Age of Swords Read online

  “Is that why he has that gold torc?”

  Frost nodded. “Grand prize at the Linden Lott competition eight years ago. All of Belgreig was there, and Rain walked away with the honor. He’s amazing. The guy even dreams about digging. That’s why he’s really here, why he became a digger in the first place. Keeps having dreams about this lass in the dark calling to him, says she’s at the bottom of the world and needs him to find her. She needs his help or some such thing. Had the dreams ever since he was a wee lad. Neith is the deepest place in Elan, so he jumped at the chance to join me and Flood as we delved down here, but I guess not even Neith is deep enough to find some things. Even though he can’t find his dream lass, trust me, Rain will know where we are.”

  “That’s good, because we don’t have a lot of food. Almost all the packs are upstairs.”

  “The raow is probably enjoying my raisins right now.” Frost frowned and shifted his feet, crossing them at the ankles. “I’m just glad I slept with my boots on.”

  “Frost?” Persephone said, wondering how to ask.

  “What?”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Of what?”

  It was Persephone’s turn to laugh, even if the situation wasn’t the least bit funny. “I’m not seeing a way out.”

  Frost made a pfft sound of dismissal. “Let me ask you this. Would you be frightened if you fell through the floor of your lodge into the root cellar?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “It’s the same thing. Neith is our home. This is where we learned to dig, to tunnel, to work with metals, and cut gems. This is where we became Belgriclungreians. You know, they say we were as tall as you once, but after living in the deep tunnels for so long, Drome gave us the gift of compact size to make it easier to work and get around. On the surface, you tall folk think you’re so advantaged. You’ll see. Down here, being shorter is better. I can’t be frightened. This is my home.”

  “But we can’t get out and we have very little food left.”

  “Food? There’s plenty of food, just not surface food. Granted, I’m not a fan of traditional underworld fare.”

  Persephone remembered rumors about the Dherg eating stone. She hoped that wasn’t what he meant.

  “What’s traditional fare?”

  “Cave beetles, millipedes, crustaceans, crickets, spiders, salamanders, and cavefish. And of course, centipedes.”

  “Centipedes?”

  Frost nodded rapidly. “Down here they grow so large, they’ve been spotted feasting on bats.”

  She grimaced.

  “We could live down here forever, if we wanted.”

  What kind of life, or afterlife, would that be? Trapped in the dark eating centipedes. Maybe this wasn’t Rel. Perhaps the gods had decided she was unworthy. This might be Nifrel. Maybe I’m being punished.

  “The only thing I’m frightened of is Balgargarath,” Frost told her. “The deeper we go, the closer we get. I suspect the water absorbed much of our shenanigans, but we’ve got to be close now. And I’m having second thoughts about the Miralyith.”

  “I can hear you,” Arion said from across the shelf.

  Frost frowned. “Damn their ears.”

  The scuffling behind them grew louder.

  “Well?” Frost asked. “How does it look?”

  “Nothing up there,” Moya responded, despondent. “Just goes up to more rock.”

  “The lady wants to know where we are, Rain,” Frost pointed at Persephone. “She thinks we’re trapped.”

  The smallest of the dwarfs with the biggest of picks looked at Persephone. His eyes widened a bit and the hint of a smile touched his lips. Because he had less beard than the others, the slight curl was easier to see. Then he shook his head. “Not trapped.”

  “Can you tell where we are?”

  He shrugged. “We’re deep. Below the Rol Berg.” He pointed at the ceiling. “That’s the Grand Cauldron up there. I imagine it would take only a few good strokes and I could break through. Of course, we’d drown if I did.” He pointed up and off to the right. “That way leads to the Deep Shaft…what would normally be taken to get down this far. Except…”

  “Except we’re down farther than that, aren’t we?” Flood asked.

  Rain nodded.

  “When you were playing hide-and-seek with Balgargarath, did you ever come down this far?” Persephone asked.

  “Not here, exactly, but close,” Rain said.

  “Are we near it?” Flood asked.

  It? Persephone wondered. What’s it?

  Rain looked up at the cliff beside them and nodded. “That way is the Dark Fork. There’s a seam I could open and that would let us squeeze through. Just beyond is the Agave.”

  Up until the last word, Persephone had thought that it was the demon, and she didn’t like the idea of it being so close. But when Rain said Agave, the three Dherg shared looks of a most serious nature.

  Is there something even worse than Balgargarath down here? she wondered.

  “What is the Agave?” she asked.

  The three ignored her. Frost got up and joined the other two, who had shifted off to the side. They drew closer, closing a circle with heads almost touching, speaking quietly among themselves. Persephone doubted they were trying to be secretive. If they were, she imagined they would talk in their own language.

  “Any digging will alert the demon,” Frost said.

  “But it’s what we came for,” Flood replied.

  “I just didn’t expect to face it this deep.”

  “Does it matter? The question is, will the Fhrey kill it when it comes?”

  “It’s just that being so near the Agave—”

  “What is the Agave?” Persephone asked again, more forcefully this time.

  All three glared at her.

  “It’s the chamber,” Frost said.

  “The chamber?” Moya asked.

  They all nodded and Flood said, “The chamber of the Old One.” He said this with a sort of finality.

  “Old One?” Persephone asked. “Care to explain?”

  Frost and Flood sighed together. Then Frost held out inviting hands toward Flood who slumped his shoulders as he took a breath. “Our ancestors weren’t content with the city they built inside Dome Mountain. They dug down until they found the Agave, a compartment surrounded by a wall of smooth black stone. They came upon it so deep that some believed they had reached the bottom of the world, but there was a person on the other side. They could hear him, talk to him.”

  “How is that possible?” Persephone asked.

  “No one knows. He could have been one of us, or a Fhrey, or even a Rhune. Although your people hadn’t appeared in the world yet. He said he was a prisoner and asked to be released. Our ancestors were understandably hesitant. What kind of being is imprisoned deep underground like that? Who put him there? How? Why?”

  Moya sat down, looking up at the Dherg, captivated. Across the shelf, Persephone noticed Arion and Suri were also listening. Brin, too, which wasn’t a surprise.

  Flood continued. “It claimed to be older than the gods. Older than Drome or Ferrol.”

  Arion coughed.

  “It said it was unjustly imprisoned and tried every trick it could come up with to escape, to persuade our ancestors to let it out. Gifts were offered, and eventually our forefathers felt pity for the Old One and foolishly set it free. For their generosity, the treacherous Old One unleashed the demon Balgargarath.

  “It was believed that the Old One was guarding something of great value,” Flood said. “That inside the Agave was a treasure. So naturally, after he was gone, our ancestors went inside. There, they found Balgargarath. It slaughtered hundreds, and—”

  “She heard the rest from Gronbach,” Frost said.

  Persephone looked from one dwarf to the next. “You were trying to get in the Agave, going after the treasure. If you hadn’t, Balgargarath would be merrily following his path of knockers.”

  “We didn’t expect it
would still be doing that. It’s been over six thousand years!” Frost erupted. “Six thousand! It had to be dead after all that time. Nothing, not trees, not even Fhrey, live that long. We were certain that if Balgargarath had really existed and wasn’t just some myth, it would have expired or left long ago. We were positive that the law prohibiting entrance to Neith was no more than a superstition. We were going to lead our people to reclaim our heritage, our birthright, to rediscover our own past.”

  Persephone scowled. “First it’s a giant, then a demon, now we face an ancient fiend summoned by a being older than the gods?”

  Flood looked at Frost then back at Persephone. “Okay, so we left out a few details.”

  “I’d say those were pretty important points,” Moya said.

  “Anything else you’d care to share?” Persephone asked.

  “No, that’s all of it,” Flood replied. “In our defense, we told you what was important: It’s big and has to die. Thinking it could be dealt with without killing was their idea.” He pointed to Suri and Arion.

  “Can it? Die, I mean,” Persephone asked.

  “A Miralyith created Mount Mador and killed tens of thousands of our kind. Such power must be able to vanquish Balgargarath.”

  Persephone miserably shook her head. “This is all too much. We haven’t even seen it yet, and it’s a wonder we’re still alive. No. It’s too dangerous. We’re in over our heads. We’re just going to have to go back. This isn’t our fight, and I can’t ask Arion or Suri to—”

  “It is your fight,” Frost said. “What do you think will happen when Balgargarath escapes Neith? Sure, it’ll decimate Belgreig first, but then what? Do you think that narrow inlet will stop it? When you found us in the Crescent Forest, we were fleeing north, wondering how far away would be far enough. Balgargarath is evil, pure evil, mindless evil. The purpose of its whole existence is to destroy life: ours, yours, the Fhrey. It doesn’t care. And if it hasn’t stopped in six thousand years, it never will.”

  Persephone looked at Arion, who closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Look,” Frost said, “Rain can get us back to the surface, but he’ll have to dig. That will draw the demon, and we won’t make it all the way out before Balgargarath is upon us. It seems to me you can either fight here or wait until it wades across the inlet and visits Tirre and Estramnadon. I would think here is a better choice.”

  Persephone turned to Rain. “What’s the quickest way out?”

  He nodded at the cliff. “Other side of that stone.”

  Persephone squinted at him, as if imitating Padera. “And you can cut through that?”

  He nodded. “But it’ll definitely alert the demon.”

  “It would seem that’s no longer a problem,” Arion conceded. The Fhrey placed a hand on the mystic’s arm and said, “I’ll need a little time with Suri first. Everyone should eat something, then try to sleep.”

  Roan nodded and dug into her bag, pulling out what she had left of the provisions the Dherg had sent with them.

  “A last meal?” Moya asked.

  Arion smiled at her. “Let’s hope not.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Agave

  What we discovered in the Agave was incredible. We found the people we were meant to be.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  Suri didn’t know how to feel. Scared was only one of the emotions. She was trapped, and normally that would have demanded panic, but her imprisonment was a vague thing. She didn’t feel cornered. No door or braced beam was between her and the surface, and she thought she could find a way out if necessary. She and Minna had explored caverns before. This was just another one. But still, the disconnect from fresh air and sunlight was unsettling. In the past, she’d been too cocky, too sure of herself, too independent. Tura had accused her of all three on many occasions. And why not? Suri was able to find rols, climb any tree, and she had to be special for Minna to love her as much as the wolf did. Such a wise and wonderful creature wouldn’t fall for just anyone. But when the raow took Brin, Suri froze in doubt and ignorance. She’d found a tree she couldn’t climb, one so tall it scared her.

  She and Arion moved near the water to talk privately. “What should I do?” Suri asked in Fhrey, wanting to grant Arion the freedom to be precise.

  Arion’s reply shocked her. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? Why don’t you know?”

  Arion shrugged, and Suri didn’t think she’d ever hated that physical expression more. “It all depends. Everything is relative to the situation. I’m not a martial artist, but I doubt a warrior can explain how to win an upcoming battle…what exactly to do. Strategies can be planned, but tactics vary based on the environment and what your opponent does. We haven’t seen yours, don’t even know what it is.”

  “Opening the ground and swallowing it up…is that a good tactic?”

  Arion thought and nodded. “I think so. So yes, you might look to that as a plan, but don’t rely on it. Conflict is unpredictable.” Arion looked into her eyes with open honesty. “Suri, you are very creative; that is the source of your power. That’s the source of any Artist’s power. Learn to trust your instincts.”

  “But there are methods, right?” She raised her hands and held out her fingers. Pretending she had string on them, she performed the opening weave of a cradle. “Things you can teach me. Established patterns?”

  Arion was nodding. “True. There are hundreds of practiced designs adopted and refined over the centuries. But you don’t have time to learn such shortcuts, and they most likely won’t help.”

  “Then how can I—”

  Arion held up a hand. “Who taught you all those string patterns?”

  Suri thought. Tura first showed her the game, but she only demonstrated how to make the cradle and then the diamond weave. She shrugged. “I figured them out myself.”

  “Exactly. The Art is just like that. I could show you three different ways to turn this pool into ice, and left to yourself you might come up with a fourth—one better suited to you. For example, consider the fire you just made. It’s a very simple pattern, right? Draw in heat, focus it, release. But it wasn’t that easy, was it?”

  Suri shook her head. “Didn’t have wood, or oil, nothing to ignite.”

  “Exactly. Sources I’m sure you always had in the past. So how did you do it?”

  “The water.” She pointed across the pool. “The falling water. The movement had power.”

  “And so you altered the weave to draw from that source. That’s the creative part. That’s adapting a method, and you didn’t need me to explain how to vary the weave. But that’s not all you did, was it? Have you ever dried water from soaked clothing in an instant?”

  “No,” Suri admitted.

  “And I didn’t teach you that, did I? So what did you do?”

  “I was thinking of Rapnagar, when I could feel the dirt around him. I did the same thing with water: I saw it on the clothing and the strands of hair, and I pulled it out, separated it from everything it touched.”

  “An excellent approach. And now you know you can develop new weaves all on your own. Learning that lesson…learning to learn…to teach yourself…that’s part of what it takes to be an Artist. It’s the most important part. Some never learn that. They can only repeat what they’ve been taught, but that’s not true art. Art is creating, and I’ve seen you do that.”

  Arion paused then, and a small smile crossed her lips. “But you did something more, and you’re probably not even aware that you did. Something that shows me you have great capacity. Do you know what it is?”

  Suri thought, but she didn’t see what Arion was referring to. Removing the water was new, but Arion had already mentioned that, and what help would drying out Balgargarath be if they came upon him? If Suri had done something else, she didn’t know what. Stumped, she shook her head.

  “When you removed the water, what did the fire do?”

  “Do? It didn’t do anything.”r />
  “Exactly. You managed two weaves simultaneously, and so easily you didn’t even notice. You’re doing it now—having this conversation with me while the fire still burns. You don’t have to concentrate, aren’t struggling to do both at the same time. I know how hard that is. Among my kind, I’m sort of famous for performing multiple weaves at once. It’s why Fenelyus dubbed me Cenzlyor, which means ‘swift of mind.’ I’ve trained students for years, but some just can’t do it. Yet you juggle weaves instinctively. It’s really quite amazing.”

  Suri didn’t think it was amazing. Like Arion said, it didn’t take any concentration. Still, she was happy Arion was pleased.

  “Is there anything you can teach me that I can use in this fight?”

  Arion nodded. “I just did. I pointed out the abilities you already possess, and demonstrated how you figured out the answers by yourself. Yes, there are some basic formulas and some extremely powerful and complex weaves that have been worked out and handed down. I’ve taught those for centuries, and for lesser Miralyith it takes years, sometimes decades, to learn those lessons. But honestly, Suri, that’s the hardest way to learn about the Art. The easier way is to find the path within you. Then you can do anything; you can teach yourself. I can act as a guide by pointing you in the directions that worked for me, but you must take your own journey because no two Artists ever tread the same path. Artists create. That’s what it means to be an Artist, and part of that is creating your own way.”

  Suri wasn’t at all happy with that answer. If they came upon Balgargarath, she wanted to know more than just two simple tricks, and the best her mentor could offer was, Do your best. Maybe it was true, but it didn’t instill confidence.

  “You sure?” Suri asked in Rhunic.

  Arion returned a sad but hopeful smile. “Pretty sure.” Then she added, “What you need more than anything is confidence. The more you do, the better you’ll get, and the more self-assurance you’ll obtain. With my experience, I can help you avoid pitfalls and dead ends. That will speed up your advancement, but you have to do the work. My best advice is to remember the focusing chant. That will help. It will settle your mind, make it easier to think, center your thoughts, and allow you to find the chords.”