The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) (31 page)

“Perhaps I am not the one who is to complete the debt. It is possible that this mysterious woman will do that. Or possibly one of you will do it. The ways of the gods do not always make sense to us. We do not see the world in its totality as they do.” Morengoth paused to fill his cup and continued. “Many things of magic and power have passed through this forest in three centuries, but it was the yellow gem that caught and held my attention. Surely there are very few things more powerful than the accouterments of an elemental sorcerer,” he said, mixing in a bit of flattery that was part of the game of coercion. He smiled inwardly, when he saw it had the desired effect on Raga. Eris, however, was not to be swayed. He was a type that played by a completely different set of rules, his own.

“What if we found a way to steal back that gem and ride hard away from here? Ancient promises have nothing to do with either of us. The past is finished, the future is unknown, and I live only for the day that comes before me. I’m not about to put myself anywhere close to someone else’s debt to a god—real or otherwise, especially when I don’t particularly believe in any of them,” Eris said. His stubbornness broke through the veneer of the healing waters.

The Dragon King shifted in his chair and looked something less than friendly. The green combs on his neck flared slightly.

“Eris, you are walking on dangerous ground,”
Raga chastised him through the mind bond
. “The man was good enough to save your life and call you friend. You owe him a little courtesy at the least.”

“Look at our reality.”
Eris glanced angrily at Raga. “
What good is the red stone without the yellow? The game is over and we’ve lost. Can a sorcerer ask a god for the return of a gift any more than a mortal man?”

“You must not presume to know everything as it suits you, Eris,” Morengoth said with unnerving perceptiveness. “As equally as you have no faith, so equally do others have it. Who is to say that your life was, or was not, predestined to touch mine? Or that the gods, perhaps in your case, the mysteries of fate, do not manipulate us for their own amusement? Or, as I like to think, for our better ends. By not attempting to finish your quest, you will be defeated. Twice my hand will defeat you, because I will not return the gem and I will force my will upon you so that you will seek the singing woman. As I have already warned Raga, you are still my prisoners, but I resist forcing my hand against you. I would much rather speak with the cordiality of friendship.”

Eris’ jaw tightened and he stood and looked away from Morengoth. “And if we can’t find this woman who sings, then what?” He paced the room’s length and tension rose between himself and the Dragon King. He didn’t relish it in the way he did between himself and Raga. In part, he surmised, it was because Raga embodied all those things he most detested, while Morengoth reminded him of honor-sworn oaths he had forged in better days.

Morengoth raised a hand to his chin as he considered Eris’ question. It was entirely possible the singing voice was sound without form, another trial for him to endure on his journey of debt. Eris was sure to have grasped the idea that this might be the situation, as he seemed possessed of a shrewd and cunning nature. Now that the effect of the healing spring was wearing off, Morengoth more clearly saw Eris’ personality and decided that treating him as a friend, as a man of honor, could be advantageous. Considering the bold attack in the dungeon, the Dragon King realized the danger of underestimating and making an enemy of him.

On the other hand, attempting to be king over an empty kingdom did make it seem bold on his part to force Eris into something he had no desire to do. Then again, he was the last king of a lost and much-maligned people and that alone deserved a certain amount of respect.

“Then let me propose this,” Morengoth decided. “If, in one week of diligent searching, you are unable to find any trace of this woman, or any living being, then you will be free to go.”

“With the stone?” Raga asked with hope.

“With the stone,” Morengoth said and looked with purpose at Eris. “My warriors made pledges of honor to me as king before setting out on tasks I gave them. Even though they sometimes returned empty handed, they nevertheless swore to do their utmost to achieve the goal. As you have the bearing of a warrior no less than they did, I would ask that you make this pledge to me. Not as a king, but as a friend.”

Eris hesitated and then looked straight into Morengoth's face. Despite the coldness of his reptilian eyes and the unsettling shimmer of blue-green scales, he felt warmth, an attempt to bridge their differences. It would be a show of good faith and a way to smooth over the unwise words he had spoken earlier. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raga fidgeting uneasily.

“As a friend, then,” Eris agreed. “What is it you would have me pledge?”

Morengoth stood and motioned for Eris to come closer.

“Simply this. For one week you will give your whole attention to the task at hand. To preserve your honor, and that of your friend, you will do anything and everything in your power to succeed. However, as my kingdom has suffered much, I would ask that if conflict arises with some unforeseen force, you kill outright. No torture, no brutality. Will you promise this to one who would call you friend?” Morengoth asked and held out his hand.

Eris nodded to Morengoth. “Your desire fills my thoughts and strengthens the might of my hands. The honor of service to you, my Lord Morengoth, High King of the Tamori, is the sacred trust of my heart,” he said. He blinked quickly, drew in a sharp breath and suddenly felt as if an unseen force had just lifted from his mind. He wondered how those words, strange and unknown, had come unbidden from his lips.

Raga, unused to hearing such words from Eris, looked quickly from one to the other. If Eris looked stunned, Morengoth looked stricken. Panic crept in and he wondered what it was in Eris’ words that caused such offense. Raga hurried to Eris. “Why did you give such a frothy speech? A simple yes would have sufficed.”

“On the contrary, Raga,” Morengoth said, his voice raspy. He took a step forward and clasped Eris’ upper arms in his strong grip. “Every word was spoken correctly. Yes, most eloquently and correctly, and as a Tamori warrior would have said them three hundred years ago.”

“Tamori? That’s the name of your people?” Raga asked.

Morengoth nodded, but didn’t take his gaze from Eris, who suddenly felt the words should have been spoken on bended knee with a sword offered up in service.

“How did you know?” Raga asked.

“I didn’t,” Eris answered, but knew something sorcerous, godly, or otherwise, had directed his tongue. Though he knew tales of the Moren Forest, the name ‘Tamori’ he didn't know.

Eris and the Dragon King stared at each other a moment longer. Then Morengoth’s face broke into a broad smile and he gave Eris’ arms a mighty squeeze.

“Perhaps this is a sign that my time of despair is at an end. That it will be you, Eris, who brings an end to my loneliness. Think how wonderful it will be to fill these empty halls with the songs of my people,” Morengoth said. He pushed Eris down on the fire pit wall and pulled Raga’s chair closer. He handed them their cups and refilled them.

Eris suddenly felt very sure he would find what he was being sent to retrieve. He felt just as certain that he would somehow bring fulfillment to the remaining debt of the promise that something greater than life itself would be given, whatever that might be. He didn’t regard that thought with any sense of accomplishment or cheer, only that the prospect was likely to mean trouble.

Through the mind link Raga caught bits and pieces of those unhappy, almost angry thoughts, and with only a modest amount of trouble, relieved Eris of his cup lest he drink himself to death’s door once more.

“I hope you both slept well and are rested,” Morengoth said as he greeted them in the stables the following morning. Eris had already saddled the horses and was beginning to strap on his weapons, which the Dragon King had been kind enough to give back.

Morengoth’s excitement was hardly concealed and great anticipation shone in his eyes.

“My Lord,” Eris said, feeling edgy in the presence of the man’s over-abundant good humor, “it would be wise to remember that we may find nothing. If that should happen, your disappointment will be twice that of your unbounded enthusiasm.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Raga said. “There is nothing wrong with a smile and a happy demeanor. Eris has long forgotten both.”

“So had I until the two of you arrived, but all things in their proper time, Raga-Tor. You know that better than any of us here, or do you still have trouble with patience?” Morengoth asked in a half-teasing way, but Raga understood that he referred to some rather bad behavior on his part that was legend in many lands.

“Compared to this one, my patience is boundless,” Raga answered with a nod to Eris.

Morengoth chuckled.

“Well, this morning my patience is not what it should be and I'm anxious for the days to pass quickly. If you're ready, then I have something that might prove useful as well as warm,” he said. He turned and opened a storage bin next to where the tanners once worked.

As Morengoth bent over, Eris caught sight of a sword’s sheath sticking out beneath the hem of his cloak. It hadn’t been visible until that moment. The Dragon King was indeed a complex man, he thought. He would not offend his ‘prisoners’ by openly wearing his sword, when he proclaimed the desire for friendship. Neither was he foolish enough to give them back weapons and remain weaponless. Eris could respect a man such as this.

“Here,” Morengoth said and pulled two, white, fur cloaks from the bin. “They won’t do much to hide your horses, but on foot they should provide you with a bit of cover now that the snow has come. And they should give you some protection from the cold, or storm should one blow up. I noticed that your packs contained little to guard against this frigid weather.”

Raga accepted one for courtesy. Even with the majority of his power faded beyond his ability to control, keeping warm was as natural to him as breathing. Eris, though reared in the cold lands to the north, had spent too much time recently in warmer climes and was glad for the extra cover.

“If you are out there for a few days, there is a cave about two hundred paces from the bridge where the forest road fords a swift-flowing stream. It has an eastern exposure that will warm you in the morning and give you protection from most storms. There should be firewood stacked near the back. And, here is extra wine for you and oats for the beasts,” Morengoth said as he hung wineskins and oat bags from the saddles’ horns.

“If she takes to singing again this afternoon, then we’ll be back by nightfall,” Eris said and mounted his horse.

“For one who may be hunting a spirit, you are suddenly quite overcome by an abundance of confidence,” Morengoth commented, brow raised.

“Arrogance is more like it,” Raga grunted as he heaved his girth into the saddle. The leather saddle creaked and the horse stamped the ground adjusting to the weight. “Just because his father was huntsman to a king, he thinks that gives him the right to say he knows how to hunt.”

Morengoth looked puzzled, then realized Raga was teasing. He saw tiny flames of mischief dance in the sorcerer’s eyes. He reached over to give Eris’ mount a pat on the neck.

“Be gone, sorcerer,” he laughed, “and good hunting to you, Eris. If you return with the moon, then surely we shall all feast until the sun rises.”

The clouds had cleared off during the night leaving an azure sky to greet the morning. The snow sparkled in its purity and water droplets hanging from branches and pine needles shimmered as thousands of gemstones. The horses, rested and ready for exercise, pranced and bobbed their heads as great, white billows of frosty breath puffed from their velvety noses.

The crisp, fresh air revived Eris as well. It cleared away the last effects of the healing spring and the idea of being on a hunt stirred his senses. His eyes and ears collected information; a sound that didn’t fit, tracks of animals. He felt the excitement of his youth, when he and his father rode to the first hunt after the new snow fell. It had been nearly a year since he had been hunting for something other than Raga-Tor’s gems and that put him in good spirits. Not even the improbability of ever regaining the yellow gem dampened his soaring optimism.

He reached behind into his pack and pulled out a coil of thin rope and cut it into more manageable lengths in the event his quarry turned out to be less than cooperative. He re-coiled the lengths he had cut and secured them to his belt. The remainder he gave to Raga.

“How much hunting have you done?” Eris asked amiably.

“Not much. I prefer a little spell to make feasts appear. Much easier and cleaner that way. And, not so cold,” Raga answered with a sudden shiver.

Eris raised an eyebrow and looked at Raga with curiosity, and a little concern.

“Why do you shiver? I thought it was your nature to be warm?”

“It is. Back in the stables I was nice and warm, but now I feel a chill. Perhaps my power is less than I thought. To be honest, the thought of it dissipating and flowing out of my control frightens me a little. For as long as I can remember, I’ve never heard of an elemental sorcerer losing all power, but…” Raga answered.