At Storm's Edge Page 9

  The metal titan rubbed the back of its head, "Eh, ally might be a bit of a stretch."

  "So, Vaghn. What will you be? Friend or foe?" Loraleth asked.

  He shrugged, sighing, "Looks like I don't have much choice but to trust you lot for now. Besides, enemy of my enemy is my friend, so they say. Welcome to the resistance, friends of Magina. Or, welcome back, I suppose."

  Banthan lowered his blade, "Oh good, I was beginning to miss the smell of dwarf."

  His snide comment solicited a few grumbles from his new allies. Loraleth shot him a glare of warning which he mentally dismissed. Vaghn turned to him while poking his large furnace of a chest out.

  "You'll be smelling much more dwarf soon if we're successful in our mission."

  Loraleth tilted her head, "What mission is that exactly? And for that matter, what are you, exactly?"

  Vaghn laughed in his booming metallic voice, "That's a bit personal isn't it? I'm a dwarf, of course, though admittedly a bit taller than I used to be. As for our mission, it's likely the same one you're already a part of. We're about to give that usurper a taste of dwarven fire. Assuming you'll return that pin to its rightful owner."

  "Only if you promise not to use it on us."

  Vaghn shrugged, "Don't give me a reason."

  Loraleth flicked it to the giant, who caught it with surprisingly nimble fingers. He popped the pin back into place, turned some valves and flipped a switch on the lobber before thudding it into his open hand.

  "Alright, lads, Operation Stormfront is back on! Gurty, Haen, round up the rest of the crews! We are moving out!"

  Banthan raised an eyebrow, "Who came up with that name?"

  Vaghn threw out his chest proudly, "I did, of course!"

  "No, it's great. I just... hate thunderstorms is all."

  If Vaghn could muster facial expressions, Banthan imagined it would be slightly sadistic as he spoke in a dark voice.

  "When I'm done with Malsivith, he'll hate them too."

  Chapter Eleven:

  Goblins could move surprisingly quietly when the situation required. As Sawain followed the train of carts along the narrow tunnels of the Uuthri tribe, he could not help but notice how serene the trip could be if not for another battle that lay ahead. Maggy-II hissed and thudded with each step she took, a stark contrast in the soundscape of the war party's march. Timbrell hopped alongside Kyra, who had not spoken much since the journey to Caer Teallagh began. He could not blame her. Words seemed to elude him as well. In the silence of the moment, he had too much time alone with his thoughts.

  Many of them involved Mari. He couldn't admit it to the present company, but he wished she was here more than any other member of the Ghosts. She had a special quality about her that, even without the magic of her voice, inspired him. Magina must have sensed a shift in his mood as she spoke up to break his vigil.

  "It's still a good distance off until we have to part ways. How about a song to pass the time? You know any tales of Alfhaven, Sawain?"

  He shrugged, "I'm not much of a singer, but Mari would know..." His voice trailed off and he felt heat rush to his face. He thought he saw Kyra bite her lip from the corner of his eye. Magina quickly picked up the dialogue again.

  "Well, that's no problem. I'm not much of a singer either, but I do know a few epics from the Kroniclum. That's my people's history. I loved the poetry parts especially. They aren't as lyrical when translated into the common tongue, but the tales are still worth telling."

  Kyra spoke up, the cheerful lilt in her voice sounded forced, "I for one would love to know more about your people, lady Magina. Please, share with us."

  The dwarfess grinned sheepishly, clearly taken aback by Kyra's formal speech, "Heh, no need for honorifics around here lass. You can just call me Magina. Or Maggy, that's fine too, but lady Magina was my grandmother. Oh, now here's a story, speaking of my grandmother. She's actually mentioned in the Kroniculum! The story of Lady Magina and the Bandit King is a true classic, and one of my personal favorites!"

  Magina cleared her throat as she began her tale.

  "It happened roughly four hundred and fifty years ago, give or take. I'll have to paraphrase a little, with the story being in Dwarven and all. Back in those days, Caer Teallagh was still but a fairly rural mining community, only just having formed their own language and organizing to find their calling in the world after the exodus of the gods. Now, every dwarf has within him or herself an innate desire to dig. We find value in things that come from the earth. Some of our people were content to scratch that itch on the surface and became farmers. Some settled in the Fells of Anvilheim, other more tenacious types chose to stick to the mountains we came from. These mountains."

  She gestured with a wide sweep of her mechanized hand.

  "Well of the mountain folk, another faction grew dissatisfied with scraping the surface and began digging deeper, believing that the true wealth of the earth lay hidden within the mountains. That's how Caer Teallagh got its start. Soon after that, we discovered Mythril. Our ancestors knew without a doubt that this was their birthright. This beautiful gleaming metal was easily malleable, yet when tempered, became nigh unbreakable. As if to prove its divine origin further, it had the ability to burn evil, and became a staple component in hex removal. Needless to say, the holy metal of Caer Teallagh made the mine owners rich. Move forward a hundred years and by now, the Hold is properly established, with our first Segrammir and everything. Lord Teallagh, the man who the city was named after, had ruled his Hold with shrewd wisdom and cunning, forming several guilds whose masters served him as a sort of council. Miners, refiners, smiths, jewelers, apothecaries, merchants, even hero companies, every profession that benefited from Mythril had a guild and that guild answered to the Segrammmir. Life was good for the dwarves of Caer Teallagh. Why, we’d even tamed the fiery breath of the mountain and used its heat to power our forges. But not every dwarf within the Hold reaped the bounty of the mountain deep.

  Remember the farmers of the mountain I mentioned? Well, it's not like they up and moved away just because their kin burrowed underground. Dozens of farming villages still existed and still do for that matter, along the surface of the Hold. The produce and livestock they provided fed our people inside and outside of the mountain, but in comparison to the lavish lives of the sheltered Deep Dwellers, calling it a modest life is being generous. As the City Below grew deeper, so did the bellies of the residents. In order to feed those bellies, the surface dwellers had to tighten their own belts. Food shortages were common in the days before the trade routes with Anvilheim and Jordborg was established. This drove some farmers to desperation. Entire villages would forsake their humble living for a more lucrative, if not unscrupulous profession. Thus the bandit clans of the mountain formed. For the first few decades, they were but a minor nuisance. The heroes of the city kept them in check and relatively harmless. Then one day, a stranger from the far north led his band south into Hold territory and swiftly conquered all of the other bandit clans, not by steel, but by guile. He won their hearts with his promises of a better future and he won their faith by delivering on that promise. Years passed and his dominion grew along the surface until all of the farmlands belonged to his army of bandits.

  They called him Tholfhengil, the Bandit King. His bands struck swift and silent. He became a folk hero among the people of the surface. The Segrammir, however, named him Public Enemy Number One. Thus began the Bandit's War. It was a bloody time for our people. The Segrammir even hired bands of mercenaries from Grymhook with promises of land to those who would kill this Tholfhengil. But none could. He had a strange power unseen in any before.

  When he died, his ghost could leap into another body, claiming it as his own. This Thief King became an undying shapeshifter who held captive the nightmares of friend and foe alike. This civil war ravaged our people. Caer Teallagh faced the threat of collapse as the fighting crept deeper into the mountain. Many thought our civilization had come to an end.

  The
n one day, a new hero emerged from the chaos. She was the daughter of a well respected clock maker in the city. Magina, they called her. Lady Magina. My grandmother! Well, you see, she was born a child of prosperity and wealth. She had been given the best education money could buy, and was a natural machinist, like her father. Well, as the war went on, she began developing weapons to fight the Bandit King. But, being a noble lady in a city run by narrow minded menfolk, her designs were largely ignored. That didn't stop her though. She had connections and resources. She got the raw materials needed and forged a weapon of pure mythril. She wove complex spells into its blade that turned it into a sort of phylactery that could imprison the spirit of anyone it killed. She named it Drougetath, which is a dwarven name that means Ghost Eater.

  So, lady Magina went forth alone, into the midst of the enemy, where she challenged the Bandit King to one on one combat. Having no reason to fear her, Tholfhangil boastfully accepted. The battle they waged was fierce, yet in the end, Magina wounded the Bandit king. He scoffed at her attempt to thwart him.

  'Foolish child,' he mocked, 'Your worldly weapons cannot harm me! You are an impressive warrior. I think I shall enjoy taking your shell as my own!'

  His spirit leapt from its host, straight at Lady Magina, who thrust Drougetath deep into his soul. His triumphant laughter ended abruptly in a shocked gasp. The holy weapon ripped his spirit from this world and sealed him away within its magical prison.

  Magina was praised as a hero who ended the Bandit's War, but the weapon she forged became feared. The Segrammir shattered it and sealed its fragments away inside a case of pure Mythril so that it may not be used against him or any others. The people saw it as a cursed relic that could steal souls, so they embraced the king's decision.

  But as I said, despite it all, Lady Magina was praised for her bravery and went on through life as an expert weapon crafter, and even became the Hold's first woman Forgemaster. She was quite the role model for me growing up, even though I barely knew her. She died when I was young. But the three hundred and seventy years she spent on this world were put to good use. There are hundreds of legendary weapons out there that my grandmother bestowed upon Hammerhold. Why, that one on your waist there is one of them, Sawain."

  He instinctively touched the hilt of his blade, "Your grandmother forged Giltglim? but how is that possible? It's a holy artifact of Jordborg."

  Magina nodded, "Sure is! But it's made of Mythril. And Mythril comes from these mountains. I make it my business to know how to identify a weapon of Dwarven Make, and that one's easy. Remember when I mentioned the trade route between Caer Teallagh and Jordborg? When that deal was struck, my grandmother was there! She delivered Giltglim to the Segrammir of Jordborg herself. It's a symbol of trust and friendship between my people and yours. It's part of the reason I took to you so fast. Anyone who wields Giltglim has to be a trustworthy person."

  Sawain blushed, "Trustworthy, huh?"

  He drew Giltglim from its scabbard and ran a finger along the flat of its blade. It was cold to the touch. His blade trusted him and even inspired faith in others, yet he remained suspicious of everyone. Shame weighed on him.

  "Do I deserve to be trusted? I mean, look at all the mistakes I've made because of my distrust. I abandoned Loraleth in her time of need, I drove off Banthan without any real proof of betrayal. I haven't slept well in weeks because I'm afraid one of my own friends will stick me in the back. I haven't been much of a trustworthy leader lately."

  Silence pervaded a moment before Kyra spoke up again, "Well, what's stopping you from changing?"

  He thought on her question a moment before answering, "The Grey King. He keeps haunting my dreams, telling lies and prophecies. Some come true, some don't. I never know what's real."

  Kyra took Sawain's hand in hers, "This is real. You know it is. Don't worry about the madness of the Grey King. His prophecies will mean nothing once you've put an end to his reign. So you've made mistakes in the past, who hasn't? Maybe it's time to really let go of your own failures and start trusting yourself. Then you can know who you can trust. Besides, we're all your friends. So what if there is a traitor among us? The truth behind their lies will eventually expose them. Whether it’s Banth or someone else. When they show their face, we'll all be ready for it. And who knows? Maybe there's still a chance to save that friend? Don't give up on them, Sawain. I never gave up on you."

  Something gripped his chest as Kyra's words cut his heart. She was right and he knew it. The only way to become a better leader was to stop holding onto old shortcomings. He took in a deep breath.

  "You know, I'd like that. I'd like to believe that I can save all my friends. Even the one who betrayed my trust. It's worth a shot, right? We will need all the help we can get in the fight to come. I don't think anyone among us would be so easily swayed from our cause without good reason."

  Magina added, "Malsivith is known as a deceitful deal broker. Maybe one of his agents got to someone, made them a promise they believed he could fulfill. If you can break his spell, maybe your friend isn't really that far gone."

  Sawain smiled sincerely for the first time in what felt like years. He squeezed Kyra's hand. Something inside him shifted. It was subtle, but he felt it. The feeling in his chest was like an old friend who had returned from a long journey. He could not recall its name at first, but the familiarity kept him tugging at it until it came back to him. It was hope. Since he left Jordborg, this feeling had slipped away from him more and more with every battle until it had left for good. Yet here it was all along, still within him, just buried beneath doubts and insecurities. It was battered and weak, but still alive nonetheless. He held onto it gently, fearing too much pressure might snuff it out, but its mere presence stirred strength within him.

  "I hope you're right, Magina."

  She puffed up, a grin on her face, "'Course I am! Have I ever steered you wrong? Oh, would you look at that?"

  She pointed at a fork in the tunnel that split into three paths, "Okay ladies and gents! This is where we part ways, but only for a time. Kyra, your team will take the left, my team will take the right, and Sawain, you go straight down the middle. You heroic types have your own mission, but the Uuthri’s job will ensure you succeed. We will need your drakes to quickly spread the supplies out, so make sure each team has two. Once they are done equipping our new army, they can join the fray. A word of caution to everyone. Beyond this point, the maze simplifies. You're more likely to run into resistance now, so tread softly. Kyra, Sawain, trust in your guides and they'll get you to your destinations."

  Firbalg and Violet emerged from the crowds of goblins. The younger one quickly shoved her way between Kyra and Sawain, breaking their grasp on each other's hand. She wrapped her hand around his not so subtly as she caressed it against her cheek.

  "No need to holds the hand of ugly girls when yer scared, Svainy! Alls you gots to do is calls out fer me! Say 'Violet! Oh Violet! Holds me hand!' and I'll be's there for you Svainy-poo!"

  Sawain stammered as he tried to break her grip to no avail, "S-Svainy-poo?! Violet please let go. My hand's going numb!"

  Firbalg sauntered up to the odd couple, eyeing Sawain suspiciously, "Oy, listens here, hummie. I not be's so keen to the thought of my Vi getting her hearts breaked by some no good surface dweller. I has half a mind to skewers ye right now, but then my Vi's already so smitten I's never hear the end of it. But be's ye warned, boy. I gots me eyes on you."

  Sawain tried harder to break away, but Violet clung fast, bouncing merrily as she giggled, "Oh daddy, yer just a sweety hearts! I knows ye cares, but me and Svainy-poo's in loves and the fates be’s kind to us! You sees!"

  Firbalg sighed shaking his head, "Fates never be's kind to our kin, but as long as my Vi's happy, who be's I to take it from her? Alright, ye two. Just keeps the romancin' to a minimum until Hammerhold be's free of all these vamps."

  Violet nodded fiercely, letting go of Sawain's hand and wrapping her arms around her father. She whispered
in his ear, but Sawain could still hear her clearly.

  "Ye be's safe daddy. Remembers..."

  Firbalg nodded, "Aye, we be's gobs, not heroes. Ye remembers too, me flower."

  She let go of her father, sniffling softly. She quickly replaced her concern for her usual jovial excitement. She grabbed Sawain's hand again and began pulling him down the tunnel.

  "This way, Svainy-poo! Let's go saves the dwarves so we can lives happily ever after!"

  The train meant for Sawain followed along behind, the goblins all snickering to themselves as Sawain shouted complaints until he fell out of earshot.

  Kyra watched them go with worry etched on her face. Firbalg elbowed her thigh, giving her a reassuring wink.

  "No worries, missus. That Vi of mine'll take care of yer Svainy-poo."

  Kyra blushed deeply, "My Sv-- What are you talking about?"

  The old goblin waved dismissively as he stalked away down the left path, "Oh, ye and I both knows Vi's not marrying material fer that hummie. She be's quite the young beauty of course, but that boy's heart is set on another."

  Kyra swallowed the lump in her throat as she braved one last glance down the tunnel Sawain took as she delved into her own. Magina watched them go with a grin on her face. She took in a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it slowly out as the last cart of Kyra's supply train disappeared around the bend.

  "Good luck my friends. I hope we can all tell stories together again after this storm passes."

  Chapter Twelve:

  Magina stomped along the goblin tunnels, her convoy right behind. Nostalgia washed over her as she watched the crudely carved walls and ceiling pass her by. She recalled spending many a childhood day exploring the goblin labyrinth. Despite the mutual hatred between dwarves and goblins in those days, Magina's fearlessness and generally good nature won her many friends among the Uuthri tribe. In those days, there were other tribes too. She shuddered as her mind wandered to the darker parts of her past. She shook the thoughts away as she passed a familiar landmark. The Stalagmite with the red tip. A road sign of sorts. She raised a hand to halt the convoy. Maggy-II hissed to a stop as she quickly unbuckled herself from the machine she loved so dearly.