Twenty-second of Harbinger
Davos woke to the sound of splashing water. His eyes slowly drifted open and he looked up at the greyed sky. An hour to dawn, he estimated, and let out a groan as he rolled over on the sheepskin blanket stretched out on the grass. He kept the blanket over him, enjoying the relief from the cold morning air. Winter was coming fast, and they were particularly severe in Svaleta. It would be worse in Narandir without the blessings of human architecture. Another splash caught his attention, and he rolled his eyes. Apparently Belkai didn’t mind the cold as she floated bare skinned in the lake, her soft flesh low in the probably freezing water. Davos smiled at the sight, running his eyes over the woman who had won his heart. For a moment he questioned if she was using magic to keep herself warm so that she could enjoy the feeling of the water running over her. Ever since he’d met her, she’d seemed to find peace in the water, and he wondered if there was something about it that calmed her enhanced senses. What troubles did fish have, after all? Surely she didn’t sense much of importance within the water itself. This wasn’t at the forefront of Davos’ mind, of course, as Belkai sensed that he was awake and began to tread water, her wet hair running over her shoulders and floating around her.
“Are you coming in?” she called out, sporting a cheeky grin. Davos rolled his eyes. You’ve gone crazy, he thought, and Belkai laughed. “Trust me, lover. It’s great once you’re in.”
He groaned, but one didn’t argue with their wives this early in the morning, so he threw off the blanket and stood, stretching his thick body in the cool air. He felt Belkai’s gaze on him, and he smirked as he slowly stripped off his waistcloth and took a cautious step into the lake, wincing as the freezing water enveloped his foot. You owe me one. The former chief scout of Larton forced his increasingly sore body through the water until he reached Belkai, who by now was laughing uncontrollably at him. When he drew close, she splashed him, and he jolted as his face stung from the cold.
“What is wrong with you?” he hissed through chattering teeth. Belkai held out a hand and he took a hold of it. She was completely warm, he realised. He frowned as he looked up at her. Without a word, she pulled him against her, their bodies moulding together. He felt her heat radiating through him, and within seconds he was as warm as a summer’s day. “How?”
Belkai kissed him and grinned. “Davos, my dear, I am a Child of the Wind and the Lord of Narandir. I can feel the heartbeat of a horse from miles away. I can manipulate your organs and kill you with a thought. I can damn well raise my own body temperature.”
Davos laughed then, realising his foolishness. “You sound unkillable, my love.”
“Far from it.” She looked at him coyly. “But I’ll never tell you my secrets. Otherwise you might take advantage of me.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and let his fingers drift lower down her back. “I could pry them out, of course.”
She closed her eyes as his fingers explored, and her breaths were heavy on his neck. She leaned up and kissed him deeply on the mouth, then pulled her head back.
“Good morning, lover,” she whispered.
“And to you, envy of the world.”
That earned another kiss, but then Belkai’s face fell. “We have to see Greywall today.”
“I know.” Davos grimaced, his hands going still under her buttocks. Brimur had requested an audience with the dwarf, and Davos knew that both he and Belkai wanted to take him to the tunnel that Syndra had discovered. Things would be moving fast now, and he feared for what would come of it.
“It’ll be okay, I promise,” Belkai said softly, recognising his concern. Svaletans weren’t known for trusting their enemies. “He’s our way through that door. Brimur and I will be with him at all times. And you’ll be there.”
“Of course.”
“He can’t do anything,” Belkai assured him. “There will be no chance of betrayal or tricks. If he steps out of line, we’ll know. And if need be, we’ll kill him.”
“You know all the right things to say. I’ll try to relax.” Davos smiled, and pulled her thighs against his. “But I could use your help. Might I have this dance?”
“Mm.” Belkai smiled as she wrapped her legs around him. Her hands hung around his neck and pulled his lips close to her own. “I suppose your lord will allow it.”
All in all, it was a good beginning to what would be a long day.
***
It was a sign of her caution that when Belkai and Davos came to the well, she was wearing the white leather armour favoured by the elves. It was light and flexible but could withstand a lot of abuse. Her father would have loved to get his hands on it. He would have made a fortune. When they arrived, Brimur and Lasiri were already there. Syndra, Grais, and Lithmae stood nearby, and Loranna had followed the royal couple through the Forest, ever the faithful protector. She greeted her betrothed with a kiss, then stepped back and studied the two newcomers with caution.
“You put him down a well, Belkai?” Lasiri asked, her eyebrows raised questioningly. “That seems a little dramatic.”
“It was her choice,” Belkai replied as she pointed at Syndra.
The elf shrugged. “She said find a hole. I found a hole.”
Brimur was far more practical as he ignored their unexpected humour. “Has he been eating?”
“Just basics,” Grais told him. “Simple plant food, a water bladder each day. He’s weak, but healthy.”
“Do you want him brought up?” Syndra asked. All eyes turned to Belkai. She took a breath and nodded. Once he was hauled out, Greywall looked at the small crowd with amusement.
“I must be becoming quite the attraction,” he said drily. Belkai shook her head.
“You stand before the heads of the Brilhardem and the Watchers,” she announced. “As well as the Lord of Narandir. Most would bow.”
He didn’t move, but Belkai felt the fear that ran through him. It didn’t matter that their numbers were small, he had no way of knowing that. Their very presence declared that the orders had sworn allegiance to Belkai. It was only now, Belkai realised, that he was beginning to understand what Falkar had led them into.
“Under different circumstances, I would be honoured,” he said with a slowly crumbling confidence. No prince of Nimura would be quick to reveal their fear, however strong it may be. “What are your intentions with me?”
“We do not harm our prisoners without cause,” Belkai assured him. “But we have questions of you.”
Brimur stepped forward and looked down at Greywall. There was no disguising the disgust in his eyes. “I have known Belkai since she was fifteen years old. She is one of the strongest mages I have known. Elkur sent her to this Forest. You would do well to listen to her.”
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“And what do the Watchers have to say?” Greywall asked, turning to Lasiri. She shrugged, a mocking look on her face.
“Your lord tried to kill me. He owes me a death.” That it was Delorax, not Falkar, who had been behind the mine attack was irrelevant. Their alliance meant that their acts were one. Watchers had a blessedly simple outlook on life. “If Nimura marches against Narandir, then the Watchers will stand against you.”
“As we speak, riders are headed for every capital to tell of your violation of the Mirzali Compact,” Belkai announced. “If your king goes to war, then he will face a combined force from all of the kingdoms.”
“So what do you want from me?” Greywall crossed his arms as he looked at each of them in turn. “Why am I alive?”
Belkai and Davos exchanged a glance, and he nodded. The Lord of Narandir hesitated, but steadied her breathing. “There is something we need your help with. There is no returning to Nimura until we have peace. But if you cooperate, we can give you some improvement over a well.”
It wasn’t much, but Greywall knew that Belkai would be true to her word, and dwarves were nothing if not pragmatic. He nodded slowly. “What do you need of me?”
***
When Nizali had agreed to their demands, they set out. It was only a small group, but it was enough to keep most trolls away. Syndra and Lithmae were in the lead, with two more elves following them. Three of Lasiri’s Watchers formed the rear-guard, with Lasiri herself joining Belkai, Brimur, and Davos in the middle. Nizali was ahead of them, with the elf named Grais behind him, always with his hand upon his sword. For his part, Nizali was keeping alert for any possibility of escape. He could feel the gaze of Brimur and Belkai upon him, the cursed mages who could sense his every thought. He was starting to understand Zimari’s wisdom in not giving him his entire strategy for the war. A single glance could give everything away. Knowing that he was being led to the Source, all that he needed was an out. No one spoke to him for much of the journey, and he didn’t offer any information. It was only during a short rest a few hours from their destination that Belkai sat beside him and yawned.
“This was a two-day journey only a month ago,” she told him. “Once we discovered what was out here, we had to form trails so that we could shorten the journey. Twelve hours is much faster than the alternative. It’s tough country, though.”
“I have travelled worse.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. The slopes of Mirzali were tough, but at least it was simply a slope to overcome. The Forest had its own dangers. If Belkai sensed the lie, she didn’t seem to care. “Where are we going?”
“I believe that you’ll know it when you see it,” Belkai told him. “When we arrive, I want your impressions about it. Everything you think, everything you notice. I need to know everything.”
“What is it that is so important to you?” Nizali asked. He had his suspicions, but he had no intention of planting thoughts in her head. She just shook her head.
“You know what you need to know.” Belkai stood and called out, “Time to move.”
Nizali stood and stifled a groan. He would be grateful when they reached the destination, wherever it was. He wasn’t built for this.
The final stage of the journey was no different from the rest, a hard trek across broken ground and thick exposed roots. Shorter than any of the others, Nizali had the hardest task of traversing the terrain, and received no help when he stumbled and fell. After what felt like another day’s walk, they finally broke through into a small clearing. What little space was available was filled with a cluster of structures that Nizali instantly recognised as ancient dwarven. They were covered with flowering vines, and he watched as birds flittered around searching for food. He recognised the barracks, the crumbling remains of a watchtower, what was undoubtedly the latrine. It was the faded symbols carved onto the walls that caught his attention. Moving past the others, he ran his hand over the symbol on a nearby stone. It was a large triangle with a semi-circle underneath and a single line running up the centre.
“Rizolda,” Nizali whispered. “Bostath.”
“What is it, Greywall?” Brimur asked, stepping forward. “You seem rattled.”
He was. Nizali had seen that symbol just recently, on a map being studied by Zimari.
“He knew,” he whispered.
“He knew what?” Belkai asked.
He spun to face her. “There is something here, isn’t there? Something you can’t explain without a dwarf?”
“There is.”
Nizali swore. “My king knows where it is. He knew about this place all along.”
He had been a distraction, a potential sacrifice to see if the shades could truly mask their approach. He had never been intended to succeed.
“What does he know?” Belkai asked. He could hear the tension in her voice. Somehow he didn’t feel the same satisfaction as he had earlier that day.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But this place is no secret to him.”
He cocked his head as he looked at her. “What did you find?”
The female elf, Syndra, took the lead, with Nizali and Belkai right behind. Not surprisingly, they entered the latrine – just the place a particularly cunning dwarf would hide something important. Syndra led them down a trapdoor, and Nizali stood still when he reached the tunnel floor. He could see the first trap that had been triggered. The body had now been removed, but the bloodstains were still evident to his keen eyes. Out of deference to the humans, Syndra lit a torch and held it up to illuminate the rocky passage.
“How many?” Nizali asked quietly. Not surprisingly, the answer came from Syndra.
“Too many.”
“We don’t understand the purpose,” Davos said. Nizali turned around. It was only the three of them, along with Belkai and Grais. The others must have decided to wait above ground.
“They wouldn’t stop a determined force,” Belkai noted. “Syndra’s team took casualties but they made it. The traps seem to serve no purpose but to be malicious.”
“Some things must be paid for in blood,” Nizali said quietly. “But more importantly, it won’t keep anyone out. It may, however, keep something in.”
No one spoke, but it made sense to Belkai. She thought about the presence that she’d felt beyond the door; alive, but not alive, able to be sensed by her abilities but beyond the physical. What if she’d been wrong? What if this wasn’t the source of Narandir after all, but a prison?
“What would require such punishment?” It was Grais who broke the silence. Nizali shrugged.
“There is only one way to learn that,” he replied. “If you are willing to take the risk.”
Belkai thought for a moment, then turned back to the trapdoor and called out for Brimur and Lasiri to join them. She briefed them on what Nizali had said, and they exchanged glances.
“Is it worth the risk?” Lasiri asked. Belkai told her it was, and Nizali turned away to study the walls. There were faint scratch marks, centuries old. He glanced at Syndra, who didn’t seem to be paying attention. He ran a hand over the scratches, and could sense the power that had been behind them. A jagged chunk of rock soundlessly broke off under his touch, and he slipped it into his tunic. He hid his smile; no dwarf was ever beaten so long as he held his weapon.
“Syndra, lead on,” Belkai called out, and Nizali obediently followed the elf. He glanced nervously at the floor as he walked, grateful to find that each trap had already been sprung. And taken an elf with each one. He didn’t see Belkai bristle at that.
It didn’t take long to reach the end of the tunnel and the golden plate set into the wall. Nizali was stunned by the craftsmanship and rested a hand against it, shocked by its warmth. He studied the green cursive script along the edges, eyes narrowing as he translated the ancient words into his more contemporary dialect.
“What is it?” Lasiri asked.
“A door.” Nizali didn’t look back as he answered. He gently ran his hand over the gold. “Designed to restrict access to any but a dwarf.”
“What is the writing?” Belkai asked. “It’s from one of the first dynasties, wasn’t it?”
“The second,” Greywall confirmed. He turned back to the words and sighed. “It is a dedication, fairly typical of those days. ‘The hall of Zumani the Constructor, Tenth Son of Ulthani, and his guardian. To all who enter, beware the curse of the past.’”
“The curse of the past?” Grais murmured.
“It’s a common inscription,” Nizali told him. “I’ve seen it on a number of relics.”
All of them associated with Zumani, he realised, though he kept his face blank. What was behind this door?
“What do you sense, Belkai?” Brimur asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something alive but not really there. It comes and goes.”
She shrugged and turned to Nizali.
“How do we open the door?” she asked. There was no avoiding that, Nizali knew. He sighed and ran his hand over the last piece of text.
“It gives the instructions. ‘Breathe the fifth song and declare your past’.” He shrugged. “That’s not unexpected.”
The others stood back as he began to chant the song, an ancient testimony to the glory of Nimura when its kingdom spanned the continent. Next he recited his lineage, twelve centuries of his forefathers. He stood firm as the writing glowed and a series of clicks sounded from within the rock. There was no deception here like the entrance to Mirzali. With the final click, the golden door swung open and Nizali led the way to the room within.