The Chosen by Kris Kramer (read the beginning after the end novel TXT) 📕

>Damn the shaman’s craftiness. He did not lie, but he managed to keep the young man’s secret. Priests of Drogu took vows of poverty, they wore simple clothes. And it was not unheard of for a priest of any god to travel with a bodyguard.

The young dwarf nodded and turned his var around. They followed without a word. The dwarves were in the process of setting up tents. There were perhaps thirty of them, along with a half dozen shamans. They all looked far too young to the warrior. One bearded figure separated himself from the rest. He was short, even for a dwarf, but thick. Gruesome could tell this one was a seasoned veteran, and clearly the captain of this troop. The sergeant spurred his var forward and quickly dismounted. After a sharp rap of his fist on his chest he spoke to his captain in a hushed tone. The older dwarf looked at the newcomers with narrowed eyes and strutted toward them.

“Who comes here, claiming to be of House Thurin?” he demanded in a booming voice.

Pjodarr jumped from his var. “My master claims nothing. He only asserts what is!” The shaman’s words were carried on the wind to every ear. All eyes focused on him. Gruesome had never known another slave that could command such authority. “He is the Blade of House Thurin, Lord of Northwatch, General of the First Army! The enemies of the realm shrivel when his name is spoken! Any that draw arms against him weep at his gaze! For his are the strength of the mountain and the heart of all the land!”

A few of the dwarves gasped at the shaman’s proclamation. The captain’s face remained stern.

“And who would speak for such a man?”

The old slave crossed his arms and held his head high. The wind swirled around him, blowing leaves and snow. But his voice only grew louder. “I am Pjodarr, my master’s humble servant. By his will do I commune with Fjur. By his grace do I command the very bonds of the earth.” The fires spread throughout the camp blazed in a flash. “The wind is my breath, the rivers my blood. In my very footsteps are the seas born. At my master’s command, I have stood on the dragon’s wing and kissed both of Fjur’s eyes.”

And just like that, the world was quiet. Gruesome grinned. Tarac stared at the shaman in wonder, while Erliga huddled against the general’s back. The other shamans peered at Pjodarr with mouths agape and the younger dwarves held hands over their weapons with nervous apprehension. The captain took a deep breath.

Then burst out in raucous laughter. “By the gods, I have not heard such a greeting in too long, Stormbreaker!” He bowed so low to Blade that his head almost touched the ground. “It is truly you, General. I admit I did not know you without your usual armor.” He gave the havtrol a bow. “It is an honor, glorious Gruesome. I have heard that you hunted Honorless in the mountains. Have they really come this far down?”

The big warrior slid off his mount and returned the bow. “We killed six a few days ago, but two escaped.” Tarac whispered something to Pjodarr, and the old man nodded. The boy was anxious.

“Eight Honorless were together? That is ill news.”

“It is why we are here, Captain Kinar,” Pjodarr walked up to the stout dwarf. “We have chased them here, to this cave.” He pointed to the rocky opening.

The captain shook his head. “No havtrols have come here today save for Gruesome Beartooth. We have ridden fast from the north by command of the High King himself.”

“They may have made it here before you.” The shaman looked back at Tarac. “We are quite certain they are in that cave.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed again. “Take a look at that cave, shaman. What do you see?”

Pjodarr let out a long breath and stared at the grass-covered mound. His eyes went wide, and he turned to the captain. “That is not natural.”

“So my shaman tells me, too. We’re not sure how long ago it appeared, but there has been strange things occurring north of here. We are here to secure this area until further investigations can be made.”

Gruesome looked at Tarac. “Did they truly go in there, priest?” he said in norovid.

The young man nodded. “Yes, good warrior.”

The havtrol nodded and addressed the dwarf captain again. “Then I must go there. My honor demands they die.”

Kinar grumbled to himself. “I have much respect for the three of you, but I was told to let no man pass that was not of my king’s realm. Gruesome, you are outcast of your people. And the general has sworn no fealty to a king. Though it pains me, I cannot count you as my allies.”

“I swore fealty to one king and one king only. He was not proven unworthy to rule by right of arms, or by a vote of his own people. I call no other High King except him.” Everyone stared at Blade.

“He died, Blade. He died when the Great City fell. You belong to a House that has no home.”

“Tribute,” the old dwarf countered.

Pjodarr smiled. “My master is right. If we pay tribute to your king, we will be allies.”

The captain’s eyebrows rose. “Aye, that is true, if you want to be like the freemen. What would you pay?”

Pjodarr waved behind him. “The var,” he said sadly. “They are good beasts, and war-hardened. We have wyvern leather.” The shaman shrugged. “We have nothing else.”

Kinar looked at Blade. “You have one other thing.” Gruesome felt the old shaman tense. “The gods only know what lies in that cave. It would be a shame to see Tremble lost in such a place.” The other dwarf soldiers around the captain became more attentive. The havtrol lowered his hands to his weapons.

“That is a sjalsword, Captain Kinar. It holds the lifeline of its House. It is not given or taken lightly.”

“I know what it is, shaman. What good does it do a dead House?” He eyed the old dwarf. “What say you, Blade?”

The general growled deep in his chest, then fixed his eye on Kinar. His voice came out like gravel. “Any of ye with the stone to take this sword from my dead hand, best draw steel now. Twenty-seven of my own kin have tried. Men of honor, heroes of wars. But a fool’s pride only leads to one outcome.”

“It was said you died when Northwatch fell, Blade. You haven’t been seen in several years. Could be that you were hurt.” He strutted past the shaman. “Just how close did you come to the fire that swallowed the Great City?”

Blade lowered his head. His right hand rose to his helm. Pjodarr opened his mouth, as if to speak, and stopped himself. Slowly, the general pulled the winged steel from his head.

His right eye glared at the captain, but that was not what Gruesome saw. The top left side of Blade’s head was a mass of pink scars. The flesh had melted over his left eye, and the ear was gone. The havtrol had seen people burned before, but none that died from it and were brought back. The old dwarf only said two words before he covered his grotesque face.

“Close enough.”

Kinar was shaken. Dwarves did not show such a thing easily. His voice had lost its boldness. “And what would I tell my king if it were lost?”

“Ye tell him that something lives down there that killed the Blade of House Thurin, and he should make his prayers to every god he holds dear. ‘Cause there’ll be no hope for the rest of ye.”

The captain chuckled. “You haven’t changed, General. I’ll let you pass. And gods have mercy on whoever you find.”

The old slave sighed, almost imperceptibly. “We have information for you as well, and would ask a boon.”

“A boon?”

“The girl,” Pjodarr pointed at Erliga. “She will need an escort home.”

“And where is her home?”

“The Sky Palace.”

Kinar looked at the girl with suspicion. “What is one of Ranagol’s slaves doing in my king’s forest?”

The shaman shook his head. “I’m not sure, but it’s one of the things we would discuss with you.”

Erliga whispered something in Blade’s ear. “They’ll take ye home,” he told her over his shoulder in norovid.

“What?” she screamed. Everyone looked at her. “But I am yours, you saved me from them. I’m yours now!”

“I never claimed ye, girl!”

She jumped off the var and ran toward Pjodarr. “You’ll take me, won’t you? I’ll be a good servant!”

“A slave taking a slave?”

The girl looked at him with panicked eyes. She spun around until she saw Tarac. She ran to the boy like a mad woman. “Claim me. I’ll be good to you. Don’t make me go back!” She put her hands on the young man’s chest and whispered something to him. His face turned bright red, and then he grabbed her hands and lowered them to her sides.

“I can’t command you, Erliga. You may go wherever you wish.”

“I want to stay with you. Please, let me stay.”

The priest gave Pjodarr a pleading look. The shaman shook his head. “I guess she stays with us.”

“Does he claim her as spoils?” the dwarf captain asked the old slave.

“So it seems.”

Gruesome stared at the little girl. Why would she choose to stay with them, when she knew they still hunted the fiends that killed her other companions? Erliga clutched the priest’s arm as she huddled behind him. Tarac seemed to almost fear the girl’s touch. Kinar gave them a skeptical glare.

“The day grows late. Will you stay the night, or do you plan on sleeping in the unknown?”

Blade slipped from his perch atop the var. “We will accept ye hospitality, so long as it doesn’t come with more threats.”

“Are you saying the Lord of Northwatch felt threatened by me?” There were some chuckles from the captain’s men.

In a flash, the general pulled the large sword from his back and pointed it at Pjodarr. “Shaman!” he shouted and lightning shot down the blade toward the old slave. Without turning his attention from Kinar, the shaman reached his right hand toward the blue arc. It bounced from his palm to land squarely in the middle of the closest fire. Kinar’s face sobered. Blade returned the bone-handled sword to its hook with a flourish and winked at the younger dwarf.

“I think I’ll sleep the peace of the gods tonight. How about ye?”

 

 

 

 

 

The Tower

Chapter 30

 

"I could fix that for you."

Those were the words that Riordan spoke to him yesterday. The words that still haunted him today.

Aiden stood at the eastern edge of the market that dominated the field just south of Trenant Keep, waiting nervously before his first foray into the battlefield in years. He leaned on a wooden support pole holding up one corner of a large pavilion, trying not to be noticed, an easy enough task in this crowd. The market was full of merchants and vendors from all over Caldera, looking to sell their wares to the hundreds of soldiers that passed through the fortress every day. Large multi-colored cloth tarps and tents were stretched out on poles all over the sloping, grassy field, with dozens upon dozens of men, women and children hawking food, clothing, specialized weapons and arrows, mementos, armor-adornments, charms, and whatever else they thought they could trade or sell.

The whole market area lay in the shadow of Pauk's Hill, upon which the fortress of Trenant Keep stood. This location, in the northernmost reaches of the Red Hills, provided Caldera easy access to Teekwood Forest and Terlgow, the nearest regions of Andua, as well as Astrovia, a once-beautiful Calderan county