Weaponforger (Guardian's Prophecy Book 3) Read online

  His frown deepened. Setting the forge right was not the only reason for his delay, and he knew it. He pressed a hand against his side, feeling his most precious possession tucked firmly beneath his vest, and fought against the lump that formed suddenly in his throat. The trouble with making special things is that people remembered you had done it, and eventually they came back asking for something more.

  “Come on, Talley,” he said gruffly to take his mind off it. “We don’t want to keep the good Father waiting. There’s a lad. Keep your head up and breathe deep.”

  The buildings grew in size, crowding ever closer as they made their way up the hill, and the streets became more neatly kept despite the increasing traffic. It took more time than it should have, but they finally reached the market square that lay outside the abbey walls.

  The large, open plaza bustled with all its usual activity. Merchants hawked their wares with boisterous enthusiasm from stalls around the edges and carts scattered throughout the middle. Costumed fools juggled or sang for anyone in the crowds who would give them attention. The expanse swirled with color and motion, mocking the thick, grey clouds which hovered low in the sky. Several people who knew him called out in greeting, and he answered with a wave or friendly word as he walked past. None of the well-wishers would be here when he returned—if he returned at all—but that was no reason to spoil their day.

  A short stone wall set with columns at regular intervals marked the edge of the abbey compound. Only a single gate permitted access to the inside where long, rectangular buildings four-stories tall sat aside a towering cathedral that soared high above the surrounding city. The arched gateway was guarded by more than just statues of the Lady of Knowledge now. Men in chain hauberks flanked either side of the entryway. The heads of their polearms were polished to a ceremonial shine and the blue sashes they wore over their mail coats were equally pristine, but Fendrick took note that the edges of the weapons were as sharp as any sword, and that both men stood alert, aware of everything happening around them.

  Fendrick gave both statues and guards a suspicious glance as he and Talley passed between them. He paid little mind to the beautifully terraced gardens which lay beyond, instead focusing on the collection of grey-haired priests impatiently awaiting them beside a large fountain in the center of the courtyard.

  It had been years since he had seen the abbot, but it was not hard to separate Nathan from the other men. In contrast to their plain brown robes, Nathan’s were of a deep blue edged in gold thread at the wrists. A short shoulder-cloak of white was draped about him, perfectly framing the polished gold symbol of Amalthee secured around his neck by an equally weighty gold chain.

  Nathan’s cleanly shaven face looked disapprovingly down at Fendrick as the dwarf approached. He did a lot of looking down now, from what Fendrick had heard.

  “We had hoped you would arrive earlier,” Nathan said by way of greeting. “Though the days continue to lengthen, you have a long journey ahead, and the rains will slow your travel.”

  Fendrick motioned over his shoulder to where an exhausted Talley had dropped his bag and was being helped away by his fellow acolytes. “We had to make more stops than I’d expected.”

  “Acolytes of Amalthee are not pack animals,” Nathan chastised.

  “He said he was there to help.”

  “It was a courtesy. How do you expect to take all of this with you?”

  “Buy another mule, you’ve got the money.”

  That drew unhappy mutterings from the other priests. The wealthy never appreciated suggestions on how they should spend their wealth, and wealthy priests appreciated it even less.

  Nathan, however, remained unperturbed. “There are plenty of mules, as you specified. I might have considered horses more appropriate for the distance.”

  “Mules’ll keep their footing better. Is everyone ready?”

  “They await you in the stables. If you require assistance with…”

  “Don’t worry,” Fendrick said as he hefted Talley’s bag onto his shoulder aside the other two. “I’ve got it.”

  Reunion

  Shalindra brushed aside the strand of blond hair dangling in her vision and rubbed absently at the ache in her forehead, wishing she were somewhere more cheerful. The wooden seat she so uncomfortably occupied did nothing to change that attitude. It had been her cousin Edward’s campaign chair during the war, and stood out as the most ornate furnishing in the large hall, whose high ceiling and lack of adornment on the stone walls lent a hollow echo to the conversation she should have been listening to. Even the long table on which she propped her elbow lacked the usual carvings and finish expected of a proper keep. Though it had to be past midday by now, only thin shafts of light from windows set high along the walls pierced the dimness, their narrow openings better suited to defense than an open view.

  Her blue eyes sought an escape through those windows which her body was denied. The sun shone bright for the first time in months, and the skies were blessedly clear. Patches of snow clung stubbornly to the trio of peaks known as the Three Sisters, though the trees along their lower slopes already displayed hints of the lush greenness that spring would bring. She shivered in spite of the warmth from cheerful fires that burned inside the hearths set on either side of the hall.

  Her headaches were becoming more frequent. At first, she had considered them merely a product of stress, which was never in short supply. Though winters always took longer to recede this high in the mountains, this one had lasted longer than any she could remember. The rains that followed came as heavy as they were early, leaving the soil too soft and wet for planting. It had been a struggle trying to keep everyone together, and alive.

  As if frequent headaches were not bad enough, the nightmares had begun a week ago—incoherent images of unfamiliar roads and mountains mixed with pain and swirling darkness that woke her in a cold sweat. Many would fade as dreams must before the approaching dawn, while others lingered, haunting her throughout the day no matter what task she set her mind to.

  From halfway down the table Enna noticed her discomfort and shot her a questioning look, her elvish eyes sparkling green even in the dim light. Enna noticed everything. Though the only elf in the room, her impossibly straight, pristinely white hair caused her to stand out more than her small stature and upswept ears. She wore the same white robes befitting a Sister of Eluria as Shalindra did, save that Enna’s were sleeveless in the custom of her people despite the chill in the air.

  The six other men and women seated around the table continued to debate some matter that almost certainly warranted far less discussion than it was taking. Two men were notably absent: her cousin, Edward, the dispossessed heir to the white tower of Tarrendale, was patrolling the southern end of the valley, and Birion, former knight and architect of Tiridon’s defenses, who had abandoned his command rather than serve the victorious Ceringions, still abed as he recovered from the fever that had ravaged the village. Their absence left her isolated at one end of the table.

  Sister Marie, the dark-haired and olive-skinned cleric of Eluria who had once safeguarded Shining Moon, the holy warhammer carried by Eluria’s Guardians, was speaking again. The sultry tones of her accent held the attention of everyone in attendance, though she was doing nothing more than describe the progress that had been made on Eluria’s temple. Shalindra’s thoughts drifted once more, as she already knew what would be said. The new dormitory wing would be completed within the month, just in time for the annual influx of summer pilgrims. Elvish followers of the moon goddess, ‘Elurithlia’ in their tongue, had been making the dangerous trek to this valley for generations, but their numbers had dwindled to almost nothing while the goblins claimed the remote location for their own. Many of the current structures Shalindra’s people now occupied had been built over goblin villages, which themselves had been raised atop the original elvish settlements.

  Rolf was talking now, about some triviality that only a farmer would care to listen to. The soi
l here was rich and the fields ready for the plow when they arrived, but for Rolf there was always something wrong. Shalindra glanced at the empty seat to her right, wishing again that Edward was there to keep the farmer on track.

  Jamerson, the grey-haired master architect, finally cut him off and began his own report. “Another vein of whiterock has been located…”

  Such a discovery would be good for Eluria’s temple, if Honarch could get the rockhurlers to cooperate. The wizard had proven a valuable source of knowledge, and as capable as any at defending their struggling colony, but his former ties to the Conclave of Imaretii were well known and— Something Jamerson said drew enough of a reaction that even Enna sat up and took notice.

  “Forgive me, Master Jamerson,” Shalindra interrupted. “What was that again?”

  “The latest investigation into the mines suggest reserves of both gold and copper,” he answered.

  ‘The mines’ was a polite way of naming the warren of goblin tunnels dug into the side of the mountain at the north end of the valley behind the towering waterfall at the feet of the Three Sisters. Though no longer home to the creatures, the tunnels were cramped and foul smelling, and it was difficult to get crews to work in them. More than one miner had entered and never returned, though whether they simply became lost or had some evil befall them, none could say.

  “That would be good, yes?”

  “It would, my lady, though I cannot speak to how soon it can be verified nor what efforts it might take to exploit.”

  “It could bring treasure seekers down on us from every corner,” Fulke cautioned. “This discovery must be kept secret.”

  Jamerson waved away the suggestion from the former soldier. “Too many people already know, but who are they going to tell?”

  “Food should be our priority,” Rolf broke in. “It’s been a wet season already, and we’re behind on the planting. You cannot eat gold, and we’ve nowhere to spend it.” It was, perhaps, the most astute observation Shalindra had ever heard him make.

  “I find that sentiment reasonable,” she said to cut off any further arguing. “Master Jamerson, please catalog these discoveries as you are able, but construction and planting remain higher priorities than gold.”

  Vestus, Edward’s purser, leaned his considerable girth forward. “Ah… if I may, Your Highness.”

  She wished again that everyone would stop using that form of address, but she had long since given up correcting them. Besides, if he felt a need to speak out of turn, it would not be good news. She motioned for him to continue.

  “Construction requires workers, and workers not in the fields making food for their families require payment. Most of the coins we use are Kingdom in origin, and many are worn smooth from being passed hand to hand so frequently. At some point, we must give people more than just a promise of safety.”

  “He speaks truth,” Fulke agreed before she could reply. “We all know your reluctance to strike new coins, but it must be done if we’re to continue growing.”

  Shalindra felt a stab of pain in her temple, but whether it was from her headache or the topic of conversation she could not tell. She had been adamantly opposed to having coins stamped, given that those seated around her wished to do so using her own likeness. Being a monarch held little allure—she had not even wanted to be named head of this council—and it also seemed a final and irreversible severing of ties to the family and kingdom she had once known. But they were right, and her head hurt too much to argue the point again.

  “Your council is wise, as always. I will leave it to Master Jamerson to determine how best to proceed, but with the planting season upon us, it cannot be…”

  She winced in pain and clutched her temples as something dark coiled its way around her mind, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. Her stomach knotted at the terrifyingly familiar sensation even as her hand sought her symbol of Eluria, and she fought to push the mental assault away. There were no black tentacles or looming mountains of darkness seeking to ensnare her as before, but there was also no mistaking the feeling. The last time she had felt such a thing was when they had been pursued by a demon.

  “Are you well, Sister?” Marie asked.

  Shalindra put the past out of her mind. Whatever was searching for her now was strong. She could almost feel its approach.

  “My dear?” Marie asked again.

  Shalindra shook her head. “It knows I am here. Can you not feel it?”

  “I feel nothing out of the ordinary,” Marie said cautiously. “Our island is warded against—”

  Shalindra gave a small cry as the pressure clamped down on her with an almost physical strength. She screwed her eyes shut and staggered to her feet. It knew exactly where she was, in spite of all the protections on this place.

  So strong. How is it getting so deep in my mind?

  It’s outside the room.

  Had Enna said that? The elf was already out of her seat and moving towards the door, Eluria’s symbol clenched in her delicate hand.

  A shouted command came from outside, followed by the sounds of a scuffle that ended abruptly as something heavy thudded against the door.

  Ignoring the shocked looks from those seated at the table, Shalindra unlimbered Shining Moon from her belt and rushed to place herself squarely between table and entrance. The sacred hammer came alive in her left hand, sending a comforting warmth surging up her arm and banishing the pressure from her mind.

  A swirl of mist, black with tinges of deep purples and reds, manifested at waist height just inside the door. There was an explosion of frantic motion behind her as the councilors scrambled away from it.

  “Eluria protect us,” Marie said as she came to stand with them.

  What emerged was not the expected beast with claws and horns come to kill them. Instead, a man with dark hair shot from the mist and landed squarely, his sword rattling loose in its scabbard as he came to an abrupt halt before the three women. He relaxed as he straightened, and Shalindra’s breath caught in her throat when his dark eyes met hers.

  Tormjere held his hands up in mock surrender. “I was hoping for a warmer greeting.”

  He looked the same, but different. His clothes were layered in the elvish pattern of green cloth and tanned leathers he preferred, but all of it appeared new. The intensity of his gaze was precisely as she remembered, as was the short beard around his mouth.

  Yet his shoulders were stockier and there was an unfamiliar resistance as she attempted to look into him. If, indeed, it even was him. She regarded him suspiciously and did not lower her weapon.

  “Not even a hello?” Tormjere asked, sounding uncharacteristically tired. He affected a nonchalant pose, which allowed his hand to discreetly brush across his sword hilt, seating it fully.

  “Who is this?” Rolf cried. “Guards! Guards!”

  Marie silenced him with a disapproving look that would have made Sister Kayala proud, had the old cleric been there to see it.

  “After three years, we began to wonder if you would ever return,” Enna said with an unusual amount of vehemence.

  Shalindra felt a ripple of surprise slide across Tormjere’s mind, strong enough to disrupt whatever barrier existed between them. The emotion evaporated like smoke on the breeze, but the mental link she shared with him remained tenuously attached.

  Is it really you?

  I hope so.

  Shalindra took a step closer. Reversing her grip, she extended Shining Moon towards him. Both Maria and Enna tensed, but she had to be certain. Apart from herself, he was the only one who could lay a hand on Eluria’s weapon without suffering harm.

  He reached for it, never taking his eyes from hers. As his fingers wrapped around the shaft, whatever fog lay between them seemed to lift, and her mind touched his in a way that had been missing from her life for far too long.

  “Satisfied?” he asked.

  I am overjoyed to see you again, but your manner of entry will require some explanation.

  Probably. I
’m glad you’re both safe.

  Enna allowed her silver disc of Eluria to slip back to its place around her neck and crossed her arms, frowning at him.

  “You should keep this,” Tormjere said to Shalindra, releasing his grip on the hammer. “I doubt I’m the only one coming to visit.”

  As if to punctuate his statement, the door behind him burst open. Armed men rushed in, led by a bedraggled Birion clad in nothing but a nightshirt.

  Seeing the pair together and without any visible threat, he straightened and lowered his sword.

  “You’re late,” he said to Tormjere by way of greeting.

  Tormjere raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not wearing any pants.”

  The knight’s state of dress was scandalously indecent, and rarely was he seen in such a disheveled state. It was all Shalindra could do to keep her eyes from his muscular, hairy legs.

  Birion smoothed his moustache, then bowed to her with all the dignity of a knight on parade. “By your leave, Your Highness.”

  Shalindra dipped her head with as much gravity as she could muster, careful to keep any hint of a smile from her face.

  A Fireside Gathering

  Tormjere stared into the fire, watching the flames dance above the crackling wood. The warmth it provided was comforting, but the coolness of the room was far more enjoyable. He had already seen a lifetime’s fill of hot places.

  They were assembled in the same hall where he had originally found them, which seemed to occupy almost the entirety of the first floor of the castle. The table had been moved against the wall after the evening meal, and chairs arranged before the hearth. The food had been as delicious as anticipated, but his stomach had judged it less than fulfilling, just like everything else he had eaten. The conversation, never something he enjoyed participating in, had mercifully avoided him beyond general inquiries which he deflected with equally vague replies. Most of the twenty or so people in attendance barely remembered him. Either out of respect or distrust, those who did had kept their questions bottled inside.