Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Once, long ago, Suri had made the mistake of hitting a wasps’ nest with a stick. She had been about eight years old, and she didn’t know what it was. Dangling from the branch of the maple tree, it had looked like a strange kind of fruit, or a weird kind of giant onion the color of mud. This was before she met Minna, who Suri was certain would have advised against whacking the odd gray puffball with the willow branch. Minna had always been the wiser of the two.

She remembered giving that nest a good sound bashing, hard enough to knock it free, and the whole ball came tumbling down at her feet—right where she’d hoped it would. Suri planned to cut it open to see what sort of treat might be inside. She loved apples and strawberries, and this was far bigger than either of those. And while the mysterious fruit hadn’t looked appetizing on the outside, that didn’t mean the inside wouldn’t be tasty; walnuts were perfect examples of that truth.

The moment the thing bounced on the ground, she noticed an unusual number of buzzing insects swarming about, and disappointment set in. With that many bugs, the fruit was probably rotten. But still curious as to what might be inside, Suri gave the thing another good bashing. The contents poured out in a wave. A buzzing, an almost hissing sound of anger and hatred issued from the cloud of menace; even at the age of eight Suri understood the danger. Six years later, in the land of little men, Suri experienced the same sense of dread. Standing with the others at the bottom of the wide stairs, she heard the thundering of feet on stone as a horde of Dherg clamored down the steps. She hoped this encounter would be less painful.

Unlike the wasps, the crowd slammed to a halt when they saw Suri and her friends. There were about fifty Dherg, most with beards. They wore brightly colored clothes of blues, oranges, reds, and yellows. One combined all those colors in a single outfit of vertical-striped leggings and a checkered tunic, reminding her of a bird that sometimes visited the Crescent Forest in spring. Minna had agreed with Suri about that particular bird trying just a bit too hard to stand out.

The whole group stood still, staring at them. Their faces wore a mix of shock, fear, and anger. Then one stepped forward. He had the longest, whitest beard and dressed in a long yellow shirt with a dark blue vest.

“Yons!” he exclaimed, focusing on Frost.

Or was it Flood? She had difficulty telling one from the other.

Frost started speaking quickly in the abrupt, halting language, which reminded Suri of barking dogs. Nothing Frost said changed the expressions of those on the stairs. One of the other little people, a fellow in a dark-red shirt with a short brown beard, made his way carefully down the remainder of the steps and then moved around the room, keeping his back to the walls as if he were inching around a high ledge. When he got to the far side, he bolted down a corridor.

Frost’s words had sparked sharp retorts, and by then Frost and Flood were shouting at various people on the stairs. Suri didn’t understand any of the words except the occasional elf or Rhune, and once she heard Frost say Persephone.

The chieftain was trying to follow the exchange, and she looked back at them with a series of bewildered but concerned expressions. These indicated both I have no idea and I hope we’re going to be okay. At least that was how Suri understood the silent language of her knitted brow. Minna often gave her that same look.

Loud noises came from far away. More people—all little men with beards—poured in until Suri and the others were surrounded. These new arrivals held tall poles with huge ax heads or spikes of gray metal. The same material fashioned the armor they wore, and helmets hid their faces.

“Don’t do anything,” Arion told Suri in Fhrey.

Suri wondered what Arion thought she might do, and why she shouldn’t do whatever that might be.

Those in metal helmets with the sharp poles began using them to prod everyone into one of the side hallways. Suri and Arion had been at the rear, so this about-face put them at the front. They led the procession into a long corridor, down a set of steps, around a corner, and down another flight. Finally, they stopped before a metal door. One of the little men squeezed forward, opened it and waved them in.

Suri froze. The interior was dark. No window, no light of any kind revealed the nature of this place, and she didn’t like that she was being asked—ordered—to enter. Minna didn’t move, either, and the two of them pretended not to see the little man waving his arms, gesturing for them to go in. A threatening shout came from behind. Suri still refused to budge.

Arion stepped around Minna, took Suri’s hand, and pulled her into the room.

Others shuffled in from behind, and the door clanged shut. Suri heard it—felt it—close, and she shuddered. She didn’t like small places that she couldn’t escape. The rols were bearable because she knew how to open those doors, but the first time one had closed on her, she’d panicked and thrown herself at the stone. If Tura hadn’t been with her, hadn’t shown her how to open the door, Suri didn’t know what she would’ve done. Now, standing in the dark, she clung to Arion’s hand, clutching it as if those five fingers were all that kept her tethered to the world.

A green glow from the corridor entered through the splinter-thin cracks around the frame, revealing close-by faces. Nothing else was visible, neither the floor nor the walls. Suri tried to imagine being in a massive space, a huge cavern. She also convinced herself the door wasn’t really barred, even though she’d heard the slide of metal. That sound could have been any number of things, she told herself. Still, she found it difficult to breathe.

“What’s going on?” Moya asked.

“I don’t know,” Persephone replied. “Are we all here? I can’t see a thing.”

“Suri,” Arion’s voice came out of the darkness, “summon a light.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You need to locate the strands that create light. I’m sure you saw them when trying to free the giant.”

Suri knew what Arion was talking about, but at the same time she didn’t. She’d had similar experiences with Tura. The old mystic would say something like, “Go to the root cellar and fetch the basket of cattails.” Tura had spoken the words as if Suri made a habit of fetching cattails each day and knew all about the basket—which she didn’t. She knew where the root cellar was, what cattails were, and understood the term basket perfectly well, but there’d never been a basket of cattails in the cellar. Finding what Tura was actually after was never so easy. This was what Arion wanted her to do now—find something that should be easy but wasn’t. The last time she’d tried looking for what Arion wanted, she’d inadvertently killed Rapnagar, and that had been when she was outside—in the open. Besides, using the Art would mean letting go of Arion’s hand. “I can’t.”