An Unlikely Bride 16

Thonvar's left arm swung the sword as hard as he could, it was clumsy to do that but he was desperate. A loud clang sent the half-elf's sword to the side, but he had more adrenaline and fury than the northman could match with speed. A boot to the chest toppled him over, Queenkissed still in his hand, but he knew right away it wouldn't have helped.

Fire-eyed aggression bore down on the human warrior, the sword raised up.

All options had been exhausted, he would die by the mutt's hand in an ancient tomb. Anza would be next. Then Kix. Zan, Agziqoh, Ruran... Dead. All dead. He lead them to their deaths, he--

A lance of stone shot up and knocked the elf senseless, continuing onward and crumbling against the stairs behind him. What? The elf scrambled back and stood up, his palm making a barrier just like Ruran had made to shield himself.

Still in surprised shock, Thonvar watched as little flakes of the stone floor peeled up, licked by wisps of green magic, before springing off toward the elf. They moved at incredible speed, a burst of five, perhaps six of them hitting his barrier with rapid succession and causing it to flutter and flicker.

He looked up at his wife, was she seeing this too?

Anza clenched her little fists and screamed in rage, her eyes had been replaced by a furious, otherworldly green energy.

When her fingers opened the floor split, she clenched invisible ropes and yanked them free from their terrestrial bonds as the stones erupted upward along the fault. A magical shield couldn't do much against that, the elf's legs were sliced open by the upward explosion.

Then he remembered he had his own legs, he had to use them.

Scrambling to a knee, he gripped Queenkissed and rushed forward while the elf stumbled back. This was his fight now, they might have both been wounded but he had the advantage, and he converted the running momentum into a single-handed strike on the magical obstruction. It bounced. He swung again, yelling in pain and anger. It bounced, the barrier flickered. He swung a third time as hard as he could, eyes right on the elf crying out in fear.

Pow! A bright light came with the half-hearted rebound and Thonvar breathed in the metallic-tasting cloud.

For a second or two the human was blind, but his eyes recovered.

There was the elf, his elbow supporting a splintered bone garnished with ribbons of flesh peeled out like a gory flower.

Thonvar didn't give him a chance to scream, he ended his misery with a fourth strike right to the head. With his brain cleaved in two, the elf slumped back against the floor and sighed a final breath. Dead. For once in his life the warrior from the Reach felt pity for somebody he killed, but it didn't last too long. Clattering of swords made his attention waver.

"Awright, I'm FOCKEN' DONE WITHIT!"

Ruran snatched a bottle of ale from his belt and gripped it hard as he bashed the cork end against the wall. Even before he stepped back it was obvious what was happening, the bottle glowed with a terrifying lime green that made even Zan back up. Anza and Kix retreated behind Thonvar as the spellsword yelled with intense effort, his face contorted as he forced that magical disaster into the poor bottle. All the northerner could think about was the elf's ruined arm, he decided to back up as well.

Agziqoh was too busy literally bashing some poor elf's brains against the wall to notice the commotion.

"SIT ON THIS AN' FUCKIN' SPIN!" roared the spellsword as he chucked it through the doorway.

Clink.

Clink clink.

Was that it?

When Thonvar twisted away it happened just before the gout of fire replaced the ceiling, his shadow was bright and very, very vivid on the floor as the two kobolds shirked back to flee. He didn't see the fire exactly, but he felt the heat, and despite the stone barrier being in the way it was hot enough to make the back of his neck itch and burn. Then his arms, his open wound screamed at him to remind primitive parts of his brain to protect it from further misadventures with fire.

He looked back at Agziqoh and saw her clutching the dead elf in frozen shock, she only dropped it after she stared back at him for a few seconds.

Zan was flat against the wall. Ruran was too, except he was grinning. His fingernails were bleeding.

Smoke poured out from the opposite side and went up, disappearing in the thin slits that Thonvar hadn't noticed before. All of that might have been more fascinating under different circumstances, but for the time being his attention was brought back down. Anza was on her knees, her eyes bleeding, her little hands developing awful little blisters, and all other concerns fell away as he held her.

"Anza fine," she croaked, butting her head against his cheek.

"I didn't know you could use magic!"

She shook her head. "Kobold small, not have big magic."

"Yes, you are short," he teased, making his wife smile in the process.

Commotion behind him peeled his attention away for a moment, he watched as Ruran kicked a still flaming arm across the floor. Agzi had abandoned her kill to peek around the corner, spear ready, but she didn't move far.

"Go, Anza fine," Kix whispered.

Thonvar looked her over once more, but his wife seemed okay for the moment. What convinced him was her expression, her eyes hadn't lost their spark and seemed as curious as he did. No, he wouldn't leave her alone, so he snapped his fingers at Zan who scurried over.

"Help her up, we go together," Thonvar declared. "Agzi, Ruran, if anything--"

"Aye, lad. We got your back," the spellsword said as he dropped a chargestone from the blade. "Didn't expect the blaze."

When Anza was walking he felt confident enough to finish wrapping his wounded sword arm, pinching the blade to his side with his elbow. Despite the complicated medical procedure he would be ready to fight, even if it was left-handed, but if survivors remained he expected the spellsword alone could dispatch them. If anything his huntress could have probably carried him and fought most men to a standstill, she had accumulated more than a few bodies over on her side of the chamber.

Ruran and Zan, together, claimed four. He killed the one inside, and the one outside, which brought the total to fourteen. All of them seemed to be armored in the same dark material, it almost reminded him of his own demonic armor pieces. This was definitely of their world, some type of hide that might have been dyed red and brown so dark it was almost black. They also wore... He stopped and knelt next to the one Zan had dispatched through the eye, some of his armor looked a lot like laminated wood.

"Whew!"

Thonvar looked up to see what the spellsword was interested in before joining him to stand over it.

Grimacing in disgust, the southerner kicked the charred mess and said, "that's where the fire came from, shot right outta 'is arms, it did. Look."

Two blackened stumps were all that remained; they might have been the elbows, or perhaps the biceps, but it was obvious that they suffered the same fate as the half-elf the northerner killed. Looking around it was clear that the elf had been some six, or perhaps seven paces away from a scoured spot on the floor.

"He exploded?" the redheaded warrior asked. "How did you manage that?"

"That ale I threw, I gave it a spell called 'Ralin's Push" that just makes everythin' ever want to move away from it," Ruran explained, looking over his destroyed fingers. "Ooh, lookit that."

Seeing the cracked and splintered nails gave the reachman the creeps, it actually made him wince just to behold the destruction.

"Never seen it before?" Ruran laughed, hissing as he plucked the bits free. "Aye, called 'mageclaw' for a reason."

Even if it was disgusting, Thonvar was beginning to understand. "So your spell broke his arms, but they held fire magic inside them."

"Exactly! You catch on quick!"

"So if I were to chop them off, I would have been burned alive," the warrior muttered, suddenly very wary of mages. "Even in death they are deadly."

"They" being magic folk, for very physical people like the northerners it wasn't any surprise why they kept a healthy distance from all forms of conventional magic. Even their own home-grown kinds, like the wight-whispering and draugur for example, were still a very powerful and awe-inspiring affair that normal folk kept far away from. Fortunately this apprehension didn't extend to pure healers, often they were southern temple folk and those who professed service to Aera, but that was probably for more practical reasons than anything else.

What surrounded him was the thing most people were worried about, the chamber had been thoroughly desecrated with an incredible mess and the only upside was the dead elves.

Speaking of...

"This is their leader," the northerner remarked, kneeling beside the charred corpse. "Who is he, and why does he have fangs?"

"Fangs? What fangs?" Ruran asked, leaning over to get a look. "Lad, that's not--"

A voice from behind them declared, "that's because he is, or was, a vampire."

Together they spun around, Thonvar on his feet, but his brain was reminding him of all the important things he needed to know even before his arm readied the blade. A female voice, elven and yet somehow different, strong, defiant... She had managed to stand up despite still being tied to the wooden post, her dark, ashy skin gave way to copper-colored fur mottled in spots of black. Beneath her mane of chestnut hair were two big ears, quite elven in nature, but obviously feline in structure. What was most interesting for Thonvar was her stature, she didn't have much of it and couldn't have been much taller than his shoulders.

Taller than Anza, but far shorter than any dark elf he had ever seen. Or cat person.

Ruran sighed and muttered, "oh great, another elf. A cat elf."

"Oh great. A human," she fired back with narrow, golden eyes. "Suntown, I presume?"

"Aye. Close enough."

"College?"

"No."

Rolling her eyes, the cat thing sighed and shook her head. "No doubt your colleague is as equally learned, and the kobolds, how wonderful."

"I don't think you're in any position to be mouthin' off," Ruran warned, but Thonvar's hand went to his chest. "What? You said--"

"What are you doing here... half-elf?" Thonvar asked the female. "This is a tomb of honored dead."

"I would ask the same of you, we're quite some ways away from the Reach. What is a fire-haired warrior, a country magician from Suntown, three kobolds, and a sebekan huntress doing in one of Rangvaal's most infamous tombs? Why would I trust any of you?"

"You know," Anza croaked before whispering to Zan. Falling to her knees, Anza looked up and asked, "come sit with Anza?"

Zan jogged over to the imprisoned elf-cat with his knife out, but she seemed quite focused on Anza. What was it? Why was Anza on the floor like that? Thonvar stepped over to her and knelt down as well, passing his sword off to the other human, but she merely took his hand and held it to her shoulder. They wouldn't need words, he thought, she was feeling something and he needed to feel it too. He needed...

No, they needed to see it. See what was below.

All three of them.

Seven of them... Eight... Forty-three. No, that wasn't right, they would need to bring it with. To cut it off from the corruption, to pull it out and keep it safe. When the elf-cat knelt down she took his other hand, he knew her purpose then and why she had risked so much to come to him. This wasn't greed, this wasn't thrill-seeking, no...

She looked at him and then at Anza. "Who are you two...?"

"I am Thonvar, son of Kargruuf, great-grandson of Brynjar the wight-whisperer," he answered, "this is my wife, Anza, daughter of Uzkrig, by marriage I am chief of the Kozakrim kobolds."

"Brynjar... Yes, we know of him."

"We?"

With a sigh the cat-elf looked down. "That is why I'm here. You would know it as Svalmarch, the land opposite yours across the dwarven cities, within it is the magical city of Vudravuun where Archmage Meremno is lord. I traveled from there with my assistant, Vathan, to this land in order to seek out an artifact from eons ago. Fjoar Sariksen in death guards it, a piece of the world from before... Immense magical power, a power that you cannot hope to understand."

"You wish to claim this power for yourself?"

Her eyes grew wide. "No! I was sent to Vudravuun by the city masters of Badzuhnraz to transport it away, it cannot remain here so vulnerable. I just didn't know..."

She trailed off and looked around.

"You did not know that this magic of immense power would not be coveted by the elves to the south?"

Giving him a spiteful glare she replied, "among our kind there is something of an understanding with the so-called rahmer, we've been allies for centuries. Even the Schism wasn't enough to cut off Badzuhnraz from the likes of Streydor, but," she shook her head, "that is not important. You, you are important."

"Me?" he asked, looking down at Anza. "What about me?"

"You are the new guardian, that much is clear to me. There is great magic afoot, perhaps theomancy of the highest caliber, but we all have shared the dream. This is our destiny, we absolutely cannot allow the parts to be reunited."

"Parts? Reunited?"

Standing up, the cat-elf shook her head and motioned toward the door. "We don't have much time. That door was a magical seal, the dauvic horde is coming. You know of them, correct?"

He glanced down at his shoulder plates. "I have killed several so far."

"Good, now come along."

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They had left Kix and Zan at the entrance with orders to stay put and out of sight, but Thonvar knew the wily kobolds would be picking through the corpses in no time. Reina would have likely made it back to the wagons, he oddly had faith in his new people and imagined they would be preparing a haphazard war party to save them all. Since they hadn't yet cleared the rest of the tomb it was probably a good thing that reinforcements would be on the way, no doubt others like the Espean and the vanquished elves still lurked in the forgotten halls.

Up ahead he could see the corridor opened into a large, circular chamber lined by ancient braziers that sprang to life when they grew near. One by one they erupted into flame, the room was dimly lit and it made the others draw their weapons in a fright.

Thonvar stepped forward and walked ahead despite the whispered protests.

Movement.

His blue eyes narrowed as he regarded one of the dimly lit figures with an angry scowl. A dead man, a draugr, loomed just beyond the light and watched him with hollow eyes that soon gained twin orbs of dim blue as it manifested it's true power. All tombs were built like the one they were in, the dead were not bound by the normal rules of southern crypts and the forgotten corpses along the roads and in the wilderness. No, when a nordic tomb was filled it was done so with purpose and with ancient rituals that enabled the mummified remains to rise up.

"Aye, that's--"

"Silence," Thonvar commanded with a tilted head. "We are guests here."

Around them the movement stopped, the fires grew dim and Thonvar walked forward alone to be recognized.

A draugr crept forward with loud, creaky knees that protested each papery step. His lips were gone, rotted away long ago, the nose just a pair of withered holes as the skin shrank and pulled back during his preservation. Wisps of white hair bobbed in the gentle breeze as he leaned forward, blue orbs flickering and swaying as he looked over the living warrior.

"Reach... You coe... hharr to Ranguaal, yes..."

"I am Thonvar, bastard son of Kargruuf, the current jarl of Ivarshold. These kobolds," he motioned behind himself, "are from the Kozakrim clan to the northeast. I am their chief by marriage to Anza, daughter of Uzkrig. With me is a... An elf. From Svalmarch."

"Sual...arch?" the draugr hissed, leaning over to look. "You."

Thonvar turned and looked back at the group.

Right before he gave in to speak, she stepped forward to stand next to him. "... Yes, I have come far to collect the artifact your lord keeps. We believe--"

"Your name, elf," the northman muttered.

"My name? What good is... Oh. Yes, of course, forgive my poor manners," she sighed while looking slightly embarrassed. "Terribly sorry. My name is Razalryn. I am, hm, known to the dwarves as the... Mongrel of Inzadruz."

"'Ongrel?" it wheezed, but the epithet was not amusing to the ancient corpse. "Why coe here?"

"I was in service to the city masters of Badzuhnraz, they detected... An anomaly," she mumbled, looking off to the side. "At the time it was foolishly disregarded, but astronomers sighted a fire star before it fell through the sky. This coincided with the anomalous vibration in the superliminal bond with Angura, it was determined that the two events were not a coincidence. Since we dwarven folk have little practice in the conjuration and communion with the dauvic entities of that realm, they sent an emissary to the svalmer. Me."

"So...?" the draugr hissed.

"Your lord guards over a piece of what was before, when the world was but a primordial ball, when gods, demons, and the very essences of time and space fought to create all that is. This piece, this artifact, is a literal shard of time, space, of existence itself, coalesced into a physical object. You cannot know it's power, or rather it's potential power."

"You uant this?"

"What we want is for this terrible artifact to be safe, the entire city of Badzuhnraz is in agreement that it must be moved. We had intended..." she looked at Thonvar. "This is for your lord to hear. Take me to him."

"We were guided by a dream, I believe the gods are guiding us," Thonvar added, turning to face the draugr. "I swear to you that the wind herself has whispered me along this path. Fight me if you wish, but I will see Fjoar and speak with him myself."

Ruran shifted on his feet. "Lad..."

Before Thonvar could retort the draugr put up his frail arms. "Silence!"

Everyone stopped, even if they weren't doing anything.

Obviously satisfied with their obedience, the walking corpse looked at each of them before declaring, "I take you to our king."

So they followed along, trailing behind the ancient dead as he and his peers shuffled back to their caskets.

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Walking all that way made Thonvar lose sense of time, or perhaps it was from the grandness of his surroundings as they passed through the incredible halls. Most of the temple above barely matched the incredible caves below, the bare rock was supported by giant columns of carved stone and decorated with ancient metalwork. Urns of long-forgotten dead were all around, neatly arranged on shelves, the alcoves in the walls held mummified dead that didn't bother to get up. Some of the chambers seemed to be unnaturally... lived in.

Ruran noticed too. "Look there, not a speck of dust."

Fate answered him with a reanimated corpse, female, shuffling along with her trusty broom in hand.

"Cursed to clean for an eternity, that's--"

Thonvar glared at the southerner. "There is no curse here. You wouldn't understand."

"I would," Razalryn whispered. "Your kind reveres the dead, to be chosen for eternal service is an honor unmatched."

"Yes, it is," the northman agreed. "Do the dwarves do the same?"

"No, dwarves bury their dead with gold and encased in armor. I have studied the Reach and the people within enough to understand."

Perhaps she did understand, be he didn't think she could truly feel it on a personal level. Being one of the draugur that guarded tombs, it was a sign of incredible strength and provided a link between this world and Otar's holy hall. With faith and patience one could speak to their honored ancestors, all their souls were tightly intermingled with each other and served to keep them safe in this world and the next. Some said that the southerners and nordic folk who did not bother with tombs lost their ancestors to the evil spirits, the lords of the dark realm, it put fear in most northerners to keep to tradition.

Yet the people of Rangvaal had turned their back on the old ways, they fought and died by the thousands for petty trinkets and useless grudges. There was no honor in their ways or their lives, a temple as grand as Hjallagashvall wouldn't have been abandoned by reachfolk or by the people of the fjords. How disgraceful it must have been to suffer such an embarrassment, he pitied the silent dead that did not rise to behold him or raise their swords to a brother warrior.

Perhaps it was best that way, because when they stepped through the mighty doors and looked down...

A mighty throne overlooked a pedestal swirling with magical bursts, lines of ethereal wonder snaked around it and faded into the air with gentle hisses. A well-dressed and finely armored mummy gazed down at the item and only when Thonvar stepped below did he regard the living northerner with a passing glance.

"Thonvar of Ivarshold," he growled, eyes still on the black jewel, "perhaps you did not hear the lies of the southerners, bringing an elf to me."

He did not flinch like the others, the northman merely answered, "Fjoar Sariksen, we know of your legends in the Reach."

"It has been some time since my death, fire-hair, tell me what the sons of Silelunel say of me."

"Silenunel... I only know Streydor and I imagine the knife-ears there say nothing good about you, but I have never been."

All he got in response was a deep, rumbling grunt and it made it difficult to contain his excitement. This was the legendary Fjoar Elf-Breaker before him; his mighty crown of iron and silver framed his grayish, preserved features and made the draugr look exactly like one would imagine an ancient king. Any warrior, any true son or daughter of the north, would have felt like Thonvar did in that moment.

He fell to his knee and lowered his head in respect.

"I am sorry to disturb your slumber, honored king. I came here on a journey I believe the wind guides, I know not why I have been chosen."

"Hm. Just as well, this damned rock won't stay quiet," the king muttered. "I should have known better, but that damned elf..."

"Elf?" Thonvar asked, looking up.

That time the king looked directly at the warrior. "Do you ever wonder why kings never come back from the dead? It's work. Hard work. How many years have I been wandering this tomb? Too many, that's how damned many! Damned elves... Elves, he made a fine case then and I believed him. I drank the poison, I let it kill me, and here I sit."

One of the rune stones began to glow a bright green, it would have scared the wits out of Thonvar if it hadn't of been for Anza's unexpected embrace. Out of the glow came a few points of wood, then hands, arms, a head, and her motherly torso as she pushed forward to step forward with her long and graceful legs.

"A spryggan!" gasped the cat-elf.

"Oh, it's you again," the king grumbled. "Did you send this boy to me?"

Shock painted the mongrel's face. "You?! You consort with... I'm sorry, this is incredible, I had seen pictures, but," she paused to gulp, "I need a sample."

Cocking her head, the spryggan looked at her with a dubious expression.

"No samples," Thonvar warned. "I have grown tired of not understanding any of this, all of this is getting too confusing, what is going on?"

"Yes, of course," Razalryn mumbled, her ears drooping sheepishly. "They do not give me many chances for research, you must understand."

"Our dream, why did it lead us here?" he asked, jabbing a finger at the shard. "You said I am to guard this wretched stone, why should I put my own people at risk?"

"Your kobolds? What are some kobolds to the world?" Fjoar grunted, waving his skeletal hand to pass the notion aside. "This is more than you, boy, it's more than the north."

Nodding, the spryggan motioned to Anza and looked squarely at the human chieftain. At first nothing happened, but then... Then Thonvar remembered.

He looked at Anza.

A memory of her on their first morning together, her little hands had secretly stolen trinkets and junk even while he watched her. She told him... What was that... "Husband is dummy, think no thief get. Anza got." What? Looking back up at the forest mother he shook his head, but she made him understand. His way, the way of the Reach, would keep it protected because he was an honorable and noble son of the steppes. Anza was...

Those thoughts came to words as he whispered, "... a thief, it was the way of her people, to hide, to be clever. She would make sure none would ever find it."

She smiled up at him and opened her tiny hand, a button from his vest lay in her palm.

"How else will I learn?" Thonvar remembered aloud, bringing her fingers up for a kiss. "You will teach me."

"Thonvar strong, protect," she added.

"And you," he looked at the cat-eared elf, "guided here on a mission to keep this safe, what is your role now?"

"To serve you, jarl Thonvar," the king laughed. "I won't be outdone by a tree, if a queen's blessing isn't enough then here's one from a king: if you are worthy, take this shard of before and guard it up in your mountain cave. Let your people swear to protect it, to wield it if necessary, to never let the dauvic god-king that covets it have the power to cross the realms."

With apprehension Thonvar looked at it. "Wield?"

"Look in that pouch, boy."

Pouch? What pouch?

Anza had it, she unrolled the leather flap and let the secret contents see light for the first time.

A twisted-looking metal dagger, inlaid with silver, glistened in the light from the magical wisps floating nearby. Beside it was a pendant, a triangular-shaped amulet that had the finest rune carvings he had ever seen. Each corner was cut off at a sharp angle, the equally-proportioned shape reminded him of something dwarven and yet... It was made out of stone that had grains as if it were wood. Before he could wonder how that came to be, the wooden hand of the forest queen caressed his arms.

"What is this?" he asked, looking into her pools of green.

As before she did not answer, instead she made thoughts and feelings stir in him... Of a time before. Of the time when Fear ruled the sky.

When spryggans walked the land unopposed, when dragons soared high, when kobolds were new and men were afraid, when elves were slaves to their urges and to dark gods of another realm. This was the primordial era when the artifact, his mind made the sound "Kol" for it's name, formed into being. Thonvar had to look away, he had only Anza for relief.

She looked at him and it was her memory he saw.

His figure disappearing into the night, of fear welling up in her chest, of sadness, terror, but then a loving hand comforting her in the dark. Green to green, of life to earth, their essences mingling as Anza became mistress for a time of the spryggan queen. She needed the life from another, from a male, and Anza knew where to get it.

Then he saw himself through their eyes, moving him down, to claim what he had.

"You were--"

She didn't answer. She kissed him and filled him with knowing. Anza was with him when the queen visited, she was not alone either. Another was there, one even more powerful than she was, the hooded figure... Who was he? Who was--

With a flash of effort the queen shoved him out of her mind.

"No, husband," Anza agreed as she ran her claws through his red hair. "Not for us, this ours."

He looked down at the amulet, the black material pulsed with rainbow energy, it called to him and he answered by picking it up. When it was around his neck he felt... No, he knew. He knew it was the key, born of spryggan earth magic, carried by tree-skinned druids, and passed down from mother to mother to mother to... Son.

With wide eyes he looked at the forest queen. She smiled and nodded before filling his mind with a hundred thousand flashes of a hundred thousand lives, each one going back to the beginning... His line ended with him.

No.

She put his hand on her belly.

"What makes Ivar's kin lay with anything that moves I'll never know," the draugr croaked as he stood up. "Come. Let us finish this. Claim the stone for yourself and leave before the dauvic horde knows it's gone."

"Yes... Yes, we should go," agreed the fire-haired chieftain. "So with this I can simply take it."

He didn't wait for an answer, he reached through the turbulence and took hold of the primordial piece of time and space with a firm grip.

And the world went black.