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

Weighed down and clattering, they were escorted outside into the still, cool morning air. Gronbach and another, very nervous Dherg, who was dressed in bright yellow and orange and fidgeted endlessly with the knots in his beard, walked out with them. They must have exited the city at a higher point than they entered, as the docks were far below. They stood in the heart of Caric, in a city square complete with a stone fountain. All around them were shops and homes.

Persephone saw few inhabitants, but she did catch her first sight of Dherg females. Legend held that they were indistinguishable from males, right down to their beards. In truth, Persephone found them surprisingly cute. Without a beard among them, most of the Dherg ladies—so petite they were doll-like—had dimples, large round eyes and cheeks, and tiny noses.

No livestock was in the pens, and few lamps were lit against the gloom. Only the lonesome cry of seagulls and the ominous crash of waves pounding the cliffs masked Persephone’s own rapid breaths. They were nearly alone in what she felt should have been a busy city. Perhaps Gronbach had ordered the inhabitants inside to allow the Rhunes and the Fhrey secret passage, but why empty the livestock pens?

“Just up that road”—Gronbach pointed inland—“is the gate of Esbol Berg.”

Persephone stared up the steadily inclining byway toward two monolithic shadows, still largely hidden in fog. Initially she thought they might be clouds. They did resemble a pair of massive thunderhead anvils, and only clouds could be that large. Yet these had straight vertical sides. Looking carefully, she spied how the road ran directly between the huge pillars to a tall but slender gate.

“We aren’t going alone,” Persephone said, but she wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

“Of course not. Frost and Flood will guide you.”

Frost snorted and tugged on his beard, and Persephone wondered if that meant something in Dherg.

“I don’t see why both of us have to go,” Frost said.

Flood smirked. “True, you weren’t any help last time.”

“And you were?”

“I fought bravely.”

Flood’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t drink so much so early. It rots your brain.”

Frost ignored him and spoke to Persephone. “We’ll lead you to Balgargarath. After that, it will be up to you.” He paused and turned around to look at Rain, who stood behind him. “No one here has a right to ask you to—”

“I’m going,” the dwarf said.

“You don’t have—”

“I’m going.”

“The dreams again?” Flood asked.

Rain nodded.

“They’re only dreams,” Frost said, but Rain refused to budge.

Frost looked at Flood and shrugged.

“Rid us of Balgargarath,” Gronbach told them. “And you will end generations of fear, and restore our long-lost heritage. Neith was our first home. The ruling seat of our lost king. The Children of Drome carved a life out of this mountain, and our greatest desire is to return.”

Gronbach stepped forward and took Persephone’s hand. He even allowed himself to look at Arion. “Do this for us, and you will have won more than the weapons you bargained for. You’ll be instrumental in returning the Belgriclungreians to their home, and that will strengthen the ties between our two peoples.” He turned his attention to the three. “Do this. Redeem yourselves in the eyes of your people, and all will be forgiven.” He then looked up into the clearing sky. “Help them, mighty Drome, cornerstone of the world, bedrock of our hearts. Guide these would-be saviors and bless their path.”

With that, Gronbach turned his back, and Frost, Flood, and Rain led the way up the desolate road.

“You were a mistake, you know,” Flood told Frost as they plodded up the hill. “Mother didn’t want you.”

Frost shook his head. “We’re twins, you idiot.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Neith




Looking back on it, I am glad I was young. The young have no real understanding of peril.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





The city of Neith had to be seen, and even then, Persephone couldn’t believe her eyes. If at some future time she were asked what it was like seeing the twin towers of the Esbol Berg gate, she imagined she would say they were huge—no, bigger than huge—bigger than the biggest thing anyone could imagine and then triple that. Even then, the enormity wouldn’t be enough. Caric, the port city that was so large it seemed to be more a home for giants than for dwarfs, was, in comparison, a tiny, humble fishing village. Neith was a home for gods, and not the man-sized Fhrey sort. This was a home for the gargantuan ones, the sun, the moon, the North, South, and West winds—but not the East Wind. The East Wind just wasn’t large enough.

The trip up the road to the gate took less than an hour, but uphill as it was, it felt longer. Not that Persephone was rushing, and no one else showed any signs of being in a hurry. For once, Arion walked at the front of the party. She moved no faster than before; everyone else just walked slower.

“You’ve done amazingly well at learning our language,” Persephone told the Miralyith after she jogged to catch up so they could walk together. “It took me years before I was capable of holding a real conversation in Fhrey, and here you’ve managed Rhunic in little more than a month.”

“Rhunic is not a…” She hesitated. “Not a difficult language. So much is similar. For example, lyn and land, and dahl and wall, and so many others are almost the same. Also helps that I spent more than a thousand years working with sounds.”

“A thousand?” Persephone said, then cringed. She was so stunned by the admission that the words slipped out. “I mean you don’t look…you don’t act…”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Arion smiled kindly. “I’m two thousand years and two hundred and twenty-five days to be exact.” She paused in thought. “No, twenty-four.”

Two thousand years!

“Is that old for a Fhrey?”

“It certainly isn’t young,” she said with a smile. “Some of us live into their third millennium, but not many.”

“You look so young.”

“It’s the hair,” Arion said, looking up as if she could see what wasn’t there. “If I grew any, it would be white.”

“Why don’t you grow some? Nyphron and the other Fhrey have hair.”

“Tangles and knots interfere with both the actuation of power and the manipulation of the Art. Even our clothes…what we call asicas…only drape. There are no ties or…” She looked perplexed. “What is the word for ‘button’?” she asked in Fhrey.

Persephone stared back at her. “What’s a button?”

Arion opened her mouth to speak then closed it. “It’s a device for holding material closed, very useful for non-Miralyith.” She smiled.

“Might want to introduce them to Roan,” Persephone said. “She recently invented the pocket, you know.”

“What’s a pocket?”