16.

  “Erak, you aren’t the best patient,” Pomp said dryly as Erak pulled himself to his feet and swung his feet over the edge. He grunted at his companion who was curled up on top of a wooden dresser. The dragon had his arms crossed over each other as the dragon watched him with judgmental eyes.

  “I’m tired of lying around.”

  “You were boiled in your own armor. No one is going to care if you rest for a few extra days,” Pomp rebutted him but Erak paid the dragon no mind. He pried open the doors of the dresser and found simple, loose, light clothing that was easy to drag over his still raw and inflamed skin.

  There were no shoes or boots for him and he walked out barefoot into the cramped halls of the dwarven stronghold. Cool air rushed over him from vents drilled carefully in the ceiling, letting a constant stream of fresh air come into the stone halls. Erak had to keep his head bowed as he walked because of how low the ceiling was as he followed the echoing sounds of people talking.

  Pomp came slithering out behind him, the click of his talons on the polished stone loud in the tight confines. Erak appreciated the workmanship of the halls, the smooth mirror finish under his feet, the seamless way that they had been carved through the mountain. No extra frills or extravagance done, just simple clean work done to a high standard.

  “Victoria is going to be mad that you got out of bed without the healer checking you over,” Pomp said, still trying to convince Erak to go back and lay down. Erak just waved a hand to dismiss the concerns. Victoria had known him her entire life, she knew how he was.

  Erak followed the noise until he entered a long hall filled with wooden tables and heaped with steaming food. The smells made his stomach lurch and growl loud enough that it attracted the attention of the inhabitants of the central table.

  Queen Victoria sat at the head and as their eyes met she slowly shook her head. Sammus and his twin, Ilyria. The two of them were eating from large tin platters, heaped with thick cuts of meat and vegetables. Illyria’s sword was positioned next to her knee and her free hand was only inches from the pommel.

  The two professors were on the other side of the table and old professor Rutledge and Julius sat shoulder to shoulder. Rutledge was peering at him with her normal piercing gaze, but Julius smiled brightly at him. Further down the table, close to the end, sat a compact figure in a military uniform.

  “Erak!” Nevia shouted and broke the stillness of the room. She bounded up and crossed the distance in a few rapid strides. Erak smiled as well as his stiff face would allow and was unsurprised when she hauled back and punched him in the arm. The blow had enough force to sting but the hug erased whatever pain had come with that blow. Her arms couldn’t wrap around his sides but she squeezed hard enough that it caused his still healing wounds to feel uncomfortable.

  “Erak says hello and that it’s good to see you,” Pomp said as stood by Erak’s shins. For once the dragon didn’t scale up and down Erak, taking care of his sensitive and injured skin.

  Nevia let go of him and backed up and slapped his shoulder with a single hand and Erak kept his face blank even as pain rippled through his body. Victoria coughed twice lightly and all eyes turned to the Queen. Lady Torpin stood by Victoria’s side and had a deep scowl etched on her face.

  “Erak, my sworn shield, why are you out of your sickbed?” Victoria asked innocently. Pomp stayed silent and jumped easily up onto the bench next to Julius. He shoved his maw toward the plate of food and Julius handed the little dragon a thick slab of roasted meat.

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  “I needed to stretch my legs,” Erak signed to her as he walked to take his place behind her other shoulder.

  “Stop being foolish and sit down and eat. You don’t even have your weapons and armor,” Victoria said, shooing the professors to scoot further down.

  “When have I ever needed to have weapons to fulfill my duties?” Erak signed, but he sat regardless. Rutledge handed him an empty plate and Erak dutifully started to fill it with the roasted meats and vegetables. Nevia had sat back down but her eyes were locked on him and the head of the table.

  “Erak it’s good to see you on your feet,” Sammus said. The elfin man smiled widely as he spoke. Illyria had ripped open a soft roll and stuffed it with meat and gravy and had it wedged into her mouth as she waved at him half-heartedly.

  “Your impression of soft shell seafood platter was inspired,” Rutledge said and Julius coughed as the Queen narrowed her eyes at the old woman. Erak laughed as the old crone rasped a chuckle.

  “You said there was an armorer?” Erak signed with one hand as he used the other to shovel food into his mouth.

  “Brother, you must try to be civilized at times. Didn’t even ask about our trip or the others who traveled here. Only about your armor,” Victoria teased as she picked up her fork again and began eating again.

  “Niceties can wait. We are at war,” Erak signed. Rutledge grunted in agreement while Sammus nodded his head.

  “You are correct. They call him Snowbeard. Dwarves do not live quite as long as our elvish friends, but he is approaching their years. He came here to die and the arrival of this world has given him a new lease on life. He’s been at his forge every moment of every day we’ve been here,” Torpin supplied while Victoria ate.

  “You said earlier my armor was destroyed?”

  “Yes. Snowbeard took it and looked it over before saying it was beyond salvageable. He said that you can come talk to him when you are rested and are ready to talk about it.”

  “I will go there now,” Erak signed and started to rise. Rutledge’s small hand grabbed his wrist with an iron grip and he froze. He could rip his way free without problem, but it would be rude and the old scholar scared a part of him. There was something strange that lurked behind the facade she presented.

  “Your wounds won’t heal themselves. Eat. Snowbeard will be waiting for you when you finish eating.” Erak lowered himself back down and ate with both hands to clear the plate in only a few minutes while Veronica rolled her eyes at him.

  “I can see you’re not willing to wait. Come then, let us go see the master craftsman,” Veronica said as she set her fork down and rose smoothly. Erak burst up and out of the corner of his eye he watched Nevia, Rutledge and Sammus get up and follow behind them.

  The far side of the hall had a second doorway that they all walked through with Victoria in the lead. Runes glowed in the dim light and there was a pressure as they traveled that grew stronger the further they went.

  “I have begun to believe that the old tales were right and not our ancestors simply being ignorant of the world. There was an otherworldly power here, something similar to Essence. These runes are moving power deeper into the hold, toward the forges,” Rutledge said.

  “A pity no Practitioner made it back here, it would be interesting to see how they have changed. I would like to see an old Lodge book,” Sammus said. Practitioners were an old farce that had clung to the Imperial courts for centuries. They swore they could change and shape the world, manipulate it to their will. Erak had always dismissed them for being hoaxes, but now that the world had changed, he had to think it was maybe presumptuous.

  The ring of hammer on anvil began to echo down the halls and Erak’s heart began to beat in excitement. Veronica tilted her head and laughed, a full laugh from deep in her gut.

  “You are single minded,” she said with a laugh. If Erak had eyebrows he would have raised them. She could hear his heartbeat?

  Heat washed down the hall and Erak froze for a moment as the memories of the lake came back to him. The cold slither of fear was foreign to him and he rebelled at the emotion before he stamped down on it and kept walking into the master’s forge.