Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1) Read online

  Brandt's words were heavy on his mind, a weight he could almost tangibly feel as he walked back to his house. He had already packed his most valuable possessions and had them sitting in a haversack near his door, next to the longsword that the elves had left with him when he had been sent to the North. He latched the door behind himself and looked them over. A folded piece of parchment on the ground in front of the door caught his eye, and he picked it up, unfolding it.

  The rigid, angular script of the northern kingdoms was scrawled in a rough note.

  “Not a man of the north. Bushwalker get out.”

  He stared at the note for a few moments, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the corner.

  Brandt was right. He would leave as soon as night was deep enough.

  Chapter Two

  7th Waning Flower Moon, Year 4368

  Midsummer's Day was about a week past, and the sun beat down on the mountains with a relentless indifference. Elias wiped the sweat from his brow, flinging the droplets to the ground, watching them evaporate almost instantly. He could feel the heat of the gravel under his feet, even through the thick leather soles of his boots.

  Pulling the stopper from his waterskin, the young elf took a deep drink of the warm water and made a face. There was a creek nearby, and he'd be walking along it if it wasn't infinitely harder to traverse than the road. He hitched his pack up higher onto his shoulders, and cut off the road, into the shade of the trees.

  It wasn't much cooler here, where the ground sloped downwards towards the floor of the ravine. Even the cover that the fir and pines gave wasn't enough to cut the summer heat away entirely, though it was a bit of a respite from the baking he was getting from the direct sun while he was on the road.

  Stepping carefully on the moss covered boulders at the edge of the stream, he lowered himself to a small gravel bed that sloped into a wide pool. Pouring out the last of his warm water, he refilled it with fresh, cold water from the creek. He took another long drink and topped his waterskin off again.

  The cold water was just far too inviting. He'd been on the road in the searing heat every day for nearly a fortnight and had at another two days ahead of him before he got out of the mountains and reached the coast. He dropped his pack on the shore, leaning his sword and bow against the boulder he had climbed down, and stripped off his shirt. Kicking off his boots and undoing his trousers, he stretched as he nerved himself up before wading into the water.

  Elias was not disappointed, catching his breath as the cold water reached his thighs, then his stomach. He pushed forward into the water, causing a small wave to roll across the otherwise still surface of the pool. He ducked his head under, completely submerging himself and pushing off of the rocky bottom, floating through the water.

  His head broke the surface near the center, and he paddled across to the other side. He wasn't a strong swimmer, but he knew enough to keep himself from drowning. The deeper water was much cooler than the surface, and he shivered slightly but smiled nonetheless.

  “Oh, that's good,” he murmured to himself, since there was nobody else around. “I needed that.” The sound of his own voice was strange; it was the only voice he'd heard since he had left Pine River two days before. His feet touched the sandy shore on the other side, and he pushed back to the middle of the pool.

  He wasn't in any sort of rush. He had brought enough food to keep him fed for a fortnight if he hunted while he traveled. Deer and turkeys were plentiful in these mountains, as were game fowl. He was by no means a master archer, but he could hunt, and well. He floated on his back in the cool water, beams of sunlight breaking through the canopy of willows and dogwoods.

  Nobody had followed him when he left Brynjar's hold that night. He had traveled south at a pretty quick pace, making good headway, for three days before allowing himself to slow down. His feet weren't used to the long walking, and he was giving himself blisters with the pace he was keeping.

  He sat up most nights, thinking about Brynjar, Brandt, and the people he knew back at the foot of Mt Stromgard. He wondered if Brandt had successfully pushed back the usurpers and if there had been a battle. He had heard no news in Pine River, but that was unsurprising. The politics of the Northmen were of little concern to the southerners, and he was the first traveler to come through from the north since Brynjar's death.

  There had been men and elves there, and the odd dwarf, but there had been little in the way of hospitality. To the elves he was a freak, to the men he was a giant, and to the dwarves, well, he was an elf. He had made his time there very short. If this was the welcome he could expect outside of the Northlands, then he had his work cut out for him.

  He hauled himself up onto the sandy shore with a sigh and froze.

  There were footprints in the sand. While travelers weren't unheard of along this road, he hadn't seen any since he had left Pine River two days ago, and these were fairly fresh, maybe a day old at the oldest. The marks were large, as large as his own boots, and deep; they weren't made by bare feet, no, these were made with steel clad boot. Steel boots meant armor. Armor meant soldiers or raiders.

  Elias pushed back into the water, heading back to his clothes and pack, his mind churning over the prints in the sand. Men from the north seldom came this far south; they viewed the southerners as weak and worth little beyond trade. Would the nobles challenging Brandt really send riders after him? And if so, how had he missed them?

  The only other thing that could have made a footprint that large would be an orc. The men and elves of this region were smaller than the Northmen, and so made smaller tracks, not to mention the fact that he hadn't seen a single armored human since leaving the North.

  It was probably nothing, he told himself. He wasn't the only person to use this road, and the heat was oppressive to everyone. Someone else likely just needed water or a quick swim. Nothing to get worked up over... and yet he could still feel his heart pounding. Who would wear heavy armor in this heat?

  He used his shirt to dry himself and quickly dressed, leaving his shirt to dry on top of his pack as he walked. He adjusted the leather straps that held his belongings in place, shouldered his haversack, and headed back to the road. On the way, he searched for signs that someone had passed that way recently.

  Now that he was looking, the landscape spoke to him; he read it like an open book. Close to the water, bracken ferns grew in the lee of stones and fallen logs, thick and lush in the shade of the forest. Near the water's edge, the fir and cedar trees were dotted with willows and dogwoods, short and gnarled, debris from last winter's floods collected and entangled at the base of their trunks. A few tall cottonwoods towered over all but the fir trees, which dominated the landscape.

  Pines and spruce were scattered amongst them, while the odd manzanita bush grew in patches of sunlight left when a fallen tree tore a hole in the canopy, fighting for space with scrub oaks and dogwood. The bracken fern and dogwood lost the battle for ground as he climbed up the side of the ravine towards the road, replaced by sword ferns and small black oak trees, twisted and stunted under the overbearing evergreens.

  Elias registered most of this almost subconsciously as he looked for signs of passage. Snapped twigs, scuffed moss, bent fronds, any of these could mean that someone had come through here. Beyond the occasional game trail, though, there was nothing. No more footprints, no signs that anyone other than him had come this way recently.

  Once Elias made it back to the road, he paused. He could head back to Pine River and wait for a caravan, or he could continue on to Fairhaven, at the coast, and get there in a day and a half. Looking back and forth for a moment, he paused, listening to the mountains.

  There was no wind at all right now, and the forest was still. A few birds chirped, the cicadas made their continuous buzzing, but nothing else. He shook his head. He was being foolish. There was no reason he should be wary of travelers along a road; where else were they supposed to travel? Not to mention the fact that he hadn't received the warmest
of welcomes when he had passed through the last town... apparently, they were as fond of giant elves as his own people were. No need to go back there.

  Nonetheless, he moved his longsword to his belt at his left hip, and stepped a little quicker, keeping watch as he traveled.

  The sun was almost touching the western mountaintops when he decided to make camp for the night. He stowed his pack out of sight of the road and strung his bow. He had enough food to last him to the coast, but he wanted some fresh meat.

  The grouse were fat and lazy in the summer heat, but the cool of the evening was starting to rouse them. It wasn't long before he shot one in a clearing. The grass was matted down in many spots, evidence of a deer herd that had bedded there recently, which made for an excellent, clear shot. He field dressed the bird and returned to the road.

  The creek had meandered closer to the road as he traveled and was not far off. A wide patch of gravel and sand lay between the treeline and the water, perfect for a campsite. It had been used as such many a time before, as was evidenced by the existing stone rings with charred wood in the centers. It was important to keep the fire contained, lest a stray spark or ember drift into the forest; the forest was dry, and a single spark could potentially start a wildfire that would blaze out of control for weeks. Many of the larger trees bore the burns of previous such fires but stood tall and firm nonetheless.

  Elias was in the midst of setting steel to flint, when he heard a footstep behind him. He startled and turned. How had someone been able to get so close to him without him hearing them?

  A gigantic figure stood not ten feet away, covered head to toe in blackened plate armor. On the breastplate, there was a large insignia, an eight-pointed star set in a ring, with a red stone in the center. The figure had an enormous, two-handed sword in one hand, almost as long as he was tall. And the figure was tall, as tall as Elias was himself.

  Elias stumbled back, upsetting his tinder pile. “Who are you?” he stammered, scrambling to his feet.

  “Who I am is of no concern to you, Elias of Stromgard.”

  The figure's voice was young, deep, like Elias's own. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, still hanging at his left hip. “How do you know my name? Who are you, and what do you want?”

  The armored figure stepped forward, causing Elias to draw his blade. “My name would bring you no comfort, nor would it change what is about to happen. I am here for you, Elias. You have something that I want, and nothing can stop me from taking it from you.” The figure put his other hand on the hilt of his sword. “I want your life. Prepare yourself.”

  Elias held his sword in one hand, staring at the knight that was facing him. He had never seen him before in his life, and had no idea what he was talking about; frankly, he wasn't interested in finding out. He took off at a dead run, bolting towards the road. The knight stood there for a moment, then took off after him.

  Elias reached the road just before something struck him in the back, and knocked the wind out of him. He tumbled to the ground, his sword falling out of his grasp, the skin on his back feeling like it had been frozen and burned at the same time. He wheezed, rolling to a crouch as the knight approached.

  “You run like a coward. At least stand and face me. Die fighting, like your blood deserves.”

  Elias scrambled over, grabbing his sword and jumping to his feet. He spun to face the knight just in time to block a hard overhand blow. The power behind the swing was enough to make his hand go numb, and he reeled from the strike. He had just enough time to parry another strike at his stomach and square off against the knight again. He gritted his teeth, his heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears.

  The armored figure circled slowly, keeping his sword between himself and Elias. “Good. Get that blood pumping. Get angry!”

  Elias lunged forward, throwing a flurry of strikes at the knight, each one parried effortlessly by the enormous blade. He couldn't get close enough to strike without the tip of the greatsword seeking his flesh, and that made him keep his distance. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he drew back, his longsword ready to parry.

  The knight reached up to his helmet and pushed the visor up. Pale white skin, almost ashen in its lack of color, greeted Elias, along with two silvery gray eyes, the irises like mercury around dull red pupils. They glowed like low embers, and Elias got the feeling that his assailant stared through him, into his very being.

  Black flame started to spread from the knight's feet across the gravel, licking upward as if it had a mind of its own, creeping towards Elias as the knight stepped towards him again. The flame climbed up the knight's legs as he beckoned to Elias with his free hand.

  “Enough of this. The time comes. Prepare yourself, little lamb, that you may fulfill my purpose.”

  The black flame surged towards Elias, and he scrambled back away from it, almost tripping over a stone on the road. He kept his balance, but the black fire reached him. Instead of heat, Elias felt searing cold, burning him just as surely as fire would have.

  “Get away from me,” he yelled, slapping and kicking at the flames. “Leave me alone! I don't have anything for you!”

  The knight reached out, as if gripping something, and Elias felt something grab him by the neck. He was lifted slightly off the ground and dragged forward, his boots scraping against the gravel. He clawed at his neck, trying to make whatever held him let go, but the only purchase his fingers found was his own skin. He was pulled slowly closer to the knight's sword, which was pointed at his navel.

  Suddenly, an axe crashed down on the knight's sword, knocking it awry, and Elias was released. He slumped to the ground, coughing and choking. He looked up, his eyes bleary, to see a number of men, maybe a dozen, wearing various kinds of armor, either running up the road towards them or surrounding the knight and himself.

  One of the newcomers, an older man with messy black hair and an unkempt beard, both shot through with gray, squared off with the knight. “Easy there, big boy, just put down your sword and we'll have us a chat. No reason for anyone to die now.”

  The armored figure let out a barely human snarl and lunged at Elias. The older man slapped his sword aside, but only just. The edge grazed Elias's shoulder as he dove out of the way. There was the sound of metal clashing, then an explosion behind him, and black flame washed over Elias, stinging his skin with the burning cold. He rolled to face where the knight had gone, bringing his sword to bear, but the armored figure was nowhere to be seen.

  He staggered to his feet, stepping back away from the men who were similarly recovering from the blast. He shook his head, clearing the remaining haze from his eyes. He stood up completely just as several of the men regained their wits and turned to face him.

  “By the gods, that's the biggest damn elf I've ever seen,” one of the men whispered, a thick built, redheaded man in leather armor that was studded with metal rivets. He was the one who had swung the axe a moment before.

  Elias kept his sword at the ready, between himself and the newcomers. “Who are you?” He felt like a fool, repeating himself over and over.

  The older man stepped forward, lowering his sword “My name is Jonas. This fine fellow here is Martin, my second, and these men you see behind me are members of my crew. And you are?”

  Elias kept his sword between himself and the men, still uneasy. The knight could return at any moment. “My name is Elias. Elias of Stromgard.”

  Jonas nodded. “Well met, Elias. Now, what say we sheathe our swords and talk, because I have never seen any shit like that before.”

  Elias sheathed his sword as Jonas did his own. “That makes two of us.”

  Martin lowered his axe, and the rest of the men sheathed their swords. The tension in the air noticeably lessened.

  “Well then,” Jonas said, sitting on a fallen log at the side of the road. “Let's get that cut looked at.” He beckoned to one of his crew, a younger man with limp black hair and a slight frame. “Geoff! Bring the bandages. This fellow is in need of some attenti
on. The rest of you lot spread out, see if you can find where that big metal bastard went.“

  Geoff walked over, carrying a haversack on one shoulder.

  “Elias, this is my surgeon and priest, Geoff. Geoff, this is Elias. See to his shoulder, would you?”

  The young man looked up at Elias, who towered over him. He raised an eyebrow. “I think it would be a bit easier if you were to sit down.”

  “Oh, right. My apologies.” Elias sat down on the log near Jonas as the rest of the mercenary group spread out, checking the area. Jonas sat on the log, dropping his own pack to the ground in front of him. Removing a pipe from a pouch, he began scraping it out with a knife.

  Geoff worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning the wound with fresh water from the creek and a fragrant oil from a vial that smelled strongly of lavender. Elias braced himself, steeling his resolve to not move or flinch. He looked up to meet Jonas's eyes as Geoff put in the first stitch.

  Jonas struck a match and held it to the freshly packed pipe. “So, Elias of Stromgard. What brings you through these woods on this fine summer's day, aside from trying to get yourself killed by a giant, magic knight?“

  “Just traveling to the coast.”

  “Joining family in Silva Aestas?”

  Elias shook his head, catching a disapproving frown from Geoff. “No. I am coming from the North.” He gestured to his giant form, keeping his shoulder still. “Most elves aren't frightfully accepting of those who are as big as I am. I've lived with the Northmen since I was young.”

  Jonas puffed on his pipe. “Aye, you're a right big bastard, I'll give you that. Still, I didn't fancy the elves to throw one of theirs out into the world of us mere mortals.”

  Elias flinched as Geoff put in the second stitch. “The men of the north were kind enough to take me in, but my time with them is done. Maybe there's work on the coast. That's where I'm going.“

  Jonas puffed smoke out of his nostrils. “So who was that, with the armor and the bad attitude?”