The Shield of Hannar (Runehammer Novels Book 2) Read online

  Akram said nothing, but glowed at her with gratitude. Here stood valor incarnate.

  “What I mean to say is,” she continued after a pause, “yours are a mighty people, my lord.” At Akram’s feet she bent her wondrous form, on one knee loyal as the mountains. Her broad back spread the motley scraps of leather and mail, and every warrior there gasped. She was exquisite.

  “Rise,” Akram said gently. He was the kind of king that could say that, and make you an instant friend. This came naturally to those of the old blood.

  “Our fight was not lost, my King,” Elisa went on, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze. “We cornered the devilish whips in one street. The entire guard was at my side, and folk rose up…” She paused and felt awkward, “Gah! I’ve no talent for oratory. They fought bravely, the folk of Englemoor, and we destroyed most of its number, and tracked it.”

  Akram smiled, and nodded, and let her finish.

  “They seem to appear eastward, some scouts say even beyond Duros-Tem and the Wall.” Elisa had been fighting these things for days. She was hungry as a devil, and could barely rise from her knee.

  “We follow these whips,” Akram took up, “for where they are, the Red Captain will be. To find him is to find Hannar, and so we go.”

  “Yes, my King. First we eat,” Anna stepped forward and offered one arm up to Elisa, who was three heads taller. The two women took arms, and braced, and smiled with those lips that only women can use to smile. The moment broke, and the dead were remembered with solemn names over cold tomatoes and pemmican.

  They were alive. Deep in some hellish tunnel melted clean by a wriggling primordial wyrm, but alive.

  “You’re quite a fighter,” Kray finally uttered, breaking the mood again. He was small and knobby like a camel, but older than Elisa and battle-worn. He leaned on his hammer, still chewing, “You must be Elisa, Fenn’s little girl…”

  Elisa was speechless.

  “He was a great rider,” Kray went on, wistfully. “It’s too bad what happened.”

  “Nurin’s folk crave a good death,” she answered with subtext.

  “Aye,” Kray confirmed, leaning back to rest on the smooth stone. It was hot, and echoing, and to be down there was at once wondrous and horrific. But, they were together, and they smiled. Elisa’s stare lingered on Kray a moment too long, and she cracked her knuckles to distract herself.

  “So, we head east through this blasted tunnel network?” Kray tied his hammer-belt anew.

  “Aye,” Akram confirmed casually, “folk say the undercaverns go on for miles, though I never wanted to find out personally. Every one of us is beat to bruises and nursing a million burning bites.”

  Little was said, but as the eleven of them went quiet, leaning against the weird, smooth walls, a friendship took root. Like wolves burrowing in winter they now knew that trust of those who have only each other, and when it came time to rise, and tighten down boots, and begin walking, they trudged ahead more as a family than a band of survivors.

  Still, Mars trailed behind. He took no comfort in company. His mind was set like an arrow on Hannar. He owed it to Hunnin to find the boy, and make him safe, no matter what it took.

  He meant to do exactly that.

  So, they walked.

  For six days, or what they guessed to be days, they walked. The undercaverns bent and spiraled, or broke into jagged pockets and hellish ledges. The abyss was always there, through narrow sinkholes, running waterfalls, or weird bulbous throats of bottomless limestone. They ate like birds, burned bits of cloth for light, and huddled in uncertain horror to rest. It was an ordeal beyond the sanity of most, but this was no rabble. These were the finest warriors in the realm, and one worried mother.

  Oft times Anna led the group. The love of a mother is no small thing, and can carry the weight of the Urth even in the blackest doom.

  “I can smell them,” Anna said, stepping carefully on pillar-like blobs of purplish bedrock. “We’re on the trail now for sure… getting closer.”

  Elisa crouched down. The ceiling dripped on her massive shoulders, and she glistened with scrapes and cuts, “Scratch marks here… boots.”

  They kept moving, and Mars at last passed the same place, “These are no dwarven iron toes,” he huffed. “Those are the pointy cleats of an elven brigade.”

  “How do all the pieces fit together?” the good King Akram continued, pausing with one arm on a wet wall, “A marauding sorcerer, new hells from the deep, and elves in his employ, but why?”

  “War, my King,” Kray said. It was the first he had spoken since the day they landed in the caves. Normally, he and the elite stayed almost silent, holding an incredible and deadly discipline that stemmed from their love of the King. “The elves have pined too long at the fringe of the Greenway, as you know all too well, my King.”

  Akram’s mighty head fell to his chest, his etched helm catching the faint torchlight from Anna’s lead. He knew Kray was right, but the thought of it pained him. The elves would be outmatched, for theirs had been a dark road, and public opinion had turned against them. The number among them that still held true to old ways was few indeed, though they were not yet seen as villains.

  “The people of Ramthas will be ready, and with them all the folk of the Alfheim.” Akram lifted his gentle gaze, and managed a smile for Kray.

  “Elisa,” Kray turned, “you and Mars have seen more of this devilry than any of us... What is the connection between the elf-fiends and the Red Captain? What are we hunting?”

  Mars jumped in, resting Ruin’s massive blade and taking a knee. “They are his weapon, and a foul one at that. I’ve never seen elves fight like this, with undeath at their left hand, and conjuring these poisonous whips on the right. He means to kill until a reprisal is unavoidable, and pull all the lands east of Koab into some deadly play for the Greenway and all of the lands of Duros.”

  “Why Duros?” Elisa asked, knowing of the massive dwarven kingdom but never seeing it with her own eyes.

  “It is the largest defensible place in Alfheim. These tunnels seem to lead us ever closer to the Wall, where that mass of bedrock will force us up. If I had to guess, I’d say he seeks some deep place to conjure the mother of these infernal snakes, and destroy Duros from within.”

  “All that from a trail of slime in a cave,” Anna smiled, breaking the mood. She was gifted with unending hope, and in these conditions, it was a survival skill. Optimism was their weapon, and they would cling to it with white-knuckled certainty.

  “I have warred against this Red Captain,” Mars went on, “and I met his eyes at Fort Friendship, when that red lightning crackled out and struck down good Hunnin. I met the fiend’s eyes and saw his pathetic plan, his wounded soul, his self-righteous delusion.”

  “But, do the elven kingdoms back him,” Akram asked in a stately tone. “If not, his war will end the day we find him.”

  This vow brought Mars to his feet, and he remembered who was King once again, and it was a good feeling.

  “My King,” a whisper came from the elite ranks, then a gloved hand raised in fist. This was the signal for silence, and danger. The grouped hushed, and tensed. Kray took the cue, followed his compatriot’s eyeline, and spotted movement in the ink-black tunnels ahead. He gestured to hold post, and crept forward like a panther.

  The silent warrior vanished into the dark, and Elisa was uneasy. She was unarmed. The headsman’s giant axe and the ghoulish hood from her exile were long gone. Now she sported a ringmail skirt, rolled boots, a leather halter, and knuckles wrapped in cotton belts like a pit fighter.

  A long moment passed in pure suspense. No one breathed.

  Then with a crash, Kray came flying out of the black like a missile, bent forward but flying backward. He hurtled toward the wall behind the group, which was all jagged and broken stone. Only Elisa was in any position to react, so sudden was Kray’s flight across the chamber. She ducked to one side like a deep-stanced monk. Her speed was remarkable.

  Into
Elisa’s chiseled stomach flew he, and slammed into her bodily. Despite her massive bulk, easily two heads taller than the ring-clad warrior of Ramthas, she was pushed utterly into that rocky wall with terrible force, and knocked senseless and winded. Kray remained unharmed and caught his feet at her side.

  There wasn’t a moment to react, for it then revealed itself: what was once an elf, but swollen with mass and pale as snow. At its high grey forehead, a burn mark glistened, gleaming red, and Mars recognized that fell scar. It was the fate of Brann, and Hunnin. This elf-thing had been obelisk-touched, and the whips began to split open its ribs, and sprout from each arm like massive cobras writhing up to kill.

  The entire group locked eyes with the monster, and charged forth. Even Anna lunged forward, raising her dagger in a reverse grip.

  Kray, though, spun, and surveyed poor Elisa, who was unconscious, and had coughed a mouthful of crimson onto her lovely chin. This he wiped clean, and her face, even in such a peril, was glowing and wondrous at that close distance. Her wide eyes and square jaw reminded him of the old statues of Aphos, but greater, for she held a kindness in her lips and eyebrows that no empty-eyed god’s image could ever have.

  He managed both his arms under hers, and went to lift her, hoping to help her regain her wind, but gods, she was heavy as an ox and he fumbled.

  “Hells, woman, are you made of stone?” he muttered, bracing to try again. But he did not get the chance, for the battle with that eel-twisted elf-thing took a destructive turn.

  Akram, Mars, Anna, and the elite all circled the creature, hacking at flying tentacles and wrestling barbed-suckers in a chaotic fray. The good King raised his hammer, but feinted that blow and spun reverse with a backhand arc. The weapon landed handily, upending the convulsing thing. When it hit, the stone floor a split second later, the impact jarred some hideous rage loose, and it let out an otherworldly howl of sonic fury. One massive, slime-coated black whip then spiraled up from the torso, tearing it apart utterly. This eel-like column of muscle was as thick as an elephant, and spun with frightening speed.

  It lashed like a rubber lightning bolt across the space between them, slamming into the stone walls near Elisa and Kray. A deep, groaning crack was heard, and the chamber simply crumbled.

  Boulders rained down from above, the floor opened and vanished, and they all scrambled for grip on something, anything, to survive. All those at the fore managed this, for that part of the cavern less smote, but at the rear the entire wall gave way and slid straight down into the abyss, taking Kray and Elisa with it. They vanished in a roar of tumbling rubble, plummeting down into some hellish depth where any impact was drowned by distance and calamity.

  21

  A long conversation with a hillwoman is no small thing.

  They’re stubborn folk, with little patience for talk. This particular conversation was compulsory, though, considering Kray and Elisa were jammed into a limestone shaft fifty feet straight down, and barely alive.

  They heard struggle and clatter far above. Yells and grunts followed, then a long unnerving quiet. They would find a way to reach their comrades above.

  In the meantime, the two were squeezed chest-to-chest in the vertical opening, with barely room to inhale or move their arms. Elisa, much larger, was still unconscious, and had taken a nasty blow to the head on the way down. Kray was stuck a bit higher than her, so his chin was at her forehead, and he had one broken arm. It throbbed and stung like mad, as it was pinned between him and the slimy flowstone.

  “Quite a fix we’ve landed in here, eh?” he mused, knowing she would not answer, but believing she could hear. “I was hoping we could get some time alone.”

  Kray was a lean, wiry fighter, and no older than thirty. He was muscular, but fast, and handsome in a simple way. His skin was mocha, with a week of stubble to lend gravity to those dark brown eyes. His was simple blood from the farm folk of the Greenway. He managed a smile, winced, and got his left arm free. The fingers were scratched to hell, and his gloves were shredded, but no broken bones on that side.

  With this ragged hand, he gently touched Elisa’s beautiful cheek. Was it to wake her, soothe her, or just out of his own affection for her? She was easy to love, and this man had nothing to fear. He touched again.

  At that, she awoke with a start, staring upward into his face, now glowing. She tried to recoil from his touch, but there was no room, and she hit her head again. That sent a wave of black through her eyes and she almost passed out again.

  “Easy does it,” Kray soothed, withdrawing the hand. “No sudden movements, eh?”

  “What-where are we?”

  “All hell broke loose up there. We took a dive down to this cozy little getaway. I suppose they’ll try to get a rope down.”

  “Attacked… we… what was that?”

  “Another of the fiends,” he didn’t want to remember it. “Some kind of elf warrior, but all filled up with those eyeless snakes. Gods, what a day.”

  She chuckled, but it hurt, and she blinked at him. Time froze, and Kray saw a moment. He leaned forward to kiss her.

  “What are you doing?” Elisa barked, trying to pull back, interrupting the rapture. Kray was rugged, and unafraid of her, and his eyes were filled with honesty and affection. She did not like how that made her feel. “Now? We’re half dead in a bottomless crack and you’re getting romantic?”

  Kray paused, considered the answers, and leaned in again. This time fast, and managed a kiss before she could feign her horror at it.

  “If I’m to die down here, I wanted to get that done.” He smiled wide and they both relaxed, laughing in spite of themselves.

  “Not a word,” she said.

  “To my grave,” he answered.

  They kissed again, and he held her neck gently. It helped with the pain.

  “So,” Kray continued, elated with his new conquest, “tell me of your home, Headsman.”

  “You’re pretty proud of yourself, eh runt?” she snorted back. One big inhale and she could crush the man. Her collar bones were as wide as his shoulders, and her skin somehow gleamed flawless and smooth in the muck and dripping cave slime.

  “I mean it. Where do you come from? We seem to have the time.”

  “The hills, of course. My marriage went awry in Englemoor, to say the least, and anger got the better of me. I’ve no stories to tell or poetry for you and your doe eyes.”

  “Marriage?”

  “Don’t worry, dreamer, it ended before it began, and I chose exile over a life of slavery to some mewling whelp.”

  “I can’t imagine the fate of the poor soul that tried to tame your wild heart,” he gently moved her blonde hair from the wound on her head, and managed a bit of cloth to clean the scrape.

  “My hips are killing me,” she commented. “Jammed on some pointy pebble down there.”

  “There’s nothing for it, I can’t move a muscle and my arm must be cracked in two.”

  She could see the arm, just a glimpse. It was purple, and bent awfully. The man must’ve been in agony, and still he smiled at her like a teenage schoolboy at his first brothel.

  “I guess I don’t have to warn you to keep your hands to yourself.” They laughed a little, and it hurt a lot.

  “So, why all this?” Kray asked. “Why this resolve to pursue these monsters?”

  “Evil grows, dark times loom. Someone must act, so I act. Besides, our King stands at the helm, you expect me to cry and go home?”

  “Hardly. More like join the elite. We could use a fighter like you. Hells, you’d probably be captain within a week.”

  “You go ahead,” she saw the detail in his face when he blinked. He was a noble and brave man, born of the blood that cut Ramthas rock from its roots. She felt a feeling stir, and quashed it immediately with a huff. “I’ve no use for goose stepping and suitors.”

  “And I none for a frozen heart…” They paused, smiled again, and that one got her. She grinned into a gentle, lovely giggle. Few men, if any, could ever spe
ak to her in such a way. She had blocked herself away in battle and high-chinned pride. But here he was, this little runt, and he spoke to her with no lust, or insult, or terror.

  The broken bones took their toll, and Kray’s eyes rolled in his head. He gulped, squinted away the pain, then passed out. His head flopped forward.

  “Kray?” Elisa asked, a touch of worry in her voice, “Kray?”

  Only the silence of that deep, shadowy hell answered. There was no sound above, and the unnatural heat of the womb of the world was cloying. Elisa looked up, wincing with the motion of her sprained neck, and no hint of the others betrayed the gloom. Were the rest even alive? Would the eels descend at any second to tear them both apart? Would they simply starve here? She pictured two pathetic skeletons jammed into a rock shaft for eons. That image she shook away, and the fury of the Headsman returned. She wiggled a finger, and determined herself to survive.

  22

  “This tavern began as many do,” Gus huffed from the wall of bottles, “when a goat gave birth to a donkey on the autumn equinox.” It was cold that night, blowing snow, one lonely lantern lit the wooden dim, and only garrison dwarves were at the cups. Gus Elmer’s son tended the bar.

  “That’s a load of manure, you old fish,” one patron mumbled, face and beard buried in a wooden mug. Foam crackled at his red moustache. All three drinkers were stout as trees, short as stumps, and crusted with melting snow. The guard of Duros were a hearty lot, but even they took a chill this night.

  “Aye,” Gus went on, unfazed. He washed one tall glass goblet with a rag as old as time, and his apron was crispy clean against his braided beard. “An omen of the nobler gods it was, and the spot was marked by the Gulgynns, and the even the kin of Phram the Berserk.”

  “Phram wasn’t even a real person! That was a whole brigade of spears went by that nickname.”

  “I heard this shanty was begun as a latrine for the old wall builders. Tired of walking from mugs to ditch, they combined the sites!” At this, a chuckle came, and mugs were knocked like bells. Gus relented and returned the goblet to its rack with care.