They ventured into the cave with Azzeal leading the way. The crunch of old bones beneath their feet told them that something had lived here in recent years. There was no scent of death, nor was there that of rotten or fresh meat. The cave smelled of fungus and limestone. Its walls sparkled against the torchlight, being made mostly of quartz.
“There is a large deposit of iron in these hills and surrounding land. During the time that I stayed here there were many mines, worked by the Skomm—castaways sent to the center village to live a life of servitude at the hands of cruel masters.”
Krentz had read as much in the books that Azzeal had written, but she enjoyed hearing it firsthand from the author. Such an overwhelming sense of history and timeless toil washed over her that she became choked up momentarily.
“The iron they used mostly for weapons. The barbarians are nearly as strong as the dwarves you know.”
The cave opened up into a wider cavern then, and Azzeal swept his torch from left to right, checking for possible inhabitants. As the torchlight passed over the rock, Krentz caught fleeting glimpses of large murals painted on every surface. To the right a natural spring trickled into a basin that could have only been crafted by magic…long ago. She knew without asking that Azzeal had been its creator.
“Here, you can sit if you like,” said Azzeal, indicating a stone table built into an alcove at the back of the cave. Similarly, a bench and two chairs had been crafted into the stone.
Krentz sat down and watched the elf go about searching for something along the back wall. He ran his hand along it carefully, pressing one long ear against the stone. Five slow paces later he stopped and grinned. He put down the torch and retrieved a small iron spade from his pack. His hand trailed a line down the stone and he stuck the spade in a crack. After working it back and forth for some time, he caught a hold and leveraged the spade in deeper, simultaneously forcing a small slab out. Azzeal took the brick out and tossed it to the side. Excitedly, he returned to investigate the space.
Krentz got up to better see what he was doing.
He withdrew a long bundle wrapped in leather and reverently blew the dust off.
“What is it?” Krentz asked.
“I had nearly forgotten about this one,” he said, more to himself than to Krentz. He looked to her now and rose, gesturing her over to the table.
He laid down the bundle and began to unwrap it. There were many laces and layers, but by the general shape of the bundle, Krentz assumed it to be a long, curved blade or a bow.
“Aside from a passion for history, I have for many centuries enjoyed crafting weapons,” said Azzeal, unwrapping the last of it.
A bow as white as sun-bleached bone was laid bare before them. The craftsmanship was exquisite; there were no sharp edges, but rather smooth and angular. Elven runes inlaid with tiny gems had been forged into the bow, which Krentz realized was indeed bone, likely dragon horn.
Azzeal retrieved a long thin bowstring as well. “This is made from the vocal cord of a dragon. You may have guessed that the bow is dragon horn. It was fashioned from one piece, which, while the dragon was alive, grew between the nostrils of the beast. I originally made it as a gift for the then chief of Dragon Tribe. But upon meeting him, I saw him to be a vile and offensive man. So I brought it back here and stashed it away for posterity.”
He turned to Krentz. “And here we are.”
A quiver of arrows came out of the cloth as well, which Azzeal set on the floor. He then strung the bow and tested its flexibility.
“Just like the day I made it,” he said with a smile.
“It is an incredible piece.”
“Aennak, it is named. I would like you to have it,” said Azzeal, handing it to her.
“What? Why would you give me such an exquisite gift?”
“Consider it an offering of trade, if you like. As I have said, I am a historian above all other things. I am interested in chronicling what has happened here in Agora these last few years. Your story is quite interesting. You are, after all, Eadon’s daughter. There are many rumors about you throughout Elladrindellia. I would give you a chance to tell your story as it should be told.”
Krentz considered Aennak once more and nodded. “I accept your offer. Thank you.”
“I thank
you
, Lady Krentz.”
From his pack Azzeal took a bottle of wine bound in leather straps. He found two mugs as well and poured them both a cup.
“Let us drink to newfound friendship,” said Azzeal, raising his glass.
Krentz tapped his rim with hers. “To newfound friendship.”
They both drained their glasses, and Krentz took up the bow and quiver. “Now let’s go and try out this bow!”
They finished off his bottle and took turns practicing with the bow, and she told her story all the while. When Krentz got to the part of her meeting Dirk on the highway leading from Kell-Torey, she summoned him from the spirit world and together they told the tale. Long into the night they took turns telling the story. Azzeal became so interested in Dirk’s side that he asked him to back up and tell him more.
The next morning, Gretzen awoke Krentz with a stick to the ribs. “Summon the Blackthorn.”
With that she slipped out of the tent without another word. Krentz plopped her head back on her lumpy pillow and gave a sigh. She hadn’t seen much light coming from outside, and the sky beyond the smoke hole in the top of the tent remained dark, with but a light shade of blue.
“You want to stay out while Dirk takes his shift?” she asked Chief, who lay curled up at the foot of the bed.
Dirk had insisted that one of them remain with her at all times, and so he and the wolf hadn’t seen much of each other as of late. The mention of being in the physical realm at the same time as Dirk roused the spirit wolf. He changed into a streaking blue light and solidified above her, licking her face.
“Alright, alright,” she said with a laugh. “Let me summon him then.”
Chief obediently sat on his haunches and licked his chops, faintly whining.
“Dirk Blackthorn, come to me,” said Krentz, holding out the figurine.
Dirk joined them in the tent and was instantly pounced on by Chief. They flew around each other and solidified, wrestling in the middle of the tent.
“Gretzen wants us,” Krentz told them both as she dressed. “Quit your fooling around.”
Outside they found Gretzen sitting by a fire. The village was quiet. In the east the first hints of dawn were just beginning to mingle with the darkness.
Azzeal sat on a log across the fire from Gretzen, and a sleepy-looking Raene was just emerging from her little hut as well. Gretzen sat with her back to Dirk and Krentz, yet she waved them over all the same.
Standing back from the fire were six barbarian women and one child—her apprentices. Gretzen didn’t often have her underlings gathered together, and Dirk and Krentz knew that something magical was about to happen. They both sat on a log to the right of the witch, and Raene sat to the left.
“I has been working on a spell for you all. One that will create weapons for you to fight the undead.” Gretzen tossed a handful of spice into the fire and it flared blue and yellow. “Begin the ritual.”
The seven apprentice witches began to chant, and the fire grew higher and brighter still.
“Give to me your weapons of choice, all but Dirk.”
Raene, Azzeal, Krentz, and Dirk exchanged glances. Azzeal gave to her his curved elven sword, and Raene handed over her long pointed mace. Krentz began to hand over her sword as well, but on second thought, she passed the barbarian witch her new bow, Aennak.
Gretzen gathered the weapons and put them on the flat stone in front of her and sprinkled them with a sparkling dust. Some of it she threw in the fire. It flared once more, and the chanting of the women grew stronger. From the fire, Gretzen pulled a long iron rod with a glowing shape at the end. Chanting with the others, she brought it down on the weapons one after another and branded them with the strange rune. Another handful of dust into the fire had it roaring bright blue. Slowly, the runes on the weapons began to glow the same shade.
Gretzen handed the weapons to Dirk one after another. “You are to bring these with you into the spirit realm. You will be summoned back soon. Dismiss him,” she told Krentz.
Krentz held out the figurine and looked to Dirk, who nodded. “Back to the spirit realm, Dirk Blackthorn,” she said.
Dirk and the weapons turned to radiant blue fog and were swallowed up by the figurine. After many tense minutes, during which Gretzen said not a word, she finally told Krentz to summon him back.
When he returned, he did so with three glowing weapons. Gretzen took them from him one by one and laid them on the stone before her, where they began to dim.
“
Krellr Brandr
they are called. Spirit blades. Before I return them to you, I must offer warning. Do not underestimate their power, or use it with ill intent. They are a gift to you because I have deemed you all worthy to wield them. Do not prove me wrong. Use them as they were intended and they shall stay with you. Even if taken away, they will soon return to your hand. Abuse their purpose and they will find their way from you and into the hands of another.”
She eyed them all in turn before taking up Azzeal’s blade. “The sword will remain as it was until the words are spoken. Speak the words and it will become a spirit blade. In this form, it is not like it was. In this form it will pass through earth, water, wood and air without effecting them. It will pass through flesh and bone, and while it will not draw blood, it will cut through the spirit and very soul of your enemy.”
Gretzen handed him the blade, and he took it with great reverence. “Thank you, Gretzen.”
She offered him a nod and took up the mace, eyeing Raene with all seriousness. “Your mace will be very much the same. Rather than slice, however, it will shatter the soul of your enemy.”
Raene accepted the spirit mace with shaking hands. “Thank ye, witch Gretzen.”
Lastly Gretzen took up the bow Aennak and regarded Krentz slyly.
“When Azzeal told me of his intentions to give to you the dragon bow, I began a special spell. When first you began to offer your blade, I was saddened. But then you handed me the bow.” She grinned. “It is a very clever spell. In its material form the bow will require arrows, but in spirit form you shall require neither quiver nor arrows. For every time you pull back on the dragon string, an arrow shall form from her song.”
Gretzen finally handed her the bow. “Now speak the words. I am anxious to see if it even works.”
Krentz stood up and held out the bow in her left hand. “
Krellr Brandr
.”
Aennak flared with silver light and hummed with power in Krentz’s hand. Tears welled in her eyes at the display. Slowly she pulled back on the bowstring. A sound emitted from the string, a beautiful note sung by a female dragon.
Krentz jumped, startled, and released the string.
“Fear not, child,” said Gretzen, whose eyes were wide with excitement. “Let her sing!”
Krentz aimed for the heavens and pulled the string back fluidly. The dragon song began low, but the farther back she pulled the string, the higher-pitched the song became. A glowing silver arrow appeared, and when Krentz finally released the string, the song became a dragon’s roar. The arrow streaked through the sky and continued on, splitting the clouds and disappearing into the heavens.
”Holy shite!” said Raene.
“Holy shite indeed,” said Azzeal.
They spoke the words as well, and the sword and mace flared to life, becoming translucent; the weapons were surrounded by a faint blue flame.
“Do not forget that in this form, they will not stop oncoming weapons,” said Gretzen. “And you needn’t speak the command out loud. Your weapons are now melded to your spirits and will obey your unspoken command. Use them wisely.”
“Thank you, Gretzen,” said Azzeal with a small bow.
Raene murmured a similar reply, staring wild-eyed at the translucent mace.
“How can we ever repay all that you have done for us?” Krentz asked.
“Fight to keep darkness at bay, and you will owe me nothing,” said Gretzen.
Gretzen dismissed Azzeal and Raene, saying that she needed to speak with Dirk and Krentz privately. When they had left, she took the figurine of Aurora from her pocket.
“Aurora Snowfell, I summon thee.”
The figurine glowed brightly, and Aurora was soon standing before her master. She quickly scanned the village for trouble and, finding none, regarded Gretzen.
“Do you remember what happened?” Gretzen asked.
“Yes. Each time I am summoned, the fog of confusion lessens.”
“You are doing well,” said Dirk. “It took me a long time to get used to the transitions.”
Gretzen was overcome by a coughing fit, and she bent at the waist, looking ashen.
“Are you alright?” Krentz asked.
“It is nothing. I am tired from the ritual. That is all. Do not waist your worry on me,” said Gretzen. She drank from her water skin and took up a stick. With it, she drew a rune in the sand and addressed Dirk and Aurora. “This is a
Krellr Turr
—spirit shackle, in the common tongue. If used correctly, and with a strong force of will, you will be able to bind spirits to you from the realm of shadow and bring them forth into our world when you are summoned.”