Soderberg
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Chapter 42
🕑 Added 2025-01-27 09:16:38 +0000 UTCWith how narrow the ladder tunnel was, Vidar managed to catch his feet on a few rungs on the way down, even if his feet kept slipping off them. It allowed him to crash down onto the ground below at a survivable speed.
Vidar rolled out of the way as heavy rocks, almost the size of his head, hurtled down.
“Ow.”
He felt around his head for injuries. Pain flared, but his fingers did not come away with blood. The kenaz rune on his forehead had fallen off at some point during the battle, but he carried more of them.
He lay there on his back, breathing and trying to calm down, unsure if he should laugh for being alive or cry because his arrow had failed. As a result of his failure, so many were dead or dying. In the battle against the dragon, Halmstadt’s forces had lost.
Vidar wondered what was happening above. The earth did not quake. That must mean the dragon wasn’t digging into the ground. Was it attacking the keep? He needed to find another way up there. He needed to see.
He found some last remnant of strength, standing on shaking knees with his injured hand propped up against the wall for support.
A thought struck him and Vidar concentrated on the wall. And just like that, he found another source of essence. It shimmered in his mind, and Vidar pushed the image away. Dragon’s essence. Having just survived a dragon’s attack, he had no wish to experiment and possibly end up dead due to some ancient dead-and-buried dragon.
It did, however, confirm his theory. The entire underground was powered by the dead dragon. Those lines going into the walls must carry essence into a vast network of underground tunnels and chambers. It boggled the mind to think of who might’ve created the system, so Vidar focused on hurrying forward instead. There were more pressing issues. He needed to get to the other exit he knew of, the one near the jail. From there, he could see.
Upon reaching that other ladder, he climbed, forcing himself up the rungs and then out the hatch to a cacophony of crying, screaming, and the scent of burning buildings. Wide-eyed, he looked up toward the keep.
The dragon was not there.
Terrified, he turned around in a circle, searching for it in the sky above, not finding as much as a hint.
He grabbed a nearby passerby, a soot-covered young man in an apron carrying a bucket of water.
“Where is it? Where is the dragon?” Vidar asked, shouting at the terrified youth.
“Gone!”
“Gone?”
“It flew off!”
Vidar thanked him and only then remembered to shut the exit behind him and lock the hatch. A few people saw him as they ran past this way and that, but in the chaos, it didn’t matter.
The news gave some strength to his limbs, and Vidar hurried along the street and then up the steps leading to the keep. A mass of people were milling about, wanting to get in, but the gate was locked shut. With no way inside, Vidar followed the wall to what’d been their field of battle.
“So many,” he breathed, watching the still-smoldering ballistae, the blackened corpses of hundreds of soldiers, and those mercifully torn apart by either claw, teeth, or spiked tail. A faster death, that. A better death.
Walking through the carnage, Vidar spotted the dragon’s teeth blown apart by the explosion, along with puddles of blood near the entrance he’d fled down through. That way was now blocked to him, filled in with dirt and debris. He picked up the three teeth he found. Not as big as the spike, but not far off. They’d work perfectly for arrows, except the arrow didn’t work. Sure, they penetrated the hide a little, but he’d been so sure it would do more than that. Much more. Finding the spear inside that corpse hinted as much. It should’ve been enough.
“It should’ve worked,” Vidar muttered to himself. “Why didn’t it work?”
Steps behind him made Vidar turn. The lower part of Jarl’s cloak was torn and burned, his face covered in soot and blood. When Jarl reached a hand out, Vidar flinched back, thinking the soldier would strike him down, but he held the hand there, waiting.
Hesitantly, Vidar reached out and grasped it.
“The dragon left. It flew away, crying out in pain thanks to your contribution, Vidar. Thank you, and thank you for saving my life.”
“Thank you for saving mine,” Vidar replied, clearing his throat. “But it will return, won’t it?”
Jarl squeezed Vidar’s hand, then let go. “Most likely.”
“So what do we do? My arrow didn’t work.”
“Mine didn’t work. Yours did. It penetrated the dragon’s scales. And the use of that heat rune was inspired, even if it might only work the once.”
“Why only once?” Vidar asked.
“We believe the dragon has some rudimentary intelligence. It is capable of learning. We already saw it in this second skirmish, how it focused its fire on the ballistae. To win next time, we’ll need to overwhelm it with arrows capable of hurting it. Perhaps spears as well.”
Vidar looked down at the long teeth in his hand, almost the length of his forearm.
“That’s what the tip was made out of?” Jarl asked.
Jarl held out his hand and Vidar placed the teeth in it, only then realizing he’d been holding them with his injured hand. It didn’t hurt much anymore, or perhaps he was just numb.
“It is. Dragon bone. Teeth should work just as well.”
“We’ll need more. That’ll be your final contribution to our efforts, for the sake of Halmstadt and its citizens.”
Vidar felt numb. “You don’t want me there the next time?”
“The steward is forcing the rune scribes’ guild down my throat, I’m afraid. Sorry to say, but the design of this algiz rune is already in their hands. They must’ve scoured this plaza and found one as soon as the dragon left.”
“Or one of your soldiers showed theirs,” Vidar said, immediately regretting the comment, surrounded by courageous men and women who’d just paid with their lives to defend the city. “Sorry.”
“Perhaps it was a soldier,” Jarl allowed. “The ‘how’ no longer matters. You’ve done what was asked of you and your pardon will be signed as soon as you deliver the necessary dragon bones. I won’t ask where you got them, but you should be aware, questions are being raised.”
The mention of a pardon barely registered. Vidar had failed, no matter what Jarl said. He’d missed something, and he hated being wrong. Still, he had to push through his doubts.
“What of my friends and I? The rune scribes’ guild writ?”
“That is between you and them. Neither I, the steward, or even the Crown can force one of the guilds to our will. The separation between ruler, religion, and guild is a pillar in our society, and that will not crumble for you.”
“Great,” Vidar muttered. “Can I at least enter the keep to go collect them?”
Jarl shook his head sadly. “The steward ordered we keep them isolated in that room until you’ve provided the items we need.”
Vidar’s jaw tightened. “I’d like to see this steward one day.”
“I am certain you do not,” Jarl said. “Thank you again. Know that I owe you a debt. Ask for me once you have the bones.”
They clasped hands again and then Jarl walked off. Even if he hadn’t outright said it, they were holding Vidar’s friends as hostages. That familiar sense of anger bubbled up inside him, but he pushed it away.
Doing what they asked would free his friends and grant him that pardon. The rune scribes’ guild and thieves’ guild were problems without solutions both, but that was a later problem to tackle. First, the bones.
Walking through the streets of Halmstadt, with burning buildings all around him, his failure nagged at him. There was something he was missing. Something obvious.
The whole area around the entrance he intended to use was still burning, so Vidar had to choose a different way down into the dark.
Climbing down was just as arduous as last time. While he’d fashioned himself another forehead light, the wound in his hand slowed him down.
The dragon’s skeleton was just where he’d left it, the creepy eyes just as creepy as last time, and the same eerie air in the vast chamber still lingered. That was something Vidar did not wish to do: linger. He broke off each and every bone spike on the dragon’s tail. All in all, he came away with twenty-three spikes in a bag he carried slung over one shoulder. They were heavy, but he had no intention of coming back several times for this task. Vidar just wanted to be done with it.
On his way back, he thought he heard a faraway sound, and not the grinding noise of the door beyond the dragon. This was more like the muted footfall of someone running in the opposite direction, but surely he was imagining things. Other than himself, only Alvarn had any reason to be down there, and only he carried a key to reach the underground tunnels. More keys surely existed, and Jarl did mention how different factions might start keeping a close eye on his activities, but surely they were all busy tending to the fires.
Still, he walked carefully through the tunnels, keeping his light low and his full attention on listening for any more sounds. He heard none. By the time he emerged onto street level again, it was already dark. The blasted winter darkness was getting on his nerves. How were people supposed to live like this?
The screams and wails of the citizens of Halmstadt made him keep his grumbling to a minimum. Keeping his wits about him, Vidar made his way back to the keep. Once or twice, he thought he saw movement from dark shapes in the corner of his eye, but the shadows were always gone when he turned his head to get a proper look. With the raging fires, shadows danced tall in the moonlight.
Terrified of being hunted by thieves or even the rune scribes’ guild, Vidar kept rejuvenating his broad array of algiz runes. If someone attacked him from behind, he wanted to be protected.
Hurrying through the city, jumping at every sound and movement, was exhausting business, and by the time he made it back to the keep, he was spent both physically and mentally, his nerves frayed.
Most of the crowd was gone, and none remained by the side door Vidar used. He banged on the door with the back of his fist, then kicked at it a few times when no one answered. A metal slot in the middle of the door opened and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared out at him.
“I’m here to see Jarl!” Vidar shouted, already worked up from waiting.
“Jarl who?” a voice muffled by the door asked.
Vidar frowned. “I don’t know. The leader! Marshal, I think his title was.”
“Oh,” the voice said. “Doubt he’ll want to see you, squirt.”
“Just go ask him! Tell Jarl Vidar is here to see him.”
Not long thereafter, the door opened and Siv, Erik, and Sven spilled out. Behind them, Jarl emerged.
“You brought what we requested, I take it?”
Vidar handed over the bag. “I did. This means we’re free to go?”
Jarl grabbed the bag and handed it to an aide, and received a rolled-up piece of paper in exchange, which he gave Vidar. “Your pardon, as promised. From this point on, you are banned from the steward’s keep and the grounds surrounding it.”
“I’m what?”
“Afraid so. It is out of my hands. Stay safe out there and take care of your friends. Don’t let me catch you here again, or there will be dire consequences.”
“But why?”
“It is the steward’s decision. I can’t speak as to his motivation,” he said out loud, then leaned in to whisper, “He’s doing his best to spin the last battle so you’re somehow to blame for all those deaths. I did my best to dissuade him, but he’s afraid the king will have his head when he hears of how this has been handled. The guards have all been instructed to throw you in jail if you show your face, so just do yourself the service of keeping some distance to the keep, yes?”
“Fine,” Vidar said, shoulders slumping. If they didn’t want his help anymore, he wasn’t going to force himself on them. He couldn’t even summon one lick of anger at the coward ruling Halmstadt.
The door firmly shut, and Vidar turned to the others. “I’m sorry.”
“’Bout what?” Erik asked. “They were never going to let us stay in there.”
Siv nodded and then handed out sowilo runes she’d stuffed into her pockets. All three of them wore new clothes, Vidar realized. They looked much like his own, good quality but unassuming.
“Nice, huh?” Sven asked, twirling around.
“Very nice,” Vidar said, walking off. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” both boys asked in unison.
“We’re going to dig up some silver so we can find a new place to stay. The thieves’ guild will be watching our old room no matter how the scuffle with Ida’s people went. Can’t go back there.”
“The church is always free,” Erik said, looking out across the vast city. “They let people sleep in there the last time this happened.”
Sven gently slapped the back of Erik’s head. “Are you stupid or something? Didn’t you hear a bunch of those who slept in there disappeared?”
“We’re not going to the church,” Vidar said absentmindedly.
Collecting all the items he’d hidden around Halmstadt took a few hours. By then, all were tired enough to fall asleep on their feet. One of the more expensive inns in the city was one of the few left with rooms to rent, and Vidar didn’t even have the energy to haggle over the price. All he wanted was to sleep and get away from the aftermath of the dragon’s second attack on Halmstadt.
But sleep would not come. Vidar lay awake in a small, windowless room he shared with the two knuckleheads. Siv was in a smaller room still, but at least she got it to herself. Erik and Sven snored happily while he stared up at the ceiling, his body tense and his mind racing with the events of the day and the days leading up to it.
Thinking back on all the new and strange situations slowly but surely allowed him to relax. Vidar’s eyelids began drooping and his mind soon grew blissfully blank. Turning to snatch one of the pillows from Erik, a twinge of pain bloomed in the palm of his hand. Again, he’d forgotten about the burned-in rune in the palm of his hand.
Vidar furrowed his brow and blinked twice and brought up his hand to look at it, slowly coming to the realization of what a fool he’d been. That was it! His hand! With a kenaz rune for light, he removed the now soiled bandages to reveal it. The styrka rune. It’d been staring him in the face all this time. That was what’d been missing from the arrow. That’s what actually felled the long-dead dragon. Not the arrow itself. No, not at all. That was just what allowed the runes to penetrate the scales and reach inside, where the runes could activate.
“The runes!” Vidar shouted, punching Erik on the shoulder, ignoring the new pain in his hand. “It’s the runes, you crazy bastards! Wake up!”
“Wha—?” Sven asked, still half-asleep.
“Go back to sleep!” Vidar ordered, his eyes not leaving the mark in his palm.
All those styrka runes around the dragon were filled with strange and foreign essence, drawn through the spear itself. The reason for its disintegration was still a mystery, but that didn’t matter, not for this. Not for killing that bastard who’d burned most of Vidar’s city.
“I’m going out!” he said, getting dressed in a hurry.
Neither of the boys woke to see him go.
