorways, some of which were open and others closed. Tovak knew they were all classrooms full of students like himself. Ahead, the wide double doors of the entrance stood open, with a pale glow from brighter lamps filling the foyer with a soft, white light.
Grahk stepped aside and motioned for Tovak to pass through. As he did, the headmaster suddenly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The elderly Dvergr was stronger than he appeared. His fingers upon Tovak’s shoulders dug in so deep, they hurt. There was a turmoil of anger and sadness swirling within those piercing blue eyes, and for a moment, the furrowed brow of the headmaster softened. He released his hold on Tovak.
“You were a good student,” Grahk said slowly. He let out a long breath that hissed out and glanced up at the school’s seal set into the carved stone above the open doors. “It is a great pity. You only had half a year left before graduation. However, it would be best if you didn’t come back to the school, ever.” Grahk squeezed his shoulder, this time in an almost comforting manner and with fondness. “Your life is going to be very difficult from here on out. I am sorry, but we can’t have the distraction and conflict your presence would bring to the school. The other parents would object. It is better this way.”
“I don’t understand,” Tovak said. “What have I done?”
The headmaster blew out a breath. For a flashing moment, Tovak saw compassion flicker in Grahk’s eyes.
“You will,” Grahk said wearily. “I wish there was something I could do, but I can’t change the ways of our people . . . nor can I change what has happened. Seek out Father Danik. He is an old friend of mine and may be able to help you find strength when it seems you can find none of your own. Remember Father Danik.”
Tovak simply nodded. It surprised him to hear Grahk make such a suggestion. He had never even met one of Thulla’s clerics, like most Dvergr he knew. There was little faith to be found amongst his people. Indeed, the faithful were openly ridiculed and disparaged, especially those who served the religious order, for clinging to a god who most felt had forsaken the people as a whole. Tovak’s mother and father were among them. There were no symbols of Thulla in his home, and his father had gone out of his way to braid his beard without prayer knots. It was a fading tradition amongst his people, and it was widely accepted that, of the nobles who still wore them, most did so because of tradition rather than faith.
The headmaster raised his hand and pointed away from the school. “Now, go home and begone from here.”
Fear clutched at Tovak’s heart. He couldn’t imagine what could have brought the headmaster to such a state or why he was being sent home and ordered not to return.
As he walked down the steps, the Thane’s Bell rang once in the high tower above the palace, echoing across the cavern walls and stone buildings of Garand’Durbaad, marking the first hour past midday. Never before had the lantern-lit streets looked so dark and ominous or the great cavern’s ceiling high above so distant and disquieting. Tiers of balconies, their windows open and radiating dim yellowed light, seemed to stare down at him with heartless scorn. The street leading from the school was relatively quiet as he worked his way towards home, barely aware of the occasional traveler that passed him by.
He felt like he’d been condemned, and he didn’t even know his crime. Tovak loved school. He could not imagine never returning. What would his friends think of him for being cast out? What of Adelluh?
He moved around a teska-drawn cart full of bundles of freshly sheared wool and stepped out onto Grand Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Garand’Durbaad running straight down the middle of the city. The sounds of foot traffic washed over him, for even at midday, the avenue was full of people.
He turned left towards the back of the cavern and made his way along the avenue. Grand was nearly a hundred feet across and stretched out ahead and behind for a half-mile in either direction. A single row of twelve massive columns, each forty feet thick and covered with runes, ran down the middle of the avenue and supported the weight of the ceiling a hundred fifty feet above. A small channel of cool, clear water ran around columns flowing in the direction of the palace. The water ran down the outer surface of each column, rippling over the etched runes and causing the dark stone to glisten as it flowed into the channel. Tovak had always marveled at this engineering feat, but this time he bare
ly noticed.
Merchants and teamsters hauled goods in small carts and wagons. A company of warriors in full plate armor marched along the far side of the avenue, a raven banner held high as they made their way towards the main gates of the city, sunlight, and the outside world. Couples and mothers with young children passed by on errands, some of them holding sacks or small wooden boxes full of goods.
He walked quickly past artisan shops, smithies, and taverns that lined the avenue on either side, with apartments above them on the second floors. Streets and alleyways opened up onto Grand Avenue from both sides, spaced unevenly along its entire length. They formed an irregular grid around the dark stone buildings that made up much of the city.
Each building was a part of the mountain, as if they had all sprung up from the floor like stalagmites. The smooth stone façades were broken only by doorways, windows, and balconies. At the center of the city, many of the buildings were two and occasionally three stories tall. The farther one went away from the center of the city, the taller the buildings grew as they approached the edges of the cavern. Along the cavern walls, affluent homes and apartments had been carved straight into the stone face, going all the way up to where the ceiling curved back inward. Cable-operated lifts rose and fell along the walls. Dotting the high ceiling were great magical lanterns that bathed the city below in brilliant white light.
Grand Avenue ran from the massive outer gates of the city all the way back to the rear of the cavern, where three sets of heavy steel doors, called the Deep Gates, stood open. When needed, they secured the city’s access to a network of tunnels and underground roads crisscrossing beneath the surrounding mountains and hills to nearby towns and distant cities.
A quarter mile from the Deep Gates, Tovak crossed the Grand Avenue and turned down a narrow street. He was oblivious to everyone moving around him as his feet carried him along a path he had walked for years, towards a place of comfort and love . . . towards home.
Nearing the edge of the cavern, he passed a series of simple apartment blocks that rose five stories above him. He took a right down a small dead-end street that cut between apartment blocks. Reaching the last row of apartments that butted up against the stone face of the cavern, he turned into a dim, unadorned hallway illuminated by a pair of small lanterns. There were two slab-like iron doors on either side. A pair of stone and steel spiral staircases rose up between them, one on each side. He moved to the staircase on the right and climbed the steps. He passed the first and second landings before he finally stepped off at the third into a hallway with four apartment doors. It was virtually identical to the first level save that the window was where the entrance had been on the first level.
Reclaiming Honor Page 5