The Tale of Amberley Bloodstar Ch. 03

Rulim almost smirked. "Lesser-known passages, hopefully, meant to get us to Kirsumir faster, while the main host forces the great halls. Though we are not bearing the brunt of the fighting, the missions of companies like ours are no less important. We are doing what we can to clear the way for the main host and prevent ambushes."

A tired nod was my response. I shifted slightly and began massaging a cramp out of my leg. "Their bodies aside, how are their spirits holding up?"

The old Dwarf sighed, seeing no point in lying to me, or being inscrutable. He clearly trusted me enough to be honest. "They are very worn, Amberley. They try not to show it, but they are weary and wounded. It doesn't help that many of them approached this entire endeavour with a certain fatalism, assuming they would not make it back to the Black Hills. They fight like men condemned to die."

I turned my head and looked down the tunnel, at the figures hunched or leaning against the walls, many murmuring or coughing, and more than a few moaning as their wounds were bound. But for a few torches, all was black, and the remoteness of this place, deep beneath the world I knew, seemed utterly alone and alien to me. Because it was.

"Give me a moment and then let me see what a bard's art can do," I stated, still massaging my leg. Rulim pondered my statement, seemed noncommittal, and then shrugged before getting up and trudging away. I smeared an ointment on a small cut on my forearm that I had received during one of the numberless fights in these tunnels. Other bloody scratches all over my body had begun to dry, and they were itching maddeningly. But we did not have the time, nor did I have the sheer volume of tinctures necessary, to see to them all. I would simply have to distract myself until we accomplished our goal.

Some minutes later, after closing my eyes and resting while breathing deeply, I struggled to my feet and moved over to join my companions, sitting down amongst them. Some noticed and nodded to me, others were otherwise occupied. They looked brutalized and worn, and I couldn't say as I blamed them, after what we had been through. Dalgrul noticed me and tried to smile. Half his head was bound in bandages, which were rapidly turning red.

Once seated as comfortably as I could manage, I pulled my lute and my harp from their slings on my back. Impractical in these environs, certainly, but what other purpose was a bard to serve? I began tuning my harp, and several of the warriors looked my way, curious as to what I could possibly be doing at a time like this.

So, I showed them.

"Azhârê igmalul dumu 'aban:

Bunân kidzul mabakh shamakhôn e.

Farinînu afrâg gabil rêlo

Akrâg mabakh galuz gabil ni."

Every head in that tunnel turned and gaped at me now, eyes wide with astonishment as I sang to them in their own language. I'd heard someone singing the song two nights ago, before we'd reached the Forges of Yallarz. I had no idea as to the meaning of the words when they'd been sung, but my keen ear and mind allowed me to memorize the sounds, and the tune. Gifted by the goddess, I moved the words and pitch into my own registry and style, and now sang it back to them.

"Azhârê ma mahtadrizi luknu harkulul dumênu

Ra haga sarniki diya nutuh

Ini kidiz ra 'ibin zanurutôn mênu aya

Shafik zirîn zasunubrukôn ma..."

The Dwarves all listened in complete silence, rapt by my art. I may not have known what I was saying, but I could tell that it was important to them. I was glad I had gone to the trouble of listening and memorizing what I'd heard.

"Yâ halutsun e kunh hakdzanash tarkashîn,

Ra ib-bagd tashniki id-'urâd nimgumul,

Kunh id-shalâk tabsinatîn ins baraz ins damâm

Ra taklihikîn ni shalak-kalâh athnâbul."

I sang on, and some even mumbled or wearily sang along with me. And when my song ended, silence greeted me, but it was not the dreaded silence of indifference, no- I had moved something in them, and they seemed now to me less worn than before, as if burdens on their very souls had been lifted.

Before long, Rulim had called for the march to begin again, and everyone prepared to move out, with more of a sense of haste and resolve than they had in well over a day now. As he walked by me, to take his place at the front of the line, Rulim stopped and looked at me. He placed a hand on my arm, observing me for several moments before nodding his wizened head and then walking away.

I smiled. It was all the praise I needed.

***

Our march toward Kirsumir did not remain unchallenged for long- less than half a day had passed before the goblins fell on us again. But my companions seemed to fight with a renewed vigour and ferocity, rather than the grim fatalism that had characterized them since we left the Forges. A sense of purpose in their strikes, an iron resolve in their war-cries, the speed with which we now charged forward to come to grips with our foe... all this had changed since our stop in the tunnels earlier that day.

As Rulim had observed soon after we met, I am, perhaps, no mere bard. The goddess did indeed seem to favour me, and her magic can often be heard in my songs, and my voice. As I had heard their songs and taken them to heart, I also had learned the war-cries of my companions, and I shouted them now as we fought, my clear, lyrical voice ringing through the mayhem.

"Kharzak abod amuriz!" I shouted. "Dwarves strike the earth!"

"Khayum belegan! Victory for our lord!"

I dodged the attack of a crazed, screeching goblin, and drove one of my twin blades through his eye before kicking him to the ground.

"Geshud! Etar! Anil Nokor! For the realm! The King! And the glorious dead!"

My comrades responded to my calls with their own, their loud, gravelly voices echoing in the tunnels. Despite the terrors of these dark halls, I felt a thrill and surge of hope as we fought with renewed purpose. I pressed forward into the fray, heartened by my steel-clad companions. Their relentless advance soon had the goblins howling and retreating in panic. Calls of triumph went up from the company.

"Khayam khaz!" I shouted, my blade overhead and dripping black blood. "Victory is ours!"

"On! On!" called Rulim urgently, waving at everyone with his axe. "We mustn't allow them to rally! Take the tunnels! Slay them all! Nazush, ning ziril! Blood and murder await!"

We pressed on, moving with surprising speed for a battle-weary and battered company of Dwarves. I soon found myself trotting alongside Dalgrul, who grinned at me, his unbandaged eye glinting in the torchlight.

"You sing our songs well," he stated as he ran. "You did not tell me you spoke our language!"

"I don't," I replied as I kept looking forward, determined to not bash my head yet again on any low outcroppings of rock or stonework. "But I have a keen ear, and just imitated what I've heard lo these past few days. I had a hunch you lot needed to hear a song or two."

"You've done nothing but hunch for nearly five days now," he laughed. "As for needing to hear a song, aye, that we did, and a fairer voice couldn't have been asked for," he declared. "Save it while you can, we'll need it if we reach Kirsumir."

He moved toward the front of the company again, while I hung back, where there were more torches providing light. The ache in my back was returning, and I prayed that sooner, rather than later, we'd find ourselves in the colossal hallways and corridors I had come to associate with the architecture of the Dwarves. I was afraid of developing a hump.

We pressed on.

***

Irsei, the capital of Furyondy, some years earlier...

Lyrei and Ayeson were walking through the garden with me, enjoying the warm afternoon and heady aroma of the blossoms all around us. Nearby, a small group of young girls training as bards were laughing and singing prettily as one of them played a song she was learning. The brother and sister walked hand-in-hand, like lovers born. Probably because they were.

"So, what were the consequences of the incident in my bedroom?" I asked, smirking. I was speaking in their native Elvish dialect, so that we could discuss matters without nearby ears listening in. I was the only person in our family who had ever shown real facility with this ancient tongue.

"None to speak of," Lyrei replied, smiling her graceful smile. "People back home barely know of anything that happens here in Irsei, even when our mother and father report back to the suzerain. I'm not sure our parents could be bothered to know."

"Small blessings, I guess," I mused, stopping to look at and caress a large, iridescent flower. It seemed to move and revel under my touch, as if it was aware. Then again, the flora in this garden had all come from En-Loryn, so it probably was. It certainly responded to my singing. "Good for us, although I'm not sure it speaks well of your people's aloofness."

"P'raps," Ayeson agreed easily, still holding his sister's hand while watching me tend to the flower. The siblings were tall and willowy, both with long, black hair and grey eyes. Unusually for the people of the Fey Islands, they were not haughty or distant, at least not with me. We got on very well, and they treated me as if I was no different than them. I had often laughed and said I felt the same about them. "You're as likely to come up in conversation as any member of the Vail clan, or anyone of Furyondy at all. But your blessings are noted, grudgingly."

"Good," I said, without a trace of smugness. "Because I intend to be noted the whole world over. And En-Loryn is as good a place as any to start."

Lyrei smiled her beautiful smile, joining me in caressing the blossom. It came alive under our shared touch, its colours even more vibrant. "A sure thing, cousin-mine," she cooed softly. They called me cousin, even though we were not actually blood-related at all. "It may bother our family, and our people, that your voice rivals that of any Elven singer who lives, but what of it? The goddess chooses her own, and it is not our place to judge that choice, merely to celebrate it."

"Such talk must border on heresy in your family," I quipped, loving standing near her. She always smelled of violets, lavender, or other wildflowers. Lyrei had told me they both loved being near me, because they found my very being enthralling. There was a vitality to mortal races that they cherished, and if they had their way, I would one day come with them to Arlthyr, capital of En-Loryn, and play for the court. Even I found the thought intimidating. "Hopefully that is some years away, as yet."

"Well, Ayeson and I have nothing but time, I suppose," my lovely cousin said cheerfully, taking my hand as we resumed walking. This garden was one of my favourite places to visit. Strong enchantments were woven into its creation, and it was one of the wonders of Furyondy. Glittering silver fountains abounded, small gardens floated above the ground, and exotic birds of jewel-toned plumes glided about, their songs to one another floating on the warm air. Exotic plants from around the world were here, growing side-by-side. "Until then, we are happiest to be here with you in your homeland."

It was so unusual to hear Elves speak this way, because normally the inhabitants of the Fey Isles were haughty and arrogant. The Elves of the woodlands, while they still considered themselves superior to humans, were generally more tolerant out of necessity. I knew some of the silvan kindred, but they tended to avoid cities wherever possible. What they could have against Furyondy was beyond me.

"Think you're right, Amberley, that the goddess loves this place," mused Lyrei as she looked around. "There is magic here, and I don't merely mean the craft that enchants this garden. I feel her voice in the air, her songs in the blossoms, her timeless beauty in the artistry of the arrangements. It's inspired. Smaller than our gardens in En-Loryn, but no less beautiful for it, and perhaps more precious."

She turned and looked at me, her lovely smile somewhat sad. "But this garden, Amberley, it belongs here. It will never outgrow its place. What of you, my dearest cousin? Irsei is too small for you. I daresay Furyondy is as well. What, then, is your intent for your life?"

I sighed as we started walking again, my hand clasped in hers. Every bard's ambition was to see the world, of course, and I yearned to visit far-off places and meet new people. It seemed impossible to me that the goddess would keep me here in Furyondy when she had given me such blessings to share. The people in my family, renowned bards, diplomats, and warriors, all shared a desire to travel to other countries and experience everything we could. I was no exception to this trait.

"I will head abroad, of course, and make a name for myself in every corner of this world," I stated, holding my hand up and allowing an emerald green songbird to alight on my finger. Lyrei smiled and stroked her dainty finger along its head and neck. The tiny bird cooed pleasantly. "A simple songbird should have no more freedom than myself."

Lyrei nodded. "Yet this lovely little bird chooses to remain here, where it is safe and happy, my love. The world, it is dangerous, even for a bard. You would meet those risks?"

I lifted my hand slowly and the bird took wing and flitted away, singing happily. We resumed walking. "I would. Where there is risk, there are stories, and songs to be sung. I cannot keep singing at the walls and gardens of Irsei forever, cuz."

"And you've also proven gifted with your blade," Ayeson added, smiling as he walked alongside me. "Old master Vorian says you've proving quite adept at the fencing styles he's taught you, and he was a marked warrior in his earlier days back home. He says your formal fencing work is excellent. But I sometimes worry that if you head out into the world, it may not be enough, to know an elven formal fencing style..."

He stopped us at a small, white marble table, reaching to the small of his back and the blue and white robes he was wearing. Lyrei smiled serenely while she watched her brother. Whatever he was doing, she seemed to have knowledge of it already. I looked on curiously as he laid a swathe of moonmoth silk on the table. Something was wrapped within.

"Open it, please, cuz," he said, gesturing to the small bundle.

I undid the silken twine that held the contents in place and then folded out the silk. The gleam that lay within almost took my breath away. Before me were two exquisite long-knives, their leaf-shaped blades gleaming brightly as only elven weapons could. The flowing characters of the En-Loryn script were beautifully etched into the length of the weapons, singing of beauty and victory.

"When nobody was looking, we had these made for you," Ayeson explained, enjoying the expression on my face. "Not everyone on the islands is horrified by your existence, I'm happy to say. We knew a smith who happily made these little tokens for you, since we knew you'd need more than a sword to see you on your adventures."

"They're gorgeous," I breathed, holding one of them up for examination, fascinated by how light played off the silvery metal, glittering in the sun. "I love them. They'll be called Lyr and Aye, my most treasured and deadliest possessions."

They were both almost giddy with delight at my statement, something one almost never saw in the elder race. Lyrei clasped her hands together as I put the knife down and looked at them both. "How can I ever thank you both?"

"Oh, trust me, cuz," she purred, smiling at me slyly. "We already know how..."

***

These memories of days gone by had been brought on by standing against a wall and gazing at my knives during a pause in our march, in a long tunnel that was dominated by tracks meant to transport carts full of ore to and from Yallarz. I never tired of looking at them, not just because they were given to me by my beloved 'cousins', but because they were just fascinating in and of themselves.

We of Furyondy are known for our craftsmanship- the quality of our woodwork, our sculptures, and the tools and weapons of our smiths. But these two knives, they were altogether different from anything I had seen before. Cunningly crafted, with spells of victory sung into them, they felt alive to me somehow.

They weren't stout weapons, not like the mighty axes or unstoppable hammers of my dwarven allies, they were tools of speed, elegance, and lethal grace. They weren't meant to break armour, nor even to work their way around or through it- in the hands of a masterful warrior, who knew how to use them, armour was simply not a factor when fighting a foe.

And clearly, I was no master yet. True, they had served me well in the battle at the forges, when I managed to hit my enemy where they wore no armour. But any weapon could do that. It wasn't enough to be fast, or to be accurate in one's strikes, I was coming to understand that. It also occurred to me that even Lyrei and Ayeson did not quite understand what they were giving me.

In the flickering light of nearby torches, I examined the blade closely, fascinated that I always discovered something new when I looked. It seemed to me that while the flowing characters that made up the elven words never changed, the images etched into the metal seemed to. I was drawn in, rapt by the scene that played out before me.

Figures... graceful... look at them make love... it's so beautiful... I can feel how much they mean to each other... gone now... how can that one figure be moving... spinning and striking... the song they fight to, so elegant... is this how I am to use my treasures? What magic is this?

"Amberley?"

I blinked and looked up, brought back to this hard, toilsome mortal realm and away from my reverie. The darkness of this vast tunnel closed in around me, despite the torchlights. Old Rulim was look at me curiously. "Are you all right, my friend?"

I considered and then held out one of my blades, the one named 'Lyr', to him. "Rulim, please take a good look at my weapon and tell me what you see."

He gave me a quizzical glance and then took the weapon from me daintily, turning it over in his rough, weathered hands several times, his eyes narrowing as he examined it. Maybe thirty seconds had passed before he handed it back to my, shrugging. "It's an elven knife. Are you ready to move out? We are maybe two days from the Great Halls of Kirsumir, and the Thane is eager to press on."

I nodded my assent and he took his leave of me. I examined my blade again curiously, wondering what it was that old Rulim didn't see when he did as I'd asked. Did he not sense the magic in the weapon? He seemed to think it was a simple tool, made in a distant land, and unlike anything he and his people would ever forge. Was it simply not magical for him, in his hands?

So many questions I had yet to have answers for.

I sheathed my weapons and joined my comrades, ready for the final push to our victory.

***

I was wondering if victory was possible. As savage as those battles earlier had been, they paled in comparison to the fighting we did now, the ferocity of the opposition we faced. As nasty and cruel as I had found our goblin foes, they would prove quite weedy in hindsight- more and more brutish orcs were facing us now, and they were a significantly tougher nut to crack than their goblin cousins.