The Age of War, page 7
part #2 of Warsworn Series
". . . How can you say that like it's normal?" the elf was saying, anger thickening her tone.
"Because it is—in the north anyway," the human replied, his tone soothing. "Every decade or so the gnomes and orcs go on a warpath and attack the closest peoples. The dwarves and the trolls happen to be nearest."
"How many have you killed?" She almost spit the words at him.
The man's features hardened, but his reply was measured, controlled. "Enough. When I was with the dwarves I fought to defend our people, no more." He swept a hand at the army on the other side of the rocks. "If that were the dwarves, would you have had them lay down their weapons and die? Just let them plunder the nine mountains?"
The elf shook her head but had no answer. The man released a breath and leaned closer to her. "I am sorry. I forget you have been shielded from violence. Up here, war and death are parts of life. The orcs and gnomes will probably be driven back to their own lands. For a couple of years they will lick their wounds. Then they will decide they want our goods and open trade routes. It doesn't take long before a slight offence carries their nation to war. I've seen it happen many times."
Tryton frowned as he listened, surprised by the man's intimate knowledge of the events in the north lands. By his own word he'd lived among the dwarves, but why? Humans didn't normally reside within the dwarven realm. Then Tryton noticed the man's hair. Distinctly red, it appeared more dwarflike than human.
Tryton cocked his head to the side, realizing the likely reason for the human's presence among the dwarves. Still, their proximity to Astaroth suggested intent, not merely journeying through the north. Then the elf sank to the ground, her features tight with emotion.
"How can anyone take life so easily?" she whispered.
The man crouched beside her and placed a hand on her arm. "Because they believe they are in the right," he said.
"Being right is not enough to kill," she snapped with sudden heat. "Life—even of one you hate—is more precious than that."
Tryton could not suppress a grin. This elf thought as he did, with a passion that matched his own. His curiosity mounted as he drifted closer, hoping for a clue as to her identity.
"I know," the human replied, "but some don't see it that way. Rock trolls live and breathe for war. It is not uncommon for them to incite the orcs so they have an excuse to fight them."
Unfortunately true, Tryton thought, irritated that the troll reputation remained grim.
The elf seemed to wilt. "Is this what it will be like when Draeken invades? Will men and women slay each other rather than the foe that would destroy them all?"
Tryton froze at the mention of Draeken. It had been nearly ten thousand years since the Great Draeken War, but the legend remained disturbingly clear. Bent on destroying all life, Lord Draeken had unleashed an army of unknown creatures upon Lumineia. Numbering more than the combined races of every kingdom, the massive force had obliterated any in its path. On the verge of victory, the army had mysteriously vanished.
Among the first to join the war, the rock trolls had been crushed, their vaunted strength overpowered by sheer numbers. The rock trolls had changed following the war. In order to survive they had torn families apart, and children were subsequently raised by a Blademaster. The shift had done irreparable damage to the trolls and led them to the brink of extinction. Was it possible Draeken had survived? If he invaded again . . .
A jerking motion to the side drew his gaze to Kaber. Having just moved into position, the troll jerked his hand in irritation.
Eliminate?
Tryton shook his head and replied with a different hand signal. Capture for interrogation. Tryton stepped forward as the man finished speaking.
". . . people get desperate when they want to survive."
"The human speaks the truth," Tryton said, "which is why I want you to consider before you draw your weapons."
Whirling, their eyes widened in shock as Tryton and his companions rose from the brush. Three weapons extended towards the pair, huge and forbidding. The man shifted his feet but made no move towards his sword.
Kaber released a growl. "We should kill them. There is no reason to keep them alive."
The elf flinched, and Tryton caught the smirk on Kaber's face.
"No Kaber," Tryton replied. "Sybrik will wish to speak with them. We don't often see an elf this far north, especially in the company of a human. Solus, remove their gear and bind their hands."
They remained silent as Solus advanced. Then Solus stripped the katsana from her back and tossed it to Kaber. Doing the same with the human, he collected their packs as well.
"Speak, and you may draw the attention of any scattered orcs." Kaber's lips twisted into a malicious smile. "So a single word from your lips will cost you your head."
Tryton cast him a warning glance and then motioned them to follow. Kaber and Solus took up positions on either side of their captives, preventing any thought of escape. As they descended toward Astaroth, Tryton resisted the urge to look at them, but his curiosity continued to burn.
Their path took them close to the battlefield, and Tryton heard the sharp intake of breath as they passed groups of trolls. Huge and blood-spattered from the battle, the trolls stared at the elf and human.
Since the main gates were blocked by so many trolls, Tryton led them to a side entrance. From there he led them up through Astaroth and to the Hall of Kings. Swinging open the large ironbound door, he stepped inside with his captives in tow. Four trolls looked up at their entrance, all bearing fresh wounds as they stood around the region map.
Sybrik's expression blackened with fury as he caught sight of the elf and human. "Tryton, what is this? Was not my order to slay any that moved?"
Tryton gave a curt bow. "It was, King Sybrik, but I thought it prudent to discover why an elf and a human would be visiting our lands."
Sybrik blinked at the captives and growled. Then he advanced on Tryton. "I care not why a lesser race is here. Kill them and toss them into the pit with the rest."
"What if they are an advance to an elven or human army?" Tryton countered, appealing to Sybrik's strategic mind. "Any information could be invaluable."
Sybrik drew his hammer and set the head on the floor. "Where do you hail from, elf? Does he speak the truth?"
The elf lifted her gaze to Sybrik, and then flicked to Tryton. As if sensing Tryton's concern, she remained silent.
"Speak," Sybrik barked, "or I will tear your heads from your shoulders."
Again they did not respond, and Tryton mentally praised them for their bravery. Unfortunately, it caused Sybrik's fury to mount. Hefting his enormous weapon, Sybrik jerked his head.
"Then you will die in silence."
"Perhaps we can interrogate them after the orcs are dealt with," Tryton said.
Sybrik's expression betrayed his inner struggle, to kill them, or learn from them. It took all of Tryton's self-control to keep his expression calm. He released a silent sigh of relief when Sybrik reluctantly returned the maul to his back.
"As you suggest, Tryton. Throw them in a hole and guard them yourself. It will not be the first time you have lost ink to spare a life. It will take a week to drive the orcs back to their wretch of a city. I will interrogate them myself when I return."
He spun and stalked back to the table. Bowing to his back, Tryton led his prisoners from the room. Descending deep into Astaroth, he led them to a thick iron door. Stepping inside, Tryton gestured to the glowlamp to light. Then he stooped and lifted a heavy grate that covered the center of the floor.
The elf stepped to the edge and looked down into the cylinder of space. At ten feet across and deep, its walls were smooth and sheer, making climbing out impossible. She looked at Tryton but he did not speak. Conscious of Kaber's presence, Tryton waited as she eased herself in and dropped to the bottom. A second later the human joined her. Together they looked up as the cage was closed. Unwilling to let Kaber listen to his questions, Tryton held his tongue and left without a word.
Chapter 10: The Legendary Blade
Tryton left the captives behind, but his thoughts remained with them. Geranaut intercepted him several levels up and slid to a stop. His eyes wide, he lifted the captured weapons into view.
"Solus gave me these to store," Geranaut said, "But I think you should see them first."
Tryton accepted the two katsanas and examined them. The first appeared as the standard, curving longsword that elves occasionally used. Of excellent quality, it nevertheless appeared unremarkable. The second . . .
Tryton's breath caught in his throat and he bent to examine it. The slight glittering did not resemble any weapon he'd seen. Curious, Tryton held it up to the light, and was shocked to see the blade veritably shine. His gaze lifted to Geranaut.
"We should speak with Tolan," he said.
"My thoughts exactly."
They made their way to the forges beneath Astaroth. Upon stepping into the doorway, Tryton scanned the collection of naifblades for the Mastersmith, but heard him first.
"Your work would be unfit for a goblin," the stocky troll growled at an eleven-year-old. "If your next attempt does not improve, I will see you working the mine like one." Then he slammed the sword down upon the anvil, bending the blade like it was made of tin.
As the naifblade scurried away, Tolan spotted Tryton and Geranaut. He wove his way through the maze of anvils, forges, and workbenches to meet them at the door. Known for being sullen and irritable, the troll only spoke to the Blademaster with respect.
"What brings you to the forge?" Tolan asked.
"This," Tryton replied, and lifted the katsana into view.
Tolan frowned at Tryton but accepted the blade. The moment his fingers touched the material his expression changed. His eyes nearly popped from his skull as he picked it up. Then he ran a finger down the material in an almost reverent manner.
"It cannot be . . ."
"What is it?" Geranaut asked.
Without a word Tolan spun and hurried through the forges to a side door. Tryton and Geranaut exchanged a glance and then followed him into a private forge room. Well ordered and filled with magnificent weaponry, the forge was evidently the Mastersmith's personal workplace. He stepped to the forge and lifted the bar to raise the temperature. Then he plunged the sword into the flames. The sword seemed to shine as the heat and light reflected off it, causing Tolan to release a long breath.
"It is made of rakion," he said, and withdrew the blade to examine it again. Heat reflected red on his face but he did not seem to notice. His voice soft, he explained, "This material is the pinnacle of any metal, for it is the combination of mithral and magically melted diamonds. Only a handful of armor has been forged of this—but never a sword. The craftsman who made this likely spent two hundred years devoted to this single weapon." His gaze lifted to Tryton. "Where did you get it?"
"After the battle we captured an elf and a human," Tryton said. "One of them carried it."
Tolan frowned in confusion. "This is a weapon for kings and meant to endure for eons—yet it must have been completed recently."
"How can you know that?" Geranaut said.
"Because we have not heard of it," Tolan said. "A blade such as this is destined for greatness. For good or evil, tales will follow this blade, for it cannot be destroyed or marred by combat. Whoever wields it will be forever remembered for great deeds."
Tryton's thoughts shifted to the captives. Who were they to carry such a blade? And for what purpose? They were not thieves, of that much he was certain. But they weren't warriors either.
"Perhaps it would be best if others do not learn of its value," Tryton said. "It was not made for a troll, but our kind does value weaponry."
Tolan handed it back with a look of longing on his usually dour face. Accepting it with a nod of gratitude, Tryton and Geranaut departed the forges. Once they were outside, Geranaut caught his arm.
"Perhaps you should learn more about your captives," Geranaut said. "Before Sybrik returns."
"That is my intent," Tryton said. "And I know just how to do so."
In the days after finding out about the sword, Tryton visited the captives when he could, but did not make himself known. Using the secret overlook that allowed observation of prisoners, he watched from the shadows, and listened.
Their conversation was as insightful as it was intriguing. It quickly became evident that the two were more than just traveling companions, yet their relationship appeared guarded and tentative.
He learned their names early, Ianna and Mazer, but little else about their identity. They spoke of a quest and a list known only to them, but Tryton could not discern more. When the duties of his rank prevented him from observing, he sent those he trusted in his place. Solus, Geranaut, the twins, Ryphon, and Kythira took turns watching over the couple. Although they were in prison, they had likely never been as safe.
On the third day, Tryton and Kythira went to the secret overlook together and listened to the couple speak. Tryton's hand found hers in the darkness, the warmth bringing a smile to his lips. The contact reminded him of their impending joining, and on impulse he leaned close to her ear.
"Why did you choose me?"
She shifted to face him. "In a clan of trolls one stood apart," she murmured, "It is I who wonder why you chose me."
"Your courage," Tryton replied with a smile. "When other whelps looked to the floor, you met the gaze of warsworn. You refused to yield when all about you succumbed to the traditions of our people. I may have stood apart, but I was not alone. We have always stood together."
"But is it enough?" she whispered. "Can we stop Sybrik?"
Abruptly aware of his stooped stature, Tryton almost told her his plan. At the last moment he held his tongue. Sybrik was the most powerful troll in generations with eight years of experience on Tryton. If it came to a duel Tryton remained uncertain as to its outcome, and his true strength was his sole advantage.
"I still hope that he will change," Tryton murmured, "but I will not shrink from my duty to our people."
She gestured to the couple, her hand barely visible in the shadows. "What do we do if he attempts to kill them?"
We stop him.
He felt a chill as he thought it, but knew the words to be true. After what he had heard and witnessed, he would not allow these two to be slain. His fingers tightened into a fist.
"It appears my brother's choice may come sooner than I anticipated."
Magnified by the shadows, worry creased her features. Before she could respond a faint rush of air came from the hole. By unspoken accord they drifted to the edge of darkness to identify it. Tryton's eyes widened as Ianna fashioned a makeshift mattress out of the food sacks that had been dropped to them. The touch of air magic prompted Kythira to blurt the question they were both thinking.
"Are you a wind mage?"
The prisoners looked up in confusion, their eyes searching the shadows above the pit. Then Ianna answered, "Yes and no."
Tryton met Kythira's gaze as she shifted her feet. "What do you mean?" she asked.
Ianna flashed a wry smile. "Wind magic is just one of my skills."
Since the secret was lost, Tryton motioned Kythira forward. She shrugged and stepped into the open.
"I don't understand," Kythira said.
Mazer put a hand on Ianna's arm, but she ignored the warning. "I am the Oracle," Ianna replied.
Surprise froze Tryton's frame as the word lodged in his mind. Known for possessing all types of magic, the oracle was even rumored to see glimpses of the future. She also never left her home in the south.
"Of the elves?" Kythira asked.
"I serve any who come for aid," Ianna replied, "from any race."
"How did you end up in the north?" Kythira asked. "Few of your race journey here."
Ianna hesitated, and then said, "Sometimes an oracle must leave her home to serve those in need."
Kythira frowned, and unknowingly voiced Tryton's thoughts. "It is said that the Oracle can do all types of magic."
"That is true, although the individual strengths of distinct oracles can vary greatly."
Kythira sat on the edge of the pit. "Could you teach me?"
Ianna released a chagrined laugh. "I would be honored, but you should know that wind magic is not one of my strengths. It is probable that the direction of instruction would the opposite of what you intend."
Kythira grunted and looked away. Mazer took advantage of the opportunity, and asked, "What is your name?"
"Kythira."
"And why did you come to see us?" Mazer asked.
Kythira shook her head and gestured to Ianna. "I would be more interested in learning what brought the two of you here."
"We are seeking to warn certain individuals," Ianna said, "and stumbled on the battle as we traveled. We did not mean to cause any conflict."
Tryton caught the careful nature of her words, as if she wanted to be honest without revealing the whole truth.
"What is the warning?" Kythira asked.
"It can only be shared with the ones for which it is intended," the oracle said.
Kythira fell silent and glanced back at Tryton still hidden in the secret alcove. It was an invitation for him to step into the light. He hesitated, and then remained where he was. Ianna had opened up to Kythira and he had no desire to intimidate her back into silence.
"Are you joined to another?" Ianna asked, drawing Kythira's gaze.
"Soon," Kythira replied, and then flashed a smile that Tryton matched. Pointing to her earring, she said, "Left indicates you are promised. An earring on the right is a token of the joining." Abruptly she frowned and stood. "I should go. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow."
As she turned the oracle raised her voice. "Who will you be joined with?"
Kythira's gaze connected with Tryton, and from inside the shadow he nodded. She turned back to answer, "Tryton," she said, and then retreated back into the alcove to Tryton's side.
