I hope you've all had a fantastic holiday period, and that you've enjoyed Gidwyn's tale. The full text will be posted next week. Until then!
The passageway was dark and Gidwyn could hear the faint drip-drip of moisture from somewhere above his head.
Cheiftain Ozytala seemed to have disappeared into thin air – Or walked into the damned stone, more like, Gidwyn thought with a dark growl. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel the thick leathers he wore around his chest shifting with the movement.
There was no light in the dark passage. None of the Yaghu had lit any torches or braziers along its length, and Gidwyn could barely see a thing. Shadows pressed in around him, and the faint light of the cavern behind him was all he could use to see the faint outline of the walls either side of where he walked. He held a Yaghu spear ahead of him, feeling in the shadows for any walls, doors, or traps that the Yaghu may have left for him.
He turned a corner and suddenly saw a faint light flickering in the distance. It was weak – likely from a single candle or a dying torch. But it was light.
Gidwyn hurried towards it as fast as he dared, his face wet with fearful sweat and sticky with dried blood. His big blonde beard was matted and filthy, and his hands shook as he gripped the spear he had taken.
Be brave, he told himself. Think o’ her. I canne leave her down here. I cannae-…
A scream echoed through the passageway.
‘Kiryae!’ Gidwyn roared, all his terror forgotten.
‘Father!’
‘Kiryae!’
Gidwyn set off at a wild charge towards the faint source of light in the distance, his feet thudding on the stone floor as he went. ‘I’m comin’!’ he cried. ‘I’m comin’, Kiryae! I’m comin’!’
Within moments the light broke over him and Gidwyn found himself in a dark, featureless chamber lit only by a single torch abandoned on the uneven stone floor. Only shadows greeted him – no Kiryae, no Ozytala, only stillness.
‘Wha’…?’ Gidwyn breathed, looking into the shadows. ‘It cannae be…’
There was nothing – only shadows and bare, featureless stone. Gidwyn lifted his spear in one hand and looked left and right, then took Saark’s dagger from where he had tucked it into his belt and held it in his other fist. ‘Where are ye?’ he said in a trembling whisper. ‘I know yer ‘ere somewhere. Let go o’ my daughter!’
Something beneath Gidwyn’s right foot shifted.
He looked down at the floor just in time to see the rock beneath him open up. Firelight dazzled his eyes for a moment, and then he fell.
Gidwyn cried out in shock and surprise as he tumbled downwards, spinning in the air for a few moments before landing hard on another stone floor. Saark’s dagger shot from his fist and his spear clattered away from him. For a moment he lay groaning on cold stone as his senses returned to him.
He was in another chamber, almost identical to the one above, only this one was well-lit by a large brazier to one side. Similar featureless walls stared down at Gidwyn as he writhed on the floor for a moment, struggling to get up – but this time, four eyes also looked down on him.
‘Father!’
Gidwyn looked up, seizing his spear from where he had dropped it and scrambled to his feet. Kiryae stood at the back of the chamber, her back pressed against the stone wall behind her. Her hair was matted and dirty and her face flecked with filth and streaked with tears. Her lips hung open and her eyes shone in the firelight – but as far as Gidwyn could tell, she was unharmed.
As was Chieftain Ozytala, who stood between them.
The Yaghu woman was of a height with Gidwyn – small, perhaps, at least compared with the males that Gidwyn had seen, but she radiated power and malice. Each flick of her bony fingers or tap of her bauble-draped staff could send stone shooting towards Gidwyn or Kiryae. Yet none came.
So Gidwyn planted his feet firmly apart and affixed Ozytala with a fierce stare and clutched his spear. ‘Let her go,’ he said, his voice no longer trembling with fear – instead, quaking with rage.
The Yaghu woman smirked. ‘No.’
Gidwyn ground his teeth. ‘Ye want nothin’ from us,’ he said, his voice deep and furious. ‘We’re ‘umble folk an’-…’
‘Oh, I’m not going to argue for a moment that you’re a simple little creature, Snow-Dwarf,’ Ozytala said, her lips peeling further back from her fanged teeth in amusement. ‘You’re most definitely a humble thing, bumbling your way through the mountains and staggering here. But the she-Elf child,’ Ozytala said with a long backwards look at where Kiryae cowered, ‘is far from simple.’
‘Leave ‘er alone!’ Gidwyn yelled, his voice echoing around the chamber. ‘She’s nowt to ye!’
‘And she’s nothing to your people either,’ Ozytala hissed. ‘You think the Halflings of the Great Mountains – or anywhere else in the world – care about her? You think anyone cares about her? No. No one cares more than I do.’
Gidwyn shook with rage. ‘How dare ye,’ he said. ‘I am ‘er father an’-…’
‘No you aren’t,’ Ozytala said. ‘Her father was killed a decade ago when Saark – the fool – tried to take the she-Elf child as she and her family tried to cross the mountains. If it hadn’t been for that terrible snowstorm, he would have succeeded.’ Cheiftain Ozytala sucked air through her sharp teeth with a long, horrid hisssss. ‘So long I’ve looked for one such as her. So long I’ve waited.’
‘Well, ye’ll ‘ave t’ wait a little longer,’ Gidwyn snarled, ‘because she’s comin’ wit’ me.’
Ozytala laughed. ‘What, back to the land of the Dwarves and the Gnomes? The underground kingdoms and empires of the Halflings? No, she’d be safer here with me.’
Gidwyn scoffed. ‘Nonsense,’ he snarled. ‘Ye dragged her here for whatever it is yer plannin’, an’-…’
‘You were betrayed,’ Chieftain Ozytala said.
The words hung in the air between Gidwyn and Ozytala for a moment. The Dwarf’s eyes narrowed. ‘Betrayed?’ he said quietly. ‘Wha’ d’ye mean?’
The Yaghu chieftain’s mouth widened into a hideous leer. ‘One of your own,’ she said. ‘One of your own gave me the Elf-child.’
Gidwyn’s fist tightened around the spear he held. ‘Liar,’ he said.
‘I do not lie,’ the chieftain said. ‘And you know of whom I speak.’
Ramscoldt.
Gidwyn gritted his teeth. ‘Shut up,’ he said, ‘an’ give me back my daughter.’
‘He was quick to strike a bargain,’ Ozytala said. ‘He came to me, you know; he said how much he hated you, how much he hated the she-Elf child, how she should be hurled back to wherever it was she came from. He wanted us to take her, to dash her head against the cliffs, to leave you all dead. But,’ Oytala said, turning to look at Kiryae, ‘he doesn’t know what you are, does he?’ She raised a hand and touched one of her soft cheeks with a long, talon-like fingernail.
Kiryae whimpered and tried to shrink further back into the rock.
Gidwyn snarled and stepped forwards, but as he did Ozytala raised her staff threateningly. ‘I think not,’ she said, not taking her eyes of Kiryae. ‘You won’t have her again. She has something I want. I just have to work out how to take it. And besides,’ Ozytala turned and looked back at Gidwyn, ‘the Gnome trader – Ramscoldt, I believe his name was – is right. She’s not a Halfling and she never will be. She’ll never be wanted. She’ll never be welcome.’
‘Shut yer twisted mouth,’ Gidwyn snarled. ‘She belongs, an’ she belongs wit’ me. She is my daughter, and I love ‘er-…’
‘Do you?’ Chieftain Ozytala said. ‘Do you truly? You care so much for her, yet you know nothing of her – of the power that courses through her body, that has wrapped itself around her soul.’
Gidwyn lifted his gaze from the Yaghu chieftain to where Kiryae stood. ‘It doesnae matter t’ me,’ the Dwarf said. ‘She’s my daughter, an’ I love ‘er.’
‘She is a sage,’ Ozytala hissed. ‘Can your simple little mind comprehend what that means? She has a gift, an exceedingly rare gift. The arcana that flows through her lets her reach out and control beasts!’ She turned to where Kiryae stood, her back pressed against the wall her face streaked with tears. ‘Such a gift – one I could sorely use. Think, I could raise an army of obsydioths, I could march them wherever I wanted. I could crush every Dwarf-realm, slaughter every single Halfling, and claim all their lands as my own.’
Ozytala’s face twitched into a sadistic leer. ‘Then, when I have done so, I can take to the surface. I can drive the Men from their fields and the Elves from their forests, a horde of beasts at my back. I can shatter the walls of their cities and dominate them all. I would be a god.’ The Yaghu’s face twisted into a sudden look of frustration. ‘If only I could find way,’ the Yaghu reached out a hand toward Kiryae, who flinched as if she had been struck, ‘to take her power from her.’
Gidwyn took a step forwards and lifted his spear. ‘Ye willnae touch her!’ he snarled. ‘Ye willnae lay another foul finger on her, ye monster!’
Chieftain Ozytala hissed and turned to face Gidwyn, her miscoloured eyes narrow. ‘You saw her with the obsydioth,’ she snarled. ‘You think such power should lie in the hands of a child?!’
Gidwyn’s eyes narrowed and he barred his teeth. ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ he said. ‘But it should never be in the hands o’ one such as ye!’
With a cry, Gidwyn charged forwards, rapidly closing the gap between himself and Chieftain Ozytala. He knew he would never reach her in time, that some magic-warped shard of stone would burst from the rock at his feet and skewer him through the stomach before he was anywhere near her.
But he had to try.
For Kiryae.
Ozytala’s hand moved.
Gidwyn felt the rock at his feet shift. The Dwarf drew back his arm as far as he could and hurled the spear with all his might, just as he felt a huge hand of rock reach up towards him and grab him around the middle.
The spear seemed to hang in the air between Gidwyn and the Yaghu as it span towards her, soaring through the shadows of the dark chamber. Its bloody tip glinted in the faint light as it flew towards Chieftain Ozytala.
And straight past her.
Gidwyn would have cried out in fury if he could, but the arm of rock had closed around him, holding him in place, pinning his arms to his sides and squeezing the air from him. He could not breathe, and he watched on in horror as the spear clattered uselessly to the floor behind Ozytala.
The Yaghu chieftain took a step towards where Gidwyn stood, held in place by her stone-twisting magic. She let out a small laugh. ‘A worthy effort,’ she said in a hiss. ‘But you shall watch as I take her power from her – or, at least, try to.’
Gidwyn fought and writhed against the impossible grip of the stone tendril, trying to breathe. ‘I’ll…stop….ye…’ he managed to gasp. ‘I’ll…I’ll…’
Chieftain Ozytala’s laugh was shrill and grating. ‘You shall be doing nothing of the sort,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere, in fact-…’
The Yaghu chieftain’s words were cut short by a vicious crack. She staggered forwards, her staff falling from her hands as she clutched her head.
‘Get away from him!’ Kiryae screeched, raising the rock she held in her fist again and bringing it down on Ozytala’s head again. ‘Get away! Get away!’
She struck again and again, forcing Chieftain Ozytala to the floor. Kiryae fell atop her, straddling her and pinning her down with her free hand. Her hair fell around her face as she struck again and again and again, the Yaghu chieftain too surprised and disoriented to fight back.
The magic that held the rock around Gidwyn flickered and weakened, the rock shifting and sliding back into its former position. Gidwyn suddenly found himself free to move and hauled himself clear of the shifting stone. He ran to where Kiryae was hunched over the Yaghu woman, striking her again and again and again with the rock. Her hands and arms were blue with blood, her face was splattered with gore and ran with tears. ‘Leave us alone!’ she howled. ‘Leave us alone!’
Gidwyn could see Ozytala was dead. Her arms were no longer raised over her head in an attempt to defend herself, and her skull moved in ways no bone should with each blow Kiryae struck. The thick blue blood that poured from her face obscured all her features – save her long, sharp teeth.
‘Kiryae!’ Gidwyn cried as he ran towards the she-Elf.
Kiryae dropped the bloody rock and staggered to her feet, advancing towards Gidwyn, her face wet with blue blood and tears. ‘Father!’ she shrieked through her tears.
Gidwyn opened his arms and Kiryae collapsed onto him, her body rocking and convulsing uncontrollably as she howled tears into his shoulder. Slowly, Gidwyn lowered himself to the floor and sat with his back against the wall as Kiryae sobbed into him. He squeezed her to him and buried his face into her hair, shaking with his own sobs.
‘I thought…’ Kiryae managed to choke after a while, ‘I thought you…you wouldn’t come…’
Gidwyn squeezed Kiryae tight. ‘Never,’ he breathed, his voice trembling. ‘I’d never leave ye. Never.’
‘But I-…’
‘I dinnae care,’ Gidwyn said. ‘I dinnae care ‘bout buts.’
Kiryae lifted her huge, shining eyes to Gidwyn. ‘Mister Ramscoldt, he said that…that because I’m not your real daughter you’d leave me,’ Kiryae sobbed. ‘They said that you’d leave, like my real parents…like…’
‘Now ye listen t’ me,’ Gidwyn said, lifting Kiryae’s tear-streaked face to his. ‘When I found ye that night, alone in the snow, lost on the mountain, I took ye in ‘cos I couldnae leave ye. I couldnae abandon ye to die in the snow – what kinda man would tha’ make me? No, I took ye in, ‘cos ye deserved the chance. Ye deserved a fair shot at the life ye’d been born intae.’
Gidwyn cupped Kiryae’s face in his hands and looked hard into her eyes. ‘We cannae choose the family to which we are born, an’ we cannae choose the path tha’ fate sets us upon – but we can fight to forge the bonds tha’ we make with others. What we lack in blood ‘tween us, we make up for a thousandfold in the love we share.’
Kiryae buried her face into
Gidwyn’s beard and sobbed until she could cry no more. Gidwyn simply settled
back into the shadows that embraced them and held Kiryae to his chest.
Daughter. He thought. My
daughter.
*
Karveth and Synera lay where they always did, in their usual spots by the fire-pit, but the space where Coren would have been remained empty and bare. It was as if neither wolf-dog were willing to move into the gap the other had left; as if they were leaving his space out of respect for him.
‘I’m glad all worked out, though,’ Galahad said from where he sat on the other side of the fire pit. ‘Fer better or worse.’
Gidwyn nodded. ‘It ain’t settled, though, is it.’
Galahad sighed and shook his head. ‘Nay.’
The name hung unspoken between the two Dwarf-men, a presence in the room as cold as the faint draft hissing under the heavy front door.
Ramscoldt.
Galahad looked at the stump where his lower-left arm had been, then to his side where the heavy spiked shield that he strapped around the limb lay. ‘I brought an axe,’ he said, ‘if ye want it.’
Gidwyn shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something else.’
The two brothers sat in silence for a time until the door to the stone home opened. Cold air blew into the building as Eoina and Kiryae stepped in, wrapped in their thick furs and heavy cloaks. Both carried bundles of firewood in their arms and wore smiles on their faces.
‘Hello, boys,’ Eoina said with a wide grin. Her cheeks were ruddy with the cold. ‘All well?’
Gidwyn nodded and managed a smile.
It had been several months since Kiryae had been taken, and as the snows of winter had passed and the bright sunlight of spring had lit the snows of the Great Mountains, she seemed to have forgotten the worst of the harrowing events. Though she had wept for most of the journey home, once she was back in the thickly-walled house she had grown up in, Kiryae seemed to begin to recover. The dogs loved her as ever, and the goats remained drawn to her. Gidwyn knew little of what it meant to be a sage, but Kiryae’s strange talents seemed to go some way to explaining why the animals seemed to adore being around her so much.
And in truth, Gidwyn did not care. She was his daughter, and he loved her no matter what.
What he did care about, though, was closing the chapter.
Kiryae carefully placed her bundle of firewood down by the door, next to where Eoina left hers. She spoke to Galahad, her beloved uncle, for a few moments, though Gidwyn was not listening. His mind was elsewhere.
When Eoina placed a hand on his shoulder, he came back to reality.
He looked into the eyes of his beloved wife and managed another smile, though it was thin. She made no move to rebuke him for his absent-mindedness, nor did she try to and drag him into the conversation Kiryae and Galahad were sharing. She knew what was going on inside Gidwyn’s head.
She understood.
For an hour or so, the wind howled outside and the snow fell as it always did. Inside Gidwyn, Eoina and Kiryae’s home, it was warm and safe. At some point, a meal appeared – a hotpot of greatgoat meat and tough vegetables brought from the market in Sky’s Anvil a few days before. Gidwyn was sure it tasted brilliant, but was too unfocused to enjoy it.
Ramscoldt, he thought.
Just as the meal was nearing its end, a noise from outside the house drew Gidwyn’s eyes up from the fire-pit in the centre of the home and towards the door. It was a slow, rumbling sound – that of a cart being dragged through the snow.
Gidwyn looked from the door to Kiryae, who had not heard the sound. Still she spoke to Galahad, asking him to tell yet another of his many war-stories. Her eyes were bright and all her attention was on her uncle.
Good, Gidwyn thought.
He looked to Eoina, who met his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Eoina nodded and got to her feet.
The Dwarf-woman set aside the small bowl which held her serving of near-finished hotpot and crossed to the heavy door to the home. Quietly, she reached for the heavy bolt and drew it back, then opened the door a crack.
She peered out of the narrow opening. ‘It’s him.’
Gidwyn nodded and set his bowl aside. ‘Alrigh’.’ He looked across the fire to where Galahad sat.
His brother had stopped mid-sentence and nodded once. Beside him, Kiryae looked confused.
‘Kiryae,’ Gidwyn said, ‘will ye go an’ help yer ma wit’ the tidyin’ fer jus’ a moment?’
Kiryae looked up from her dinner. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Is everything alright?’
Gidwyn nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said with a smile. ‘Uncle Galahad and I are jus’ gonna ‘ave a word with our visitors.’
Kiryae’s eyes widened. ‘Visitors?’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Who is it?’
Gidwyn swallowed. He couldn’t lie to Kiryae. He could not look into her brilliant eyes and keep anything from her – he loved her too much.
‘No-one, sweetheart,’ Eoina said, stepping away from the door with a wide grin. ‘Jus’ some travellers goin’ t’ the peaks. We’re havin’ a quiet night wit’ family tonight, not openin’ our door to any ol’ folk that come through.’
Kiryae nodded. The answer seemed to satisfy her. ‘Okay,’ she said with a small smile and got to her feet. As soon as she turned her back, Galahad stood up and deftly strapped his spiked shield onto his stub of forearm.
Gidwyn crossed to the door and placed his hand on the bolt, Synera and Karveth at his side. The huge dogs seemed to sense something was wrong – Synera raised her hackles and Karveth lowered his head and barred his teeth. Gidwyn simply hoped Kiryae would not notice.
‘Alrigh'?’ Galahad said as he arrived beside Gidwyn, hand on the axe he had tucked into his belt.
Gidwyn nodded. ‘Aye.’
He took from beside the door a long, heavy spear with a shimmering, leaf-bladed head attached to its end. He hefted it over his shoulder and pulled the door open, holding it for his brother.
Galahad stepped out, Synera and Karveth following him. Gidwyn could see past them a cart pulled by two greatgoats, half a dozen armed Dwarves around it, and a small figure sitting on the driver’s shelf at the front.
Gidwyn felt a dangerous, cold anger spread through him.
He looked back over his shoulder at where Kiryae and Eoina stood, gathering up the bowls and spoons from dinner. The warm light from the fire fell on their faces, and the rage inside Gidwyn hardened – tempered by love.
Anything for you, he thought. For both o’ ye.
Kiryae looked up and met his eyes, a small, innocent smile on her lips.
My daughter, Gidwyn thought as he looked at her. My beautiful daughter. My gift from winter.
‘Father?’ Kiryae said. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Aye, sweetheart,’ Gidwyn said with a wide and gentle smile. ‘I won’t be long.’
He closed the door.
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