Chapter 30: Stranger

Even inside Breale’s arms, the wind tore at the drake and ripped at his wings. Sleet and snow was hurled against them, and each step was laboured for the Mavericks as they trudged through knee high drifts. Dark clouds twisted and twirled through the skies above, blotting out even the brightest stars, their light instead replaced by deafening lightning as it arced through the heavens.

 

“What about here!”

 

Silst focused his mind upon hearing Cice’s heir, trying to ignore the wind.

 

Young one? Are you there?

 

He waited in the snow, every thought turned towards the barest hint of a connection to his charge. After several long seconds he shook his head, and Breale cursed above.

 

“That’s the end of the layer!” Fredrick shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of the thunder and wind. “We should call it for today!”

 

“We still haven’t found her!” Breale called back. “We must search again!”

 

Silst barely heard them as they began to argue, struggling to retain what warmth he could in the storm. It wasn’t often that he felt a chill such as this, as he was normally immune to such mudanities as temperature. This storm however, felt sinister to him, and colder than most besides. A dark omen wrought by the Gryphon, in his opinion.

 

“Have sense, sister! We risk frostbite if we continue.” Fredrick trudged through a small mound of snow and grabbed Breale’s sleeve. “We must return.”

 

Breale hesitated as if she wanted to argue more, only for it to fall away as she looked down at Silst’s shivering form.

 

“This damnable pitch! Fine! Lead the way!”

 

Wind blasted down the streets, as if called by Breale’s own frustration as Fredrick looked up at the layers of stairs ahead.

 

“The Astrian manor is closer!” Fredrick cried over the winds. “I’m sure Marcolo would understand!”

…

Silst looked up as the door shut behind them, surprised to see that Marcolo was not quite alone in the manor, but kept company by a shorter man sitting at the end of the dining table seeped in shadow.

 

Or perhaps ‘man’ was the wrong word to use.

 

“Thank you, sir.” Fredrick shook Marcolo’s hands as Breale dropped the drake and kicked off her boots. “I know this is short notice…”

 

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do with all you are doing to help.”

 

Silst shook off the last of the chill and trotted past the trio. As he entered the dining room and hopped onto the table, the figure finally stirred, leaning forward into the lantern light.

 

A dwarf sat upon the far chair, a blue hood hanging over his face. Black hairs sprouted from his whitened face, a beard to rival even Saint Nicholas back on Earth and bounded together with narrow silver locks. Silver and dim sapphires decorated his belts and gauntlets, both of which were fastened with thick leather. A tabard of blue and grey reached down to his knees, and a silvery metal mesh of chain was barely visible under his sleeves and cloth. His cloak looked almost as tall as he did, and though it greyed at the hems and smelled of camp smoke it remained unfrayed to the drake’s eyes, and he sat as regally as any king. Bushy black eyebrows sat above eyes of wizened brown as the two studied each other. Behind him, a long scabbard almost as long as he was tall laid against the wall.

 

Wasn’t this guy a little too familiar? Silst could almost swear he’d met him before, in some distant dream.

 

“A dragon? And one so distantly familiar as well? It is an honour.”

 

The dwarf rose from his chair and bowed, and Silst suddenly remembered the memory in which he’d seen this dwarf. Images of a carven throne of stone and of masses of dragons and metal bound dwarves meeting high in the mountains came to him, of a time many years in the past.

 

Silst fell back on muscle memory as he opened his mouth and croaked out a greeting in the tongue of the dragons of the Pale Mountains, the only language the drake could physically speak. It was slow and laborious, a language of deep growls ands musical chirps that sounded to the drake almost like an ancient song.

 

[Welcome to east, Messenger.] He chirped. [Silver, I.]

 

It was originally a dwarven word, his name. One that meant ‘Silver’ in the old tongue, given to him by the Markee when he’d approached, though he couldn’t remember the exact circumstances of that night.

 

“What was that? Such a strange…” Breale stopped in shock as he beheld the dwarf, and Fredrick was not far behind her. “By the Star, what are one of you doing here?”

 

The drake glared back at the Maverick, and to her credit her face gave way to embarrassment as she realised what she’d just said. Thankfully, their guest simply laughed as Fredrick smacked his sister over the head.

 

“It is said the Lmeri say what they think, but I hadn’t thought it would ring so true!”

 

“I apologise for my sister, it is just that it is rare to see dwer so far from home.” Fredrick performed a short bow, forcing his sister to do the same. “I am Fredrick Maverick, heir of Cice, and this is my sister, Breale of Cice.”

 

“And I am Rknor, son of Karizsil.” He pronounced his name as if there was an ‘e’ in the front, like ‘Erknore’. “But I don’t mean to have us all standing on my account.”

 

“Yes, let me get some drink for everyone.”

 

As everyone sat down and Marcolo left to get the promised refreshment, Silst could only lament the fact that Saphry wasn’t here to witness this.

 

Ever since she had heard of the race, Saphry had been fascinated with the dwarves. He could remember arguing about their existence just last week with the princess, trying to…

 

Wait, that wasn’t Saphry, was it? That was Ryder.

 

Gideon shook his head. He’d already gone so long without talking to the bastard, he was beginning to blur the two together. It was so obvious to separate them whenever Ryder was still here because of how differently they behaved, but after a couple days of searching and sleeping… Well, he’d almost spent the same amount of time in his  memory as he had in reality.

 

He really needed to get Ryder back, and quickly.

 

Still, Gideon was as curious about this guest as any, though mostly as a distraction while they waited for the storm to abate. There were a few interesting questions however. Why would a member of the court of the dwarven king Morn be in Verol, let alone in the Astrian house? If Gideon could trust his memory, this dwarf was from the kingdom of Morvechi in the Blue Mountains, a land farther than even Brepoli and obscured behind even taller and denser mountains than Verol.

 

“You come at a poor time, I’m afraid.” Frederick laughed humorlessly. “This house’s daughter isn’t even here to greet you.”

 

“Marcolo was just telling me. A mighty shame, the state this country has come to. The histories of Man run short, and their memories shorter. They don’t see what harm they bring upon themselves.” The dwarf sighed. “Hopefully you’ll have luck in the hunt.”

 

“[We search.]” Gideon said, causing the Mavericks to jump in surprise. “[Through city, sky. Unfound.]”

 

Even for Silst, it had been quite a few years since he had last spoken aloud. Since no one spoke the ‘northspine’ language outside perhaps two or three people in the royal court and another couple in Summark, and he couldn’t vocalise the sounds needed for Veroline or Lmeri, there wasn’t much point. Especially when the only person who really mattered to the drake had a telepathic link to him.

 

Of course, he wasn’t about to inflate Ryder’s ego more by saying that.

 

“And yet they couldn’t have left during the storm, unless they sought suicide.” Rknor stroked his beard. “They must be warded, or hidden perhaps. Such wizardry does Man ill, I say.”

 

“[My method, warding useless.]” He was fairly certain of that, at least. Telepathy wasn’t exactly a widespread art to his knowledge, not even to mention warding against it. “[Range, however, small.]”

 

“Hm. Hidden then.” Rknor said. “In that case-”

 

“Are you speaking with Silst?” Breale broke in. “Or is this one of those dwarven jokes I’m always hearing about?”

 

Gideon snorted. Had he not already demonstrated his intelligence back at their house a few days ago?

 

“I can understand him, if that’s what you’re asking. And it is a fine thing I do! Dragons range far and wide across the Paiz Mountains, and dare I say they warm their hearts much faster to one who understands them, even if they can’t speak. Why, I wouldn’t have made it across the Northspine otherwise.” He glanced at Gideon. “Your brethren can be testy at the best of times. Hm-mph. By the Star, that reminds me of the time I had to meet with a merchant in the kingdom of Norrin, never have I seen such-”

 

“You’ve crossed the Northspine? Isn’t that a frozen hellscape?” Breale interrupted..

 

“I didn’t know they had a language…” Frederick added. “Are they civilised up there?”

 

At that Gideon growled, spurred by a distant feeling of patriotism. Civilised? How could they not be! It was certainly more civilised than darkened clouds that hung over the south. Even now he yearned for the deep skies of mana that flowed in his homeland, of the calm winds and gentle sleets. He felt no cold in the north, unlike this blighted land, though none of these humans could even know…

 

Gideon shook his head again. Why did he feel such a strong nostalgia? What was that distant pull on his heart? He, Gideon, had never left Verol before. There was no reason he would yearn to leave, except back to Earth.

 

“...Sorry, I didn’t mean any offence.” Fredrick raised his hands in front of him. “It’s just that such knowledge isn’t common down here.”

 

“I’ve definitely heard that it was a frozen hellscape though.”

 

“Sister…”

 

“I won’t deny that it gets cold, though not too much more than up here in the mountains. Storms don’t get much worse than this, after all. Well, perhaps its winds could find equal among the northern peaks, though it’d have to be a special day indeed for such a thing.” Rknor leaned back in fond remembrance. “It must’ve been forty years now, at this point, since I’ve last visited the Dourdowns. What a time it was! Why, I think I should visit again once I’ve returned, for surely their memory has not yet faded of me.”

 

“To be fair, this is one of the harsher ones I’ve seen.” Breale said, a momentary burst of wind blasting the window to match her impatience. “Gales are normally somewhat lighter, even in Summark.”

 

“It’s the same story everywhere. For centuries this has been the case, and every town, city, and village I’ve visited has told the same stories. ‘The snow bites harder this year!’, they’ll say, or ‘Don’t mind the ice, just a little worse than normal’. It is always a temporary thing, to you humans, like a passing summer breeze. Some of my kin call that optimistic, most call it naive. Why, I think I even remember some words brandied about in the holds.” Rknor nodded to himself before clearing his throat.

 

“Speak not of snow, nor wind, nor hail.

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Devilish things for me.

As wither the far, distant vales.

Didn’t prepare, did he.

 

A short respite, the summer sky.

Though horribly long to live.

Above the graves of those who lie.

With left no warmth to give.

 

Colder, colder, the old wind blows. 

Far into Ice we fly.

When will it end? Nobody knows! 

Cowering as the world slows to die.”

 

“Depressing.” Breale remarked after a second.

 

“And yet inevitable, for us dwarves.” Rknor said. “Especially for the few of us who leave our homes.”

 

“Have you ranged far, then?” Fredrick asked, changing the subject. “Or is Verol the farthest you’ve been?”

 

If Gideon remembered correctly, the kingdom of Movechi was quite the walk to make by one’s self. Though not all of the world was as rugged and hard to travel as it was here in the south and east, that was still a good couple weeks as the dragon flew, and many miles more for a dwarf to footslog.

 

“I have travelled a fair bit in the last century. Though the farthest I’ve gone is to my uncle’s hold, Kazerizz, which lies just east of Summark.” He smiled fondly. “Oh Kazerizz! Oh jewel of the east! Fountains like waterfalls and shining stone like silver. Some will talk only of Azhnor’s splendour or of the stonework of Morvechi, but none can deny the beauty of my uncle’s hold. It’s why I am so anxious to get going, as that is my heading.”

 

Gideon flinched. 

 

“That’s…”Fredrick began.

 

“...A bad idea.” Marcolo placed ornate cups filled with the drink in front of each of the guests. “I’ve been telling him for hours now.”

 

“Giants, gryphons, falings, bah!” He patted the sword behind him. “These things are nothing to dwarven silver.”

 

“I don’t doubt your courage, master dwarf, but I’ve heard only grave tidings from the East.” Fredrick said. 

 

“Maybe with a host you could reach Kazerizz, but even the Markee hasn’t heard from them in years.” Marcolo shook his head. “We don’t even know if they’re alive.”

 

“Nonsense! I got a letter just some thirty years ago. Any proper hold would last at least that long.”

 

“Isn’t that a generation…?” Breale muttered.

 

“But, I can’t leave now either, not with this blizzard. I’d have to looked around for any tunnels my kin had made if I wanted to get three steps without becoming a snowman.” Rknor tugged on his beard again. “There should be a few at least, what with Veoh Amorit still standing.”

 

Gideon looked up, drawn out of his mind by the familiar name. Where had he heard that before? Wasn’t that the name of some city? 

 

“Veoh Amorit?” Breale asked.

 

“Wait, you can’t mean…” Fredrick said.

 

“I do.” Rknor said. “I think I might have another lead for your little search, if you’ll allow it. ”

 

“You’ll help find Saphry?” Breale jumped up from her chair, seemingly unaffected by the day’s searching. “You really mean it?”

 

“You never said anything about this.” Marcolo said, a fraction of his worry dropping away.

 

“Let’s calm ourselves. I might be known as hasty among my kin, but despite my debts to the Markee I still cannot search with you.” Rknor warned. “That would involve me in politics I can’t afford to be in, not with my mission at hand. I do have an idea where they might’ve taken her however, if they do not have her in the city layers. Though I don’t know for sure if this’ll be useful, I’m sorry to say.”

 

“That’s already more than enough.” Fredrick said.

 

“Anything that helps Saphry is fantastic in my book, no matter how little.” Marcolo added.

 

“Then in that case, have you ever heard of the old friendships between man and dwarf? In elder ages it was more concrete, even to the point of…”

…

I jolted up in my bed, another nightmare rapidly fading from my mind. 

 

They’d come constantly ever since I had arrived here, bringing not just Saphry’s memories but scenes of a human Ryder standing before a new danger. I died in each one, though the details were always quick to dissipate.

 

Sighing as the adrenaline temporarily chased away any thoughts of returning to sleep, I sat up and looked at the empty world around.

 

My room was dark and grey, and the cavern outside unlit by its hanging lanterns in the aged hours of each day. If I were to be honest, though, the day wasn’t much better either, with only the horribly artificial magical fires to practise by. Greys were to white as browns to red. Even the blue glint of rune and glyph felt faint in the gloom, with only the light of Caldor’s flames serving to momentarily bring any splash of colour back.

 

It was still underground, with no wind nor rain to dance upon the ancient cobbles of the dwarven city. No paper tumbled along the ground, no dogs ran the streets, and the buzz of commerce and neighbourly conversation had long since left the city, leaving only the fake rats and idle birds to lord over its wastes. I found it dreary and depressing to watch, as if I was witnessing Chicago long after some apocalypse had wiped clean its population to leave the world with one small person in one small room. 

 

In the corner of that room, the mirror stood.

 

It was large and silver, stretching from ceiling to floor in one singular plate, and it was as wide as the bed’s headrest. Silver-steel bolts riveted it to the wall, preventing me from overturning the thing to save myself the ache.

 

I glared at the mirror, noting its perfect reflection of the window from my bed. It had taunted me since I was dumped here, glistening with an eager zeal to remind myself of just how fair I’d fallen from the Hero of Chicago. Even now I found a low hate build up inside me as I stared into its depths at the dark buildings reflected within.

 

This whole situation really was the pits. Well, besides the lessons and promises of usefulness Caldor gave that is. High above my head the others were probably sick with worry at my disappearance, fretting and murmuring over the girl who’d once again gotten herself in trouble.

 

I laughed softly as I let myself fall onto the red feather bed. It hurt to know that it wasn’t ‘Ryder’ that they were calling about in the streets, but ‘Saphry’. Only Gideon knew my name, the truth of this whole matter, and that simple fact was the loneliest part of it all.

 

Intentions and zeal wasn’t what mattered in the world of Elys, not by a long shot. A person could be as intelligent, moral, and idealistic as they wanted, but if they didn’t have the strength to back it up it could only hurt. And right now I definitely didn’t have that strength.

 

And if I couldn’t fulfil my own personality, was I really even Ryder?

 

I turned to look at the mirror, a sudden urge raising my head off the covers. The floorboards creaked as I slid off the bed and walked over to it.

 

For the second time since I had come to the world of Elys, I truly looked at the girl in the mirror.

 

Large orbs of dull blue looked back through the silver. Bags hung under them, artefacts of a dozen late nights looking through botanical journals and practising magic. Still, though combined with scraped and bruised skin, it was a pleasing and symmetrical face with rosy cheeks and a small nose. The lips were but a line, and the ears tiny and rounded. Silver-snow hair flowed down to below the small of my back, held together by countless enchanted hair ties that Auro had loaned me. Despite my protestations, it was not a tall girl, only a little above five feet tall. Its proportions were modest and its limbs thin, but objectively I would call it cute. Subjectively, I had more choice words to share.

 

This was the body that I had usurped over a month ago, the body each of my friends had seen fit to save and protect. The body that Andril had wanted to shelter and Lord Agos to kidnap. The body Gideon was assuredly cursing for ruining his chance at getting home.

 

And I couldn’t blame them either.

 

It was a frail thing, constantly wracked with fatigue and plagued with an infectible pity. Hell, if Saphry had been my friend back on Earth I would’ve been one of the first to pull her back to safety. Even the sight of her current wounds brought up parental urges within me, and I was the one who had earned them. It was a testament to my rank as daughter of the Markee that I was taken as seriously as I was.

 

The bushy white eyebrows in the mirror tiled up into a ‘V’ as she scowled, or attempted to at least. As I glared at the image, I found that Saphry couldn’t manage a truly angry or even vaguely intimidating look. 

 

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, I hope you know.” I said as I stared at the image.

 

It blinked back, and I could almost swear the action was baked in confusion.

 

“You’re weak, childish, flabby. There’s no strength in your bones.” I jabbed my pointer finger into the surface, and the girl met my touch. “Nothing like Breale or Andril. Nothing like me.”

 

Saphry cast her eyes downward, and I did the same at the sight.

 

“You’re the reason I haven’t gotten home yet after all. I’m sure M…Mom’s missing me right about now. And Dad, and the cat, and…” I faltered as unexpected tears glistened at the edges of my eyes. 

 

No. it wasn’t fair to blame all my problems on Saphry like that, as if the two of us were so different. In many ways we were the same, with the same worries and troubles. My ‘Earth’ was little different from her ‘Corto’, both torn from us and hidden out of reach. We were both failures in our approaches as well, both close to giving up entirely. The only difference came in the nature of our obstacles, mine being magic in nature while Saphry’s was political. 

 

But knowing that, there was no way I could just accept where I was now. Gideon might be the only one waiting on ‘Ryder’ to show back up, but Saphry had a hell of a lot more life for me to make that decision for her. Wallowing in pity wasn’t a decision I could reasonably make, not when Saphry could solve her own problems.

 

Maybe I could give in once I arrived in Summark, but for now? I needed to escape.

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