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

“How is that possible?” Persephone asked.

“No one knows. He could have been one of us, or a Fhrey, or even a Rhune. Although your people hadn’t appeared in the world yet. He said he was a prisoner and asked to be released. Our ancestors were understandably hesitant. What kind of being is imprisoned deep underground like that? Who put him there? How? Why?”

Moya sat down, looking up at the Dherg, captivated. Across the shelf, Persephone noticed Arion and Suri were also listening. Brin, too, which wasn’t a surprise.

Flood continued. “It claimed to be older than the gods. Older than Drome or Ferrol.”

Arion coughed.

“It said it was unjustly imprisoned and tried every trick it could come up with to escape, to persuade our ancestors to let it out. Gifts were offered, and eventually our forefathers felt pity for the Old One and foolishly set it free. For their generosity, the treacherous Old One unleashed the demon Balgargarath.

“It was believed that the Old One was guarding something of great value,” Flood said. “That inside the Agave was a treasure. So naturally, after he was gone, our ancestors went inside. There, they found Balgargarath. It slaughtered hundreds, and—”

“She heard the rest from Gronbach,” Frost said.

Persephone looked from one dwarf to the next. “You were trying to get in the Agave, going after the treasure. If you hadn’t, Balgargarath would be merrily following his path of knockers.”

“We didn’t expect it would still be doing that. It’s been over six thousand years!” Frost erupted. “Six thousand! It had to be dead after all that time. Nothing, not trees, not even Fhrey, live that long. We were certain that if Balgargarath had really existed and wasn’t just some myth, it would have expired or left long ago. We were positive that the law prohibiting entrance to Neith was no more than a superstition. We were going to lead our people to reclaim our heritage, our birthright, to rediscover our own past.”

Persephone scowled. “First it’s a giant, then a demon, now we face an ancient fiend summoned by a being older than the gods?”

Flood looked at Frost then back at Persephone. “Okay, so we left out a few details.”

“I’d say those were pretty important points,” Moya said.

“Anything else you’d care to share?” Persephone asked.

“No, that’s all of it,” Flood replied. “In our defense, we told you what was important: It’s big and has to die. Thinking it could be dealt with without killing was their idea.” He pointed to Suri and Arion.

“Can it? Die, I mean,” Persephone asked.

“A Miralyith created Mount Mador and killed tens of thousands of our kind. Such power must be able to vanquish Balgargarath.”

Persephone miserably shook her head. “This is all too much. We haven’t even seen it yet, and it’s a wonder we’re still alive. No. It’s too dangerous. We’re in over our heads. We’re just going to have to go back. This isn’t our fight, and I can’t ask Arion or Suri to—”

“It is your fight,” Frost said. “What do you think will happen when Balgargarath escapes Neith? Sure, it’ll decimate Belgreig first, but then what? Do you think that narrow inlet will stop it? When you found us in the Crescent Forest, we were fleeing north, wondering how far away would be far enough. Balgargarath is evil, pure evil, mindless evil. The purpose of its whole existence is to destroy life: ours, yours, the Fhrey. It doesn’t care. And if it hasn’t stopped in six thousand years, it never will.”

Persephone looked at Arion, who closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Look,” Frost said, “Rain can get us back to the surface, but he’ll have to dig. That will draw the demon, and we won’t make it all the way out before Balgargarath is upon us. It seems to me you can either fight here or wait until it wades across the inlet and visits Tirre and Estramnadon. I would think here is a better choice.”

Persephone turned to Rain. “What’s the quickest way out?”

He nodded at the cliff. “Other side of that stone.”

Persephone squinted at him, as if imitating Padera. “And you can cut through that?”

He nodded. “But it’ll definitely alert the demon.”

“It would seem that’s no longer a problem,” Arion conceded. The Fhrey placed a hand on the mystic’s arm and said, “I’ll need a little time with Suri first. Everyone should eat something, then try to sleep.”

Roan nodded and dug into her bag, pulling out what she had left of the provisions the Dherg had sent with them.

“A last meal?” Moya asked.

Arion smiled at her. “Let’s hope not.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


The Agave




What we discovered in the Agave was incredible. We found the people we were meant to be.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





Suri didn’t know how to feel. Scared was only one of the emotions. She was trapped, and normally that would have demanded panic, but her imprisonment was a vague thing. She didn’t feel cornered. No door or braced beam was between her and the surface, and she thought she could find a way out if necessary. She and Minna had explored caverns before. This was just another one. But still, the disconnect from fresh air and sunlight was unsettling. In the past, she’d been too cocky, too sure of herself, too independent. Tura had accused her of all three on many occasions. And why not? Suri was able to find rols, climb any tree, and she had to be special for Minna to love her as much as the wolf did. Such a wise and wonderful creature wouldn’t fall for just anyone. But when the raow took Brin, Suri froze in doubt and ignorance. She’d found a tree she couldn’t climb, one so tall it scared her.

She and Arion moved near the water to talk privately. “What should I do?” Suri asked in Fhrey, wanting to grant Arion the freedom to be precise.

Arion’s reply shocked her. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? Why don’t you know?”

Arion shrugged, and Suri didn’t think she’d ever hated that physical expression more. “It all depends. Everything is relative to the situation. I’m not a martial artist, but I doubt a warrior can explain how to win an upcoming battle…what exactly to do. Strategies can be planned, but tactics vary based on the environment and what your opponent does. We haven’t seen yours, don’t even know what it is.”

“Opening the ground and swallowing it up…is that a good tactic?”

Arion thought and nodded. “I think so. So yes, you might look to that as a plan, but don’t rely on it. Conflict is unpredictable.” Arion looked into her eyes with open honesty. “Suri, you are very creative; that is the source of your power. That’s the source of any Artist’s power. Learn to trust your instincts.”

“But there are methods, right?” She raised her hands and held out her fingers. Pretending she had string on them, she performed the opening weave of a cradle. “Things you can teach me. Established patterns?”

Arion was nodding. “True. There are hundreds of practiced designs adopted and refined over the centuries. But you don’t have time to learn such shortcuts, and they most likely won’t help.”