“Hey!” screamed a woman on the street as Kiernan collided into her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, her surroundings blurry and indistinct through tear filled eyes. She didn’t care. She just wanted to get away. Away from Beck, away from her father and away from this bloody quest.
To demon’s hell with them all!
No destination in mind, she moved blindly through the crowd until it began to thin. Brazen young men made lewd comments to her as she passed, but she barely heard them.
Distantly, she became aware of footsteps close behind her.
Too close.
She turned to look and an arm whipped around her neck, spinning her hard against a soft body. Before she could react, the murmur of whispered words in her ear caused her vision to haze and the energy to seep away from her. She knew she should be fighting, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t move arms that suddenly felt like lead weights.
Why am I so weak?
Unexpectedly, she felt herself lifted off the ground. Her mind screamed out one last coherent thought before darkness swallowed her.
Bajan!
Chapter 22
Land of the Dwarves
“Do you think we should wake him?” Beck heard Rory ask.
“He still looks a little green to me,” Rogan replied, reaching down to lift one of his eyelids.
Beck growled and swatted Rogan’s hand away clumsily. His head ached dreadfully. “What happened?” he croaked.
Rogan dragged a chair over to Beck’s bedside. “You tell me. Do you know how hard it is to tear an amorous earthshifter from his intended quarry?”
Beck opened his eyes. “What? Speak some sense, man!”
“I found you in the street last night in the arms of two, shall we say, ladies of dubious honor. Were you drunk?” the Dwarf asked, sounding perplexed.
Rory snickered.
“Of course not!” He had no interest in other women or excessive drink. So, why can’t I remember what happened last night?
Rogan leaned back in his chair and engaged in his favorite pastime coaxing three fireballs to life in his hands. “Forget about it. It happens,” he said philosophically as he juggled.
Beck shook his head emphatically despite the shooting pain to his temples. “You don’t understand…”
There was a knock on the door, and Rory went to answer it.
Beck groaned and lifted his head enough to see that Airron was in bed, snoring softly. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. The only concern on his mind now was talking to Kiernan and resolving their argument. He still didn’t agree with what she’d said, but her frustration with him left an achy, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“It’s Gage,” announced Rory.
The Saber came into the room. “Good,” he said looking around. “Most of you are here. I’ll be going down to the docks to arrange our passage to Deeport this morning. It shouldn’t take long, so make sure everyone is ready to leave within the hour.”
When Gage left, Beck got out of bed, staggered to the basin and splashed cool water on his face. Feeling only slightly more human, he said, “Wake Airron. I’ll go tell Kiernan.”
Throwing a shirt over his head, he lurched out into the corridor. Two doors down, he knocked loudly and waited. There was no answer. After giving it a few more minutes, he left.
“Kiernan’s not answering,” he blurted as soon as he returned to the room.
Rogan shrugged. “Maybe she’s downstairs already.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Beck walked over to Airron now sitting on the side of his bed and combing his fingers through his long silver hair. “I need you to get in there, Airron.”
“Kiernan’s room?”
“Yes. I can’t explain it, but I think something is wrong. I’m worried about her.”
Airron stood up at once. “Enough said. I’ll do it, but I better shift in here.”
The air around Airron flickered with magic. It seemed as though the Elf had disappeared into thin air as his tall frame shrank down to the floor and his mouse appeared from under the pile of clothes.
Rogan growled in his chest at sight of his nemesis.
The mouse scurried from the room and Beck sat down to wait, exhaling deeply to ease the growing apprehension inside of him. Rogan was right there beside him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Beck. There are any number of places she could be, so don’t borrow trouble. We’ve already bought enough of our own.”
Beck nodded appreciatively to his friend.
Airron came back a few moments later and shifted. “She’s not there, but as far as I could tell from my low vantage point, all of her belongings are still in the room.”
“I suggest we go down to the dining room,” Rogan said. “We can ask the innkeeper or some of the guests if they’ve seen her.”
Not sure what else to do, Beck nodded and followed, but Kiernan wasn’t downstairs and no one had seen her. He argued to his friends that they needed to split up and search the city streets for her and to his great relief they agreed.
Now, pushing once more out into the streets of Iserport, the smells and noise battered at his senses. After so many years of exile, he didn’t think he could ever live in the proximity of so many people. He needed more land around him. He needed earth.
More than a head taller than most of the people around him, he surveyed every face, building and alleyway he passed. He spoke to the two young grooms whose names, he’d learned, were Seth and Tobias. They had not seen the pretty lady with the green eyes, as they referred to her, but promised to help look. Motivated, no doubt, by the promised gold florin.
Beck searched for an hour. There was simply no sign of Kiernan. He returned to The Queen’s Lair despondent and grew even more so when the others reported the same negative results.
“What could have happened to her?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.
Airron’s features were pained as he spoke up. “I regret being the one to voice it, Beck, but in my opinion Kiernan would never leave like this. Not voluntarily.” The implication hung in the air between them. If not voluntarily, then someone had taken her against her will. His thoughts were naturally running in that direction as well—his heart just refused to catch up with them.
“I won’t leave without her,” he told them adamantly.
The door to the inn opened, and the Sabers walked in.
“Do you have the passes?” Beck asked.
“Yes, we have them,” said Bret Schwan.
“Are they good for tomorrow as well?”
Bret said that they were, so the group agreed to continue the search for the missing Kiernan. But, they didn’t find her that day or the next.
Beck was sick with worry. He couldn’t eat or sleep and spent every waking moment pounding the streets, looking for any sign of her passage. It wasn’t until dinner on their third night in Iserport that Rogan said quietly, “We have to continue on, Beck.”
“I told you. I won’t leave her.”
“I know, but I need to retrieve my pendant and the Dwarves and Elves need to know the island has been invaded. Earthshine is less than five weeks away.”
Earthshine. The phenomenon that happened once a year on the island where the sunlight held sway for twenty-four hours straight. Most Massans rejoiced during the event and celebrated with all manner of festivity and merriment. By choosing this occurrence as a demand for surrender, Adrian Ravener had turned this joyous occasion of light into something dark. Beck doubted that the Massans would ever look forward to Earthshine with the same zeal in the future.
If there is a future.
“What do you suggest?” he asked Rogan wearily.
Rogan stroked the bearded stubble on his chin as he considered. “While you stay here and continue to search for Kiernan, I’ll travel ahead to Kondor to find my pendant and speak to King Rik, and Airron can travel to Sarphia to warn King Jerund. We’ll all meet up again in Sarphia
.”
Rory looked annoyed. “And, me?”
Beck waved a hand at him dismissively. “You should go with Airron to Sarphia.”
The fireshifter glowered. “I don’t want to go to Sarphia. I’ll stay here.”
Beck thought about Kiernan’s words that he was being too casual in his duty. “No, Rory!” he said harshly, standing abruptly and knocking his chair backwards. “You are to go with Airron to Haventhal. Do I make myself clear?”
He felt all of their eyes on him as Rory reluctantly nodded.
By the next morning, his friends were all gone, continuing on in their sworn duty. Beck felt the same pull, but fought it. When he had lost everything he had cared about in this world, Kiernan had been the one to see him through the pain. He wouldn’t abandon her now. If he had to tear down this decrepit city brick by brick to find her, that’s exactly what he’d do.
***
Luck was with Rogan when he boarded the ferry at Iserport with Gage Gregaros. The port soldiers gave King Maximus’s Decree of Purpose a hard look, but ultimately permitted them passage. As they had hoped, the soldiers also had not recognized Gage as one of the Royal Guard, but it didn’t stop the Saber from mumbling something under his breath about the whole lot needing a sturdy reminder of Iserlohn’s chain of command.
It took the better part of the day for the ferry, under the power of long sweeping oars by four muscled oarsmen, to reach Deeport.
Beneath a clear blue sky and gentle rolling waves, Rogan looked out over the expanse of Lake Traverse at the homeland he’d left behind twelve years ago. Nicknamed the Land of Stone, the entire city had been carved out of the sandstone cliffs of southern Massa, and the Dwarves’ penchant for and skill in architecture, sculpting and ceramics could be seen even from the distance.
A slat on the ferry creaked behind him, and he turned.
“How does she look, shifter?” Gage asked.
“Gorgeous,” Rogan said in awe, looking back toward land, “simply gorgeous.” Everywhere he looked, from the stone docks to the surrounding streets, he saw nothing but Dwarves. So many Dwarves! Dear Highworld, it feels like home.
When the ferry finally bumped up against the dock at port, Rogan resisted the uncharacteristic urge to jump up and click his heels in excitement. Instead, he bid a reserved farewell to the Saber, who would be returning to Iserport to help Beck in the search for Kiernan, and disembarked.
It suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in his life, he was on his own.
He’d grown so used to the presence of his friends by his side. How could he not? They had been his surrogate family for as long as he could remember. Even so, he was anxious for this time alone to probe Deepstone for answers to questions he had kept bottled inside for many years. Answers to the identity of his real family.
He intended to begin his search further south in the capital city of Kondor, but learned on the ferry ride that he would be unable to secure passage on the Koda River until the next morning, so he set about finding an inn to spend the night.
In good spirits, he smiled widely and hefted his pack over his shoulder. Walking down the dock to the city streets below, he fervently hoped to receive the same warm welcome in Kondor that Kiernan had received in Nysa.
Unlike Iserport, the lakeside city of Deeport was very well kept. Industrious Dwarves everywhere swept streets, picked up trash or tended to stonework. Elaborate buildings rose up out of solid rock in a complex labyrinth of tunnels and channels with nary a blade of green grass or tree to be seen.
Rogan cheerfully strolled through the stone warrens nodding politely to the people he passed. The Dwarven males were all similar in appearance, stout of build and with beards of varying lengths and often decorated with an array of braids and beads. Curiously, almost all were armed with sword, axe or mace. Rogan had studied the customs of different races in the academy and he knew that, in addition to masonry and mining, the Dwarves were renowned for their metallurgy. The finest horses on the island might come from Haventhal, but the finest weaponry was crafted in Deepstone. And, for the most part, the weapons remained in Deepstone. Only the wealthiest of Massa’s citizens could afford to import the heavily taxed product.
The females were thinner and softer than the males, although just as well armed with an assortment of ornate knives with gem-encrusted hilts.
No one paid him the slightest mind as he walked the streets. Just another Dwarf among many, he thought with pleasure, used to being in the minority, not one of the majority.
He eventually found an inn that looked reasonable and pushed his way into the dimly lit establishment. A small number of patrons sat at tables enjoying drinks and conversation.
Taking an empty seat at the bar, the height of the stool bowled him over. He had lived for so long in a world created for human men, that he was pleasantly surprised to see that all of the furniture in the inn had been created to fit the stature of Dwarves. Such a minor detail, but one that touched him deeply. Deepstone was a world made specifically for him and, in his memory, he had never had that before.
The barkeep, a bald fellow with an earring dangling from his left ear, walked over, wiping his hands on his apron. “Whatta ya have?”
“Wine.” As the barkeep went about complying with the request, Rogan asked if any rooms were available. The man said he did, for a silver groat. Rogan thought the price a bit steep but nodded and handed over one of the coins that King Maximus had given to him. The barkeep put the coin between his teeth and bit down. Apparently satisfied, he pointed to the stairs in the back of the room and told Rogan to take the third room on the right.
Rogan offered his thanks and sat back to sip his wine in silence.
All at once, a shout of alarm cut into the quiet, and Rogan heard the sound of running footsteps outside of the inn. He toppled his stool as he jumped off and went through the door. Looking in the direction of the running Dwarves, he noticed acrid smoke spilling from the second floor of one of the residences across the street. A Dwarven woman hung out of a window in an attempt to breathe in fresh air around a stream of black smoke billowing out around her head. Citizens on the ground were waving to her and encouraging her to jump.
“I can’t!” she screamed, shaking her head back and forth.
“We’ll break your fall! Now jump!”
Still she refused, her white knuckles grasping the edge of the window in terror. She was so paralyzed with fear that she couldn’t move even though her hair was starting to singe.
Rogan ran to the building. “Move!” he shouted to the bystanders. Without thinking of anything except saving the woman, he immediately threw his hands in the air and began weaving. Through his magic, he quickly discovered the origin of the fire—a taper that had fallen to the floor and caught the woman’s carpet and draperies on fire. Moving his hands in an intricate pattern, he shifted and massaged the energy of the blaze into a long, sinuous fiery tube. Once contained, he ordered the woman to duck, which, miraculously, she managed to do. As soon as her head disappeared under the window sill, he wrenched his hands over his head and jerked them skyward, sending the flames shooting out of the open window. There were surprised gasps as the stream of fire rocketed into the sky and exploded into a shower of sparks that drifted harmlessly back down to earth.
Rogan turned to address the crowd to assure them that the danger had passed and was hit hard from the side and slammed to the ground. His arms were roughly pinned behind his back and three soldiers in the blue and maroon of Deepstone hauled him to his feet.
“Is he marked?”
Another tugged Rogan’s shoulder mantle down, exposing his athame.
“Yes.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” one of the soldiers with a long black beard and a scar down the side of his face said. “You are under arrest, shifter. I don’t know what you’re doing here or why you thought you could use magic, but it’s going to cost you.”
Rogan struggled against the soldiers. “I was savi
ng a life! A few minutes more and that woman would have burned to death!”
The scarred soldier responded by clenching his hand into a fist and slamming it into Rogan’s stomach.
Rogan grunted in pain and would have dropped down to the ground had the two other soldiers not been holding him up by his arms.
Blackbeard reached out and yanked him up by his hair. “We don’t use magic to solve our problems in Deepstone,” he hissed. “You can now go to Kondor to spend a nice long time in a cell to think about that. Then, I suspect the King will have you carted back to Pyraan where you belong.”
The soldiers dragged Rogan away, passing the bald-headed innkeeper who had already taken his silver groat and was now standing by watching his capture impassively.
When they arrived at the wharf, the dockworkers noticed the soldiers’ uniforms and, where there had been no passage previously, a skiff was made available to take them directly to Kondor. The soldiers hauled him on board the small boat and unceremoniously threw him into the bottom face down. Within moments, the skiff moved away from the dock and they were headed south down the Koda River.
Welcome home, thought Rogan.
Then, he started to laugh hysterically into the floorboards of the boat and, despite all effort, could not stop.
Chapter 23
Land of the Elves
Airron decided that the Elves of Massa were the most decorous race he had ever met. The dockworkers went about their tasks assiduously with very little engagement in conversation.
What few he encountered, anyway.
He was surprised to find that Havenport wasn’t a city at all. Just a wharf with two wooden docks and a few merchant shops that butted up hard against the Puu Rainforest. The villages of Haventhal, he had been told, lay beyond the towering trees.
Airron gazed toward them wistfully. He had family somewhere within that forest, but he didn’t know their names or how to find them. Maybe someday he might get the chance to search them out, but not today.
Without the comfort of an inn, Airron, Rory and Bret Schwan, were forced to spend their first night in Haventhal in their bedrolls outside of the rainforest. They decided to purchase supplies at one of the dockside shops in the morning and then Airron and Rory would continue their journey to Sarphia while Bret returned to Iserport.