The Survivors (18 page)

Kellik was in a buoyant mood, showing his crooked teeth in a big smile and pointing to the biggest of his two boys, a burly lad whose beard had just begun coming in. “That’s my Rijul,” he informed Much; then, indicating the boy with his arm in a sling, he added, “I think you already know my youngest son, Hemmish.”

Hemmish smiled, a chunk of honey mushroom sliding around between his teeth, and Much grinned back.

“What happened to their mother?” Much asked quietly once the boys were engrossed in their breakfast.

A shadow passed over Kellik’s face for a moment; then he sighed. “She died last year,” he said in a subdued tone.

“I’m sorry,” Bradok said, although partly he was sorry that Much had asked such an indelicate question.

“It’s all right,” Kellik said wistfully. “It’s just that sometimes a year doesn’t really seem like all that much time.”

Anxious to change the subject, Bradok turned to Perin,
“Tell us about you, Perin,” he said. “What brought you to Ironroot?”

The tall human smiled and shrugged. “The man who first taught me the cooper’s art died,” he said. “I still had much to learn. I heard that Silas was the best cooper for two hundred miles in any direction, so I traveled to Ironroot and had to practically beg him to take me on as an apprentice. Silas was a good soul.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, thinking of Silas. Bradok glanced over at Chisul, who wasn’t paying any attention to them.

“No offense, but most dwarves wouldn’t take on a human apprentice,” Much said.

If he felt offended by such frankness, Perin didn’t show it. He just smiled in an easy, knowing manner. “Silas wasn’t like most dwarves,” he said respectfully. “Besides, I think he wanted me around to kind of challenge Chisul to work harder, do better.”

“Did it work?” Kellik asked.

Perin shook his head, chuckling. “Quite the opposite,” he explained. “With me there, Chisul figured his father had someone to run the business once he retired. That left Chisul free to pursue his two favorite pastimes: beer and women.”

At the mention of beer, Bradok’s stomach growled angrily. “I wish you hadn’t said ‘beer,’” he said with a grimace. “It reminds me that I’m thirsty for something other than water.”

Much and Kellik laughed and agreed.

“Wherever we finally stop, we’d better have access to some ore deposits,” Kellik said as they began packing up.

“Why?” Bradok asked.

“Because I’ll need some copper and iron to make a decent still,” he said with a grin.

“That’s not all you’ll need,” a feminine voice said.

Standing over them was Urlish Hearthhome, a squat hill dwarf with a plain face and clever eyes. “You’ll need barley.”

Kellik stood and shouldered his pack, nodding sagely. “You’re right,” he said. “The barley will be harder to find down here than copper and iron. A still’s no good without something to put in it.”

It turned out Urlish was a farm girl from a long line of farm girls. There didn’t seem to be anything about planting or growing that she didn’t know. They fell into step together. Kellik spent the better part of the morning locked in conversation with her about the best way to set up a large-scale brewery one day.

Kellik and Urlish weren’t the only ones suddenly in good spirits. The children laughed and sang as they marched along, and Dallon, the wheelwright from Everguard, had clearly taken a shine to Starlight Anvil, the eldest of the Anvil grandchildren.

The most cheerful one, however, seemed to be the usually stoic Much. He wove through the crowd of marching dwarves, checking on Lyra, telling jokes, entertaining the children. At one point he passed Bradok, carrying Teal, the dark-haired toddler of the young couple who didn’t talk very much. Bradok told himself he really should learn their names, and the names of all the children too, but he had never been good with names.

Unlike their previous travels, they encountered several open chambers and side passages, though all of those were too narrow for the group to pass through. Finally they reached a chamber with two exits. One looked just like the fissure they’d been following; the other angled up from the top of the chamber.

“We’ll have to climb to reach that one,” Rose said to no one in particular.

“How do we know we should take that one?” Vulnar said.

“I wish you hadn’t lost that compass,” Halum said to Bradok.

He didn’t mean for it to be a rebuke, but it felt that way to Bradok.

“It’s getting late and everyone’s tired,” Much said, consulting his watch to break the tension. “Let’s stop here for the night. That’ll give us a chance to check both passages.”

Hours later, a thorough inspection of the two possible passages yielded nothing to recommend either of them over the other. Finally after much arguing and debate, the dwarves gave it up and resolved to explore afresh in the morning.

Somewhere around midnight, Tal nudged Bradok with his foot. “Get up,” he whispered, waking Bradok for his watch. Once Bradok had sat up, rubbing his eyes, he made his way to where his cloak lay, waiting for him.

Bradok stretched, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. They had covered the glowlamps with a piece of cheesecloth, dimming the light significantly, during the night. He strapped on his sword and made his way to the mouth of the tunnel they’d come through. He still remembered the strange noise he’d heard the previous morning, and had asked that someone watch the path behind them. To his delight, he found Rose there, waiting for him. She smiled when he arrived, her teeth flashing in the low light.

“I see you drew the short straw,” she joked.

He nodded, leaning against the passage wall. “You too,” he said.

Rose shook her head. “I volunteered,” she said. “I like to sit and think when it’s quiet. I don’t get much chance to do that during the day.”

Bradok wanted to ask her about her life in Everguard but thought better of it. There was a very real chance that the village and everyone Rose had known were dead—all her friends, family, if she had family. He thought of a dozen ways of starting a conversation and rejected each in turn as awkward or inane.

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Bradok cursed himself; he hadn’t had so much trouble talking to a girl since he was a lad. Finally he decided on an old
standby. He pulled out his waterskin, took a long drink, then held it out to Rose.

“Buy you a drink?” he said with what he hoped was his most charming smile.

Rose chuckled; then her eyes went wide as a bright green light washed over both of them. Bradok dropped the waterskin and turned, jerking his sword from its scabbard.

A sight like he’d never imagined greeted him.

A glowing ball of light hovered over the floor, drifting back and forth as if caught in a current. It looked completely insubstantial, as though it were the stuff of mere light without form or body. As Bradok watched, a green patch appeared on the ground, and a second one oozed up out of the floor of the cave.

“What are they?” he whispered, amazed at the sight of the balls of light.

Rose shook her head. “I don’t know but they’re beautiful,” she said.

The second glowing ball hovered for a moment, like the first, then it shot upward without a sound, zooming around the ceiling of the cavern. The first light reacted instantly, giving chase.

Bradok and Rose watched in awe as the pair darted soundlessly around the chamber. If the strange, ethereal creatures were aware of the dwarves sleeping below them, they gave no sign.

Every time the two lights got close enough to touch, a spark of electricity crackled between them. Finally they circled each other, the sparks jumping regularly between them.

“What—” Rose began, but at that very moment the two lights disengaged and came darting straight for the passage entrance.

Bradok didn’t think; he leaped in front of Rose, knocking her down. Both of the light creatures slammed into his chest, passing right through his body and into the wall behind him.
A shock like lightning ran through him at their passing and Bradok collapsed.

His senses cleared a moment later, and he found himself lying on top of Rose.

“Hey, I thought I told you next time to bring flowers,” she joked.

Bradok tried to smile but every muscle in his body seemed to be quivering weakly in the wake of the attack of the odd light-creatures. Was it an attack he had suffered? He did manage to get one arm under him, but he had no strength to push himself up.

Rose pushed up on his shoulders, trying to roll him off. She grunted with the effort, making gradual progress.

Just then Bradok heard a sound that was ominous—the click of a rock hitting the stone of the floor. Both he and Rose stopped dead, listening. Somewhere down the passage, someone had kicked or dropped or dislodged a rock.

Their eyes met and Rose nodded, understanding immediately. She rolled Bradok off and quickly crouched, drawing her long knife. Shakily, Bradok joined her as his muscles began to obey him.

Without making a sound, the pair of them advanced down the black passageway. They moved slowly, giving their eyes time to adjust to the total darkness. After a few dozen yards, they stopped. From somewhere below them, the sounds of whispered voices came drifting up. They were able to catch most of the words.

“… you sure?” someone asked.

“Hmm, yes,” a dreamy-sounding voice answered. “He’s rolling around on the floor with some woman. Once they get going, we should be able to slip by.”

“Ah, the good old days,” a third, mild voice said.

“Enough,” the first voice quieted them. “We need to be ready. As soon as we hear them, we take off.”

“Go,” a new voice said.

Sounds of someone moving echoed up the passage.

“No,” the first voice hissed. “Omer, get back here.”

Bradok gripped the handle of his sword, holding it up in front of him just as a figure rounded a bend in the tunnel not ten feet ahead of him. As his hand tightened around the hilt, he did something he had never done before: he made a wish, wishing he’d brought a light. Suddenly the enchanted blade burst into a pale, orange glow.

In the light, Bradok could see three dwarves with white-blond hair and white skin. The tallest had a braided and forked beard that decorated a shrewd-looking face. Behind him came a woman, with glassy blue eyes and long, disheveled hair. They both seemed to be reaching for the dwarf in front. He was younger, with his beard barely in, and he had an innocent, childlike expression on his face.

Bradok saw all that in the moment it took for the pale dwarves to react to the light. The big man and the woman shielded their eyes as if in horrific pain, but the younger dwarf simply stared at the glowing sword, his face contorted into a mask of rage and hatred.

“Magic!” he shrieked, his voice like an explosion in the silence of the tunnel.

What happened next was almost too fast for Bradok to follow. The young dwarf leaped as if he’d been shot from a catapult, slamming into Bradok and knocking him to the floor. The attacker’s hands were around Bradok’s throat, squeezing with a force unlike any Bradok had ever known. Purple dots erupted across his vision and the world went dark.

B
radok’s fingers tore at the hand, clamped like an iron band over his throat. He could hear Rose cursing and other voices, too, unfamiliar voices, echoing as if from far away.

“Omer,” one shouted. “Let go, boy.”

“No,” the young dwarf roared, not letting go for a moment. “Magic!”

“He’s not a Theiwar, boy. Look at him,” the first voice said. “It’s just a magic sword. The sword is magic, not him. It’s ‘found’ magic.”

The vice on Bradok’s throat loosened a bit, and Bradok gulped a lungful of air.

“Found magic,” the young dwarf repeated, his voice changing back to a tone less threatening, the childlike innocence. “Like me?”

“Yes, like you,” the fork-bearded dwarf said.

When the hand released Bradok, he scurried back, gasping. The pale youth could barely grow a beard, yet he’d manhandled Bradok like a rag doll.

The fork-bearded dwarf raised his hands, showing them he was weaponless and meant no harm. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Just tell him you didn’t make that magic sword.”

“I didn’t,” Bradok gasped. “I’ve never even witnessed its
magic before. My father won it off an elf in a dice game, long, long ago.”

The young dwarf made a soft cooing sound, like a bird, then picked up Bradok’s sword and held it out to him.

“Then please accept my apologies,” he said in a slow voice.

Bradok reached out hesitantly and took the sword.

“It’s all right,” he said with a reassurance he didn’t feel. He got to his feet, holding the sword down but still in front of him.

“Don’t mind him,” the dwarf said matter-of-factly. “He just hates wizards. A Theiwar wizard kidnapped him when he was a baby.”

The young dwarf shuddered and squatted down at the older one’s feet, putting his arms around his waist and pressing his head against the fork-bearded dwarf’s abdomen.

“The wizard experimented on poor Omer, here,” he said, stroking the young dwarf’s hair with a gentle hand. “Unfortunately he hasn’t been right in the head since he escaped.”