Forge of Ashes Page 3

  "Nobody went after her?" Akina's voice came out hoarse.

  "Many people hunt down strikes and never return," he said."Janna's bold—almost reckless—reputation was well known. Like mother, like daughter." He gave her a meaningful look."People warned that she was risking the inevitable. That she should rely on survey teams; she never listened, of course. She always wanted to be the one out there, making the discoveries, seeing what lay beyond Taggoret, whether out across the peaks or in the depths."

  Akina bowed her head. That certainly sounded like her mother. Forever caught between her craft and a restless urge. When Akina had signed up for battle training, Jannasten had celebrated, as it'd provide the perfect way for her daughter to see the world as well—so long as she came home. That'd been the unspoken stipulation. But things changed. Akina was her own dwarf. She'd made her own choices.

  So why did she feel like she'd failed her mother's legacy?

  "Once we realized she'd been away too long," Gromir said,"a few cries went up for search parties and the like, but most accepted it as a logical consequence. The world's a dangerous place. People die. We try to live on as best we can."

  "How long ago?" Akina asked.

  "Just over three years now. Time enough. I held out hope for awhile, but I knew she'd never abandon her work and home for so long."

  Akina narrowed her eyes. Was that an accusation?

  "Since then, I continued to do what I could to bolster your family's name. I kept the business open, even though it meant diverting focus from my studies. I've also kept an eye on Brakisten, providing meals and a small abode he can rest in when he's sober enough to take advantage of it." He coughed."Don't worry. The property's under my name, so he can't sell it for more drinking coin."

  "Why, Gromir? Why go to all this effort?"

  He spread his arms again, though this time as if displaying himself."Isn't it obvious?"

  "You're kidding. After all this time?"

  "We loved each other once. Might we not do so again?"

  Akina couldn't contain her snort."We were infatuated over a decade ago. Big difference."

  Gromir's face tightened. He exhaled through his nostrils."Can I show you something? It'll only take a moment."

  Scowling, she followed him into the back. Selvia glanced up from where she bent over a desk, ticking off figures with an inked quill. Gromir nodded for her to continue as he led Akina past the workshop filled with marble blocks and iron slabs. He showed her into a darkened side room. Lifting a hand, he whispered a command, and a sphere of pale blue light flickered into being above their heads.

  Statues, medallions, masks, and more crammed the shelves, all positioned to face the middle of the room. Akina spun a slow circle, gaping.

  "What's this?"

  Gromir kept his gaze down."I suppose you could call it my private collection. Pieces I've crafted but can't bring myself to sell."

  Akina picked up the nearest statue, feeling the polished stone."They're all... me."

  "They're a gift. A way to honor your memory and what I felt for you. Still feel."

  She stared into the false eyes of her miniature and imagined Gromir at work, night after night, forming idols he then stashed. Convincing her mother to plant Akina's image around the city so he could see her wherever he walked. Practically building an altar in her image. This went far beyond his clingy nature. In fact, when she'd left for war, it had been something of a relief to learn he planned to stay behind—a fresh start for them both. But apparently he'd never truly let go of their past. And what had she become in his mind since?

  She swallowed her rising gorge and set the statue back down with a click."This is a little... obsessive."

  His expression blanked for a moment before his eyes flared."Not obsession. Devotion! Something you obviously have no comprehension of." He froze for a moment, gaze darting all over. Then he sagged."I shouldn't have said that. It's just been difficult, and this kept me focused on what really mattered."

  "You should've moved on a long time ago. You should have a family by now. Younglings."

  "I do have a family." He sniffed a laugh."Not the traditional sort, no, but it's the one I've chosen."

  So she'd left and, instead of shaping his own life, he'd supplanted hers. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to claim her family as his own? What gave him the right to turn her into some sort of icon?

  She hefted her maulaxe and pointed at the collection."You chose to be stuck in the past."

  "Akina..." He closed in, but she thrust a hand into his chest. He stumbled out the door and caught himself on the threshold. When he tried to reenter, she blocked his way with the maulaxe head. His eyes widened."What're you doing?"

  She pondered the wisdom of her actions for half a heartbeat. After all, they had been friends and lovers once. Did he deserve to be punished for dreaming of an impossible future with her? She cast the misgivings aside. Wisdom had nothing to do with it. She needed this. If she'd killed those dwarves in the alley, the consequences could've been costly. Here, though, she at least had a safe target, an outlet to keep the fury from consuming her for a little longer.

  "I'm freeing you from me." She spun and slammed the maulaxe down on a mask of her likeness, turning it to powder. She swept a shelf to the floor and proceeded to pound and crush it all into shards.

  "Please, don't! No!"

  He cried for her to stop with every smash of her maulaxe, wailing as if she struck him instead. Yet Akina didn't cease until the last piece of the twisted hoard lay broken, her features obliterated. Fragments crackled under her boots as she lurched out of the room.

  Moaning, Gromir slid to his knees, hands shaking as he stared at the ruined art. Selvia peeked down the hall, but ducked back out of sight at Akina's glare.

  As she moved by, Gromir snagged the edge of her sleeve."Wait. Where are you going?"

  Akina pulled away and didn't look back."To pray for my mother's soul."

  Chapter Four

  Contemplation of Stone

  Ondorum watched the snoring dwarf for a little while after Akina left. He looked for any sign that Brakisten might wake, or even be sensible enough to work the door latch if he did. He studied Brakisten's twitches and briefly wondered what he might've been like before drink, deception, and grief took such a harsh toll. Little use, however, in questioning what might have been. Better to focus on what could be.

  Ondorum searched the rooms for stashed alcohol, but the den lacked any hiding places he could discern. He guessed it'd be a while yet before Brakisten woke. Perhaps he could use the time to explore a bit on his own.

  While he'd encountered other dwarves besides Akina, he'd never visited one of their kingdoms before. What glimpses he had so far proved fascinating. He'd been looking forward to meeting Akina's family—at least, the brother and mother. She'd told him how her father had died while she'd been in battle training, buried in an avalanche during a Kingtower Pass patrol. In the years they'd traveled and fought together with the swords-for-hire, she'd occasionally spoken of her home and remaining kin. Her tone had initially been dismissive, but had grown increasingly wistful until her return had been inevitable. Her asking him to come along had been one of the great joys of his existence, but he possessed no certainty of how long it'd last.

  Best to make the most of it, then.

  Believing it safe to stroll for a bit, he bowed to Brakisten and prayed to Irori that the dwarf might have a soothed mind and soul when he woke. Then he stepped outside and took a moment to orient himself. Fortunately, he had an excellent sense of direction, a talent the mercenaries had often put to use when navigating unknown territory.

  As he wound through the district, he admired the roads and bridges. The dwarves had fashioned well-situated thoroughfares, yet their constructions retained the sense of having sprung whole from the earth. Studying the dwarves themselves, he almost believed the legends that their earliest ancestors had been formed of living stone with fire baked into their hearts. He
sensed their joy and peace in knowing who they were and where they belonged—a peace he knew Akina no longer held. Even though she'd never said it outright, he reckoned she'd hoped to regain that centering of herself by coming home. Could she still, he wondered, despite the unfortunate beginnings?

  An inconsistency nagged him as he wandered. Something about the city itself...

  Ah! Of course. The light. He should've realized. Akina said her people worked all hours, taking shifts to ensure the forge fires never dimmed, the mining carts never rolled in empty, and the tunnels and buildings never stopped being strengthened or lengthened. While Ondorum knew dwarves could see in the dark just as well as he could, the artificial light displayed their handiwork in far greater glory.

  He paused on the corner of a four-way intersection atop a rise. From here, he could see down one of the massive rifts dividing the city. Structures appeared to be built into the depths of the rift itself, with chain-and-pulley lifts providing transportation up and down. Mining entrances? Homes?

  He gazed upward and let himself feel the weight of the cavern. Not a claustrophobic press like many humans or elves complained of after spending time underground. To him, it offered a soothing weight, like a warm blanket beneath a frigid sky.

  It seemed a city an oread might be right at home in. Oread culture was a loose thing, in itself. They had no central government. No real inclination to congregate with others of their kind. Most, like him, chose their own paths. He'd heard of other oreads finding homes among dwarven settlements, their inclinations toward stone helping them blend in well enough. He'd even heard of oreads and dwarves who'd married and had children, though he and Akina had never discussed such. Not that they'd been talking much lately.

  Guilt cracked his concentration at that thought. He knew Akina detested his self-imposed vow, sometimes opining that he must've taken it just to provoke her. But did she realize how much it tormented him as well? Ever since they'd first begun traveling together, he'd enjoyed the steady way they'd drawn ever closer. Now he'd distanced them in a way neither of them could bridge. In the pursuit of perfecting himself, did he now fail her?

  Trying to restore a more contemplative focus, he shut his eyes and visualized his ki as a golden ball at the core of his being. Palms opened to the ground, he imagined lines of ki stretching out into the stone, connecting him with the essence of the city. A futile effort to gain a sense of the place, perhaps, since he'd only seen a fraction of Taggoret, but all lessons began somewhere.

  As he attempted to meditate, a memory of screams teased his thoughts. Past mistakes and failures rose to taunt him, as they so often did. The golden ball of ki turned to granite. He fought to corral the riot of sudden emotion and steady his breathing, but everywhere he turned, regret threatened to overwhelm him. Akina. The monastery. The village. All of them hurt or lost despite his best efforts. The wrong words. The wrong actions. Yet he still struggled to know what he could've done or said differently in the circumstances.

  Irori, please. I'm trying. Truly. I've ever believed yours is the hand that should guide my path, but it can be so difficult to know which way you're pointing. Is Akina's solace more important than my silence? Is my vow meant to be broken? Or is this a test to refine both of us?

  He waited, listening for an answer, memories still haunted by screams. Then he opened his eyes, realizing some screams weren't in his mind. A faint roar sounded nearby, followed by a cry and crash. Someone in trouble?

  He reached into his robe and drew out an iron rod no bigger than his thumb. He carried a small collection of such metal rods and chips to be employed when circumstances required. While he could fight decently enough with empty hands, he knew better than to overlook the advantage of an extended reach.

  Calling on his elemental heritage, he let earthen power flow through him and infuse the metal, giving it the potential to be so much more than it appeared. The rod lengthened into a full quarterstaff. While it was a temporary transformation, and one he could only repeat after a lengthy delay, it could help if he needed to intervene in a scene of violence.

  So armed, Ondorum stepped out into the middle of the street, looking for the source of the disturbance. A dwarf walking by jumped aside, fists cocked. Then he gave a grating laugh.

  "Flaming beards, boy. Thought you were a statue."

  Ondorum pointed down the road and cupped a hand to his ear. The dwarf frowned, but then brightened."Oh, that's the Scarred Knuckles. Best fighting hole in all the mountains. There's a tournament tonight. Was on my way, myself." He sidled up and nudged Ondorum."My bet's on the Silver Skewer, but it'll be a good fight either way. For some of us, blood gleams brighter than gold, eh?"

  Quarterstaff tapping along, Ondorum fell in step with the dwarf, who talked as they went. The dwarf didn't seem to notice the oread's failure to reply as he guided Ondorum to one building and ushered him inside. The noise quadrupled in force, and Ondorum tried to let the cacophony flow over and past him. At least two hundred dwarves crammed into multi-tiered seats surrounding four sunken arenas. Each ring held a pair of fighters. The crowd loosed another roar as one combatant hit the ground and didn't move.

  His dwarven escort cackled."Remember! All bets on the Silver Skewer."

  Others called out names such as The Haunch and One-Nostril. Ondorum shifted through the crowd as the audience slapped and pounded one another in revelry, celebrating with what would've been bruising—or bone-breaking—force for many other races.

  Ondorum's attention fixed on a cage set off in a corner. At first, it appeared to contain nothing but darkness; then the slightest movement suggested a figure huddled within. Ondorum got closer until he discerned the captive.

  Clad in filthy rags, the person looked dwarven in shape and size. However, his skin was a dull gray, and what hair remained in his beard hung in white patches. He lay curled up beside a chamber pot, withered arms and legs weighed down by chains bolted to the stone wall. The wrinkles and heavy folds of his forehead and cheeks made him seem practically ancient.

  Duergar. Ondorum had heard of the dwarves' fallen cousins but never seen one before. By the look of him, this one had been kept there as a spectacle for many years. The duergar stared out past the cage bars, dark eyes unblinking, face slack.

  Ondorum frowned, uncomfortable with seeing any creature imprisoned. Akina had once entertained the mercenary band with tales of the outcast race. Once dwarves themselves, they'd rejected the call of Torag to seek the surface millennia ago. They'd remained below and, to survive in the treacherous Darklands, sworn themselves to Droskar, the Master of the Dark Furnace. Now the duergar continued to toil down in the Darklands, ruling their fell kingdom in cruelty and malice.

  After a few minutes, he moved on, realizing he wasn't about to solve the ancient enmity between the two races with a little sympathy for a prisoner. He approached one of the nearer rings and looked easily over the heads of those crowding around it. The two fighters exchanged a barrage of hits and kicks before stumbling back from each other. The brief pause gave him a clear view of one bare-knuckled combatant and her platinum-streaked hair.

  Akina.

  The crowd might as well have vanished as he focused on her in dismay. Her half-crazed eyes, the flex of her jaw, and the hunch of her shoulders told him she rode the edge of fury. Ondorum gripped his staff, uncertain. Even if he broke his vow to shout her name, his voice would be lost in the riot. She always thought she could control her rage, and so often proved herself wrong as she rode the swell up and over into temporary madness. The others here didn't know the danger, and would find out too late.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Akina howled in glee as her fist cracked across her opponent's cheek, sending him somersaulting. Every landed blow meant more coin added to the wagers on the bout. She didn't know her enemy's name. Didn't care. She bounded after and forced him up against a wall to pummel his belly while he beat at her skull. Might as well have been knocking stones against stones.

  Here. She belonged
here, dealing pain to any and all.

  The longer her blood boiled, the more the world altered around her. Her nostrils flared as she picked out others by their sweat, by the auras of smoke clinging to them, by their reeking fear. The air itself felt like a rich current of magma through which she flowed as easily as thought, while those around her slogged and stumbled and burned.

  With an incoherent battle cry, her opponent sprinted in. She took the hit and tangled fingers in his thick hair. Turning with his momentum, she drove him face-first into the wall. He rebounded, and she threw her weight into another slam. Then another. He went limp after the fourth, but she held him upright and cracked bone to stone, wanting to smash his skull through and beyond. Blood spattered her and the wall. He gargled in her grip as she reared back for a final thrust.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder. She dropped her victim and spun, aiming a blow, but something slapped her fists aside and threw her off-balance. As she recovered, the newcomer scooped up the fallen dwarf and threw him out of the ring.

  Akina shook bloodstained fists."No! I was winning!"

  Cheated on the brink of victory. For a moment she thought she recognized the new enemy, but then it didn't matter. Yet as she charged, he stood solid and took her strikes as they came. Open palms intercepted her fists; his arms didn't even as tremble at the hits. When she tried to grapple him to the floor, he stepped aside and let her sweep past.

  "Stand still!"

  Each missed attempt stoked the fires higher.

  "Stand—" One moment to the next, the flames in her belly turned to a block of ice. The cold weight of it dragged her to her knees. She shook her head, hands planted, trying to rise."No, I was winning..." Quivering limbs refused to support her.