The Human Age: Return of the Dwerga by Julia Ludwig
 
 
 
32^nd year of the Reign of
King Undred Erethein,
13^th King of Ucaria,
coldheart
 
 
 
 
 
 

Coldheart
 
 
Lilith was running. Her small feet stumbled over the grey pavement of the city’s streets. She was breathing hard and her body was shaking from fear, but she knew she had to keep running. Her brother was clinging to her cold, sweaty hand, pulling her further down the main road and away from the guards. Screams of both children and men filled the dense air and the guards’ curses rang through the streets. Lilith and her brother were getting closer to the alley that led away from the main road. White light gleamed from the end of the alley, so bright that Lilith had to close her eyes and cover them with her hand.
Her brother came to an abrupt stop and she opened her eyes again; the bright light was gone. He was pressing her towards a cold wall, hands outstretched to protect her. Soldiers were filing in on either side, their swords drawn and already bloody. Their cold eyes mustered the terrified children and before she knew, one of them approached and swung his sword at her brother. Lilith screamed in terror and all fear and despair came crashing down on her; all movement suddenly stopped and she blacked out.
“Lilith, what happened?” asked a familiar voice worriedly. Her brother was cowering over her, his lean body was shaking from the cold and his thin hands were holding hers. She looked into his eyes and found all his determination and affection burning within them. She smiled weakly and started to cry. He enfolded her in his arms and tried to soothe her. Her small body was cold and her hot tears burned her skin and wet her brother’s shoulder. When Lilith’s fear had ebbed away, her body relaxed and the nagging hunger returned. Her eyes glanced at her surroundings to assure herself she was back again. The dark, narrow alley and the smell of rotting wood that hung in the moist air, the cold walls and the wet ground gave her comfort. It was not much, but it protected them from the vicious winds, rain and snow as well as from the city’s guards.
Her brother was still holding her. She shuddered and tried to tell him what she had seen: “There were screams and shouting and we were running. You pulled me, Cerberus. You were running towards a bright alley. But then city guards came. We couldn’t escape. You tried to protect me, but they had swords and one came and…” again, Lilith burst into tears. She buried her face into her arms and sobbed.
“It was only a dream,” whispered Cerberus, “They’ll never get me or you. I’ll always protect you. I promise.” His sister calmed and he continued: “I’ll get us a warm and dry place and something to eat and when you’re well again, you’ll feel better. The Longfinger will help us, I’m sure of it! I will have to leave soon. Dike and I want to meet this man from the Longfinger together.” Cerberus knew it had been no ordinary dream. He felt it; something in his guts told him it was one of her prophecies. I can’t tell her, he told himself, it would only frighten her. She worries too much already. Damn! Why can’t we just have our home back!
Lilith let go of her brother. He rose and was about to go when he assured her: “I’ll be back soon. Just stay here. I don’t want you to get into danger.”
She nodded and watched him leave the protecting shadows of the alley. When he was out of her sight, she sank to the ground and hugged her knees. The cold was slowly creeping into her limbs again. The torn clothes protected her only very little from coldheart’s malice. This coldheart had already raged for a long time. It almost seemed as if the warm and sunny days of soulfire had been years ago and that the season of risingearth, when all the flowers would blossom, would never come. Weariness made her eyes fall shut. But she did not sleep; she did not dare to. She prayed silently to the four gods that her brother would return safely.
Cerberus trudged through the freshly fallen snow. He could see where the guards had trod along on their patrol. Their traces were faint and only discernible because of the heavy boots that sank deeply into the snow. There were only few other trails, most of which led to the Tavern of the Blessed Fighter, the tavern where he headed to as well. He glanced back before he continued any further down the road. She’s only a child, Cerberus thought bitterly, and I’m weak. We have no other choice than join them, even if it means becoming criminals.
Snow started falling once again and the cold wind stung his face. He saw a stray dog trot through the streets. It scurried along the houses until it found shelter in a narrow alley and vanished. No one was in the streets; he pictured the people were all cuddled up by a nice, warm fire. His feet felt heavy and the road seemed to be endlessly long. The crossroad drew only slowly closer and it was barely visible through the falling snow. When he was finally able to see the signs clearly, he saw three figures approaching from the workers’ district. He could faintly hear the rattling of their armour and could see their halberds jutting into the air. They were unmistakably a guard patrol.
Cerberus tried to stay calm. He could not run lest he wanted their attention. With every step they drew closer, his heart pounded faster and his breath quickened. His eyes scanned for a place to hide. There was no alley; only one on the other side of the street. The houses had no yards, all except for one. It was only a few paces from him, around it a tall wooden fence. He slipped behind the fence and waited.
When he heard the cracking of the snow and the rattling of the guards’ armour nearby, he held his breath and listened carefully. Did they see me? He started to panic. Why are they here anyway? The steps drew closer and the cracking of the snow grew louder and louder. He did not dare move, but could not stand still either. Cerberus closed his eyes and prayed to the gods for help. Cold sweat ran along his face and fear clutched his chest. He prayed that they would not find him, that they kept walking until they reached the barracks. Help, however, did not come and a guard poked his head behind the fence and said amused: “Got you!”
Cerberus tore open his eyes horrified and stared into a young man’s grinning face. He was holding a dagger in his hand and his halberd in the other one. The dagger was reflecting the cold white of the snow and the black inscription read: Lord Tycho. His armour was not like the others, it was painted red and the sigil of an eagle with crossed swords was embedded into the steal. Little did Cerberus know about Lord Tycho and his men, but he knew they were savages. They liked killing and they liked power. That was what father had told him, back then when Cerberus had a home and a family.
The two other guards were standing behind him; one of them was watching curiously, the other one was leaning against the fence and seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
“Hey, Cornwig. Hold this for me!” called the guard standing in front of Cerberus.
The guard who was watching them obeyed and took the halberd from his hand. Before he took the weapon away, he said: “Be quick, Trion, and don’t make a mess. I don’t want to spend my time cleaning a merchant’s fence.”
Trion snickered: “All right, all right. You know, I like taking my time for such things. But, if we’re in a hurry, I can make an exception.”
“You shouldn’t take pleasure in killing,” grunted Cornwig. He looked at the boy with pity and averted his eyes when Cerberus begged: “Please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Just please, let me go!” His limbs would not move. Fear and hatred was burning inside him and he felt as if he would burst any moment. He wanted revenge and he wanted to live.
“You’re lucky,” said Trion, “we kill scum quickly. King’s orders, you don’t want to defy the King’s orders, do you?” He approached Cerberus and was about to thrust the dagger in his heart when Cornwig interfered again. This time his hand gripped Trion’s, stopping the blade from stabbing Cerberus’ chest; the dagger was only a hair’s breadth from Cerberus’ skin and almost pierced his meagre rags.
“We don’t know if he is one of the Longfinger and if he really is one, he could lead us to them,” said Cornwig in a low voice.
“Damn you. You just pity this boy.”
“I do. Let him speak first. He might know something about them. If we find their hideout, the King will reward us handsomely.”
“All right, speak boy. You heard what we want to know. Where’s the blasted hideout?”
I don’t know where their hideout is! thought Cerberus desperately, but maybe I can buy some time and get away. He knew there was only little chance to get away alive. His voice was shaking with fear and he asked: “What’s a soldier from Tycho’s province doing here?”
“Do you think you’re smart?” asked the man with the dagger. “We want to know where the hideout is. Tell us or die!”
“Which hideout?” asked Cerberus helplessly, “I know nothing of a hideout.”
“See, I knew he’s not one of them. Let me put an end to him.”
Cornwig shook his head “If he’s not one of the Longfinger, we don’t have any reason to kill him. Look at him, he’s just a homeless boy.”
“Just a homeless boy!” Trion exclaimed, “Do you know what that means? That means he’s homeless. No family to feed him. How do you think does he survive, especially during coldheart? Before long he has to join the Longfinger.”
“You say he’s a thief? But we didn’t catch him steal anything.”
“You’re too soft. That’s why the King’s city is so poor. You let thieves like him get away and you let them steal your goods without punishment. Lord Tycho takes the strongest orphans and puts them to work. He kills the weak ones. That’s how scum should be treated.”
“But we are not in Tycho’s province. And the King’s city isn’t poor. Come on! Let’s go back and leave this boy alive.” Cornwig was about to turn away when Trion started again:
“You know the King will thank us for every urchin we kill. Most of them join the Longfinger sooner or later. The organisation would die out if they had no one who does their scutwork.” Trion was now facing Cornwig.
That’s my chance, thought Cerberus and backed away slowly. Then suddenly he felt the cold wooden fence against his spine. He wanted to run, but Trion had already turned towards him again.
“You trying to run? I guess I’ll kill you now.” Trion stepped closer and his grin broadened; the dagger was in his right hand. As the blade slowly drew closer, Cerberus stopped breathing, his heart was pounding and tears ran uncontrollably down his hot cheeks. I promised never to be weak again. I promised to be strong so that I can protect her. I failed… again… I guess this is the end. Lilith, you were right. I am going to die. I’m sorry... I wasn’t able to protect you. Cerberus wanted to scream; his rage was still burning inside his small body. It hurt so much that he wanted the pain to end.
A sudden voice cut through the silence, a woman’s voice: “What do you think you’re doing? Get away form here. This is my property and I don’t want any blood spilled here.”
The guards turned around to see the woman, who was approaching from the large house. She was not tall and her puffy cheeks and warm eyes made her seem kind. Her lips were painted red and matched the colour of the crimson fur coat she was wearing. Her movements were graceful and her eyes as pure as the snow around her. Cerberus did not realize that he was out of danger and shrank back when the woman reached out to get him away from the guards. She pulled the frightened boy towards her and stood protectively in front of him.
Trion looked at her with anger burning in his eyes. “What do you want, woman?” he asked harshly.
She smiled, unimpressed by the soldier and demanded: “I want you to leave. This boy is mine.”
Cornwig and the other guard bowed in respect and backed away from her yard. Trion seemed as if he wanted to oppose the woman for commanding him to leave. The woman just glared at him and asked curtly: “Do you want the King to hear about this?”
Trion realised his defeat and backed away. “We’re sorry ma’am. We did not want to harm your servant,” he said in a rather mocking tone, “I thought he was a filthy street rat,” he muttered, “we had orders from the King to eliminate them.” He had almost reached the main road when the woman responded: “Like I just said. This boy belongs to me. Now be gone.”
Trion frowned unnerved and strode away along with the other guards. The woman smiled at their leave and then looked down and mustered the boy. She was still holding his hand and said: “Boy, you are brave. Everything’s going to be fine now. Come in. There is something you can do for me.” Cerberus nodded slightly, still overwhelmed, and she led him to the wooden door of her house.
 
Mace
 
 
A young man was crouching on the high wall of Kirin; a black cape and his magic were protecting him from evil eyes, and the hilts of his two swords, Ddraig and Ffenics, were protruding from his cape so that he could draw them at any moment. The night was cold and the stars were illuminating the sky, the white moon was only a sickle and it seemed so small beside the larger red moon that hung in the firmament like a burning inferno. The man knew it was time to fulfil his task; his powers were strongest when the red moon was at its largest. He, however, could not bear the thought of killing again and thus watched the city from above, his wakeful eyes caught every movement.
A few guards and workers were still wandering the streets. Like all Nageri, their physique was large and strong, their skin grey and scarred, and two hand-sized horns were protruding from their heads. Else, all was quiet and calm. They seemed to be a peaceful tribe, not like his father, the Warlord, had described them. He could not help but wonder why they should all be eradicated. He knew that they had dishonoured the Warlord’s cause, but from what he had heard, this tribe should be preparing for war. Their fort seemed all but battle-ready and there were only a handful of guards protecting the entrance and keeping watch from the towers.
Even if they were innocent, he had to follow the Warlord’s orders lest he wanted to end up being banned or killed. He ignored his feelings and rose and raised his hands to gather nature’s energy both of fire and wind to work his magic. The invisible strings of energy flowed from his surroundings and concentrated in his hand in a tight ball. He clenched his fists and the fire and wind energy rushed up his arms and assembled in his lungs. He took a deep breath and when he exhaled, a giant ball of fire flew towards the citadel. Its impact destroyed most of the building. Magnified by the wind, the fire spread and grew into an inferno. “Tân Gwyn”, he muttered almost silently as he cast his final spell to destroy the city. This time he did not use the natural ubiquitous energy transforming it into magic. This magic was of demonic powers, blood-magic, as the elves would call it and he felt his life-energy slowly dwindle as the magic took effect.
The flames changed from red to white and began to devour even stone. Soon the entire city was standing aflame. The people were all in the streets. Screams filled the air as the fire was claiming its first victims; many were still trying to extinguish the flames, but to no avail. The fire could not be stopped, not even by magic. Many fled to the gates, but they were barred and the magic the young man had cast stopped even the mightiest spell casters from getting out. They were all trapped, condemned to death.
Heavy clouds of smoke rose from the city and the screaming grew louder and louder, the pungent stench of fire and death hung over the city. He was still standing on the wall, watching the Nageri fighting for their survival. The fire was raging and so were the demons that were sealed and caged within his body. They lusted for blood and enjoyed the sight of death. They wanted to take over his body and savour the kill. The young man fought to keep them at bay. Despite his struggle, his craving to kill grew stronger and the demons were on the verge of taking over when he saw a child running along the streets, calling for its parents; its eyes were wide open in terror and clothes already singed.
The urge to kill vanished instantly and was replaced by feelings of guilt and pity. His orders restrained his urge to help. He watched how the child vanished into one of the alleys, only to return to the main road, which the fire had not yet breached. The white flames were like hungry beasts and gained on the child quickly, cornering it from every angle. It stumbled over its own feet and fell to the ground. Helplessly, it wailed and called for its parents.
The young man was no longer able to idly watch and jumped. The walls were high and he landed with a hard impact, the ground beneath him yielded and the fire flinched back. Hot smoke filled his lungs as he darted towards the child. It was too late. The flames had already touched the child’s skin and before it realized what was happening, it burst into flames. The small body crumbled to ashes within seconds. It had no time to scream, no time to die. The young man howled with grief and horror filled him as he saw the destruction around him.
“That’s enough!” he exclaimed. The pictures of the burning city disintegrated and he found himself sitting in his white room, ystafell, a room that only existed in his mind and where he usually went when he was meditating.
In the far corners were dark figures made of dense, black smoke. The smoke flowed from what seemed to be their heads to the ground like water. Their maws were only visible because of the rows of white teeth that glinted in the white light that emanated from the white walls. Red, ruby-like eyes stared at him. “I didn’t come to ystafell to see the painful past”, he said harshly. “You are well aware you cannot rival my strength. So why come here?”
The creatures laughed and attempted to approach their vessel, but an invisible barrier held them back. They laughed horribly and moved along the invisible boundary. He was able to make out four pairs of eyes, but it was difficult to get hold of them as they sometimes vanished into the dark smoke again. One of the creatures drew as close as possible and spoke with slight agitation: “Very soon the Red Moon will be full, Nuralim. Or shall we rather call you Mace now? You know what happens then, when your blood begins to boil and you’d wish you could die, but all that is left is the struggle against your lust for blood and destruction. You are not so different from us.” The demons grinned and vanished into the white walls.
Mace grunted; he knew the red moon would rise soon and he knew the demons’ words held some truth. Knowing that he could do nothing at the moment, he closed his eyes to leave ystafell. When he opened them again, he found himself in his old body, sitting on the floor of his study. His limbs felt numb and stiff and he had lost all sense of time and space.
The desk before him was littered with parchment and the pleasant smell of dusty books filled his nostrils. The faint light of day transpired through the shut window. Everything else was in the shadows.
“Are you alright, Nuralim?” asked a voice in his head. It was not a demon; he recognized his friend’s voice instantly. It was the distinctive growling that made it unique. The figure approached slowly, yellow eyes gleamed from the darkness and mustered the old man sitting before him worriedly. It was a black wolf and a white cobweb pattern was on its head that ran along its spine and stopped at the tip of its tail.
Mace shrugged and rose slowly; his joints jumped into place as he stretched and clenched his hands into fists. Yet he still supported himself at the wall in order to reach the window. The iron pen was easy to remove and the wooden shutters opened up creaking. Dazzling light flooded the room and it blinded him at first. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the narrow dirt road that led from the forest to the village Histia. It was snowing and the cold wind from the south swept through the chambers and made the parchment fly wildly through the air. Mace inhaled the fresh morning air and he felt strength return to his body.
“You meditated about your past again, am I right?” asked the wolf. It did not move its lips while speaking and it just kept staring at the old man. He, however, seemed to understand the animal perfectly and turned to face it.
Mace nodded and leant against the wall: “The Great Fire. Although it happened centuries ago, it seems it will haunt me forever. At least I don’t have to do such things anymore, as I’m known to be dead. No one would bother asking me for my services. But what worries me is that the demons were able to penetrate ystafell. They haven’t done this for some decades and I have a bad feeling about this.”
The wolf sat down and looked at him in an understanding way. “The red moon is going to rise in about two weeks. They’ve always been sensitive around this time. Perhaps they fear that your body won’t be able to keep up with their evil powers and therefore you might die during the night of the full moon. They can’t survive without you, nor can you without them. I say you shouldn’t worry, rather get away from here. You’ve spent far too much time meditating and studying old tomes. It’s been almost a month since you last set foot in the village. And you’ve missed the waking ritual of the water god. The villagers won’t hold a grudge against you, but they still need you.”
Mace snorted. “They only like me because most of the people owe their lives to me. But perhaps you’re right, Seth; I should get some fresh air.” With these words he strode through the room and the gloomy corridor towards the back door to his back yard. The meadow that led into the forest was covered with a layer of white; the stream that originated from the forest’s heart was winding through the high grass, almost frozen. Seth left for the stream and vanished into the high grass and emerged by the lone weeping willow that was standing in a bend of the stream. Its long branches touched the ground. There was a circle of brown leaves lying beneath it and the brown branches were weighed down by the snow.
Meanwhile, Mace noticed the hatchet that was protruding from a chunk of wood which he had placed on the tree stump during soulfire. He retrieved the hatchet and lunged in order to cut through the wood with all the anger that had been roused by the memories the demons had evoked. When the wolf returned and tugged at his robe Mace relaxed his arm and listened for what it had to say: “In the end you saved some of them, right? You told me you dissolved your magic and opened the gates so that the surviving nageri were able to escape.”
Mace lowered the hatchet. “I can remember as if it had happened yesterday. There was only a handful that made it out, and I’m not even sure whether they survived or if they were found and killed. The fire ravaged for a long time. It was unstoppable and not even I knew the magic to counter it. At least the fire died out when Kirin was burnt down. The word of the catastrophe spread quickly. Many believed it was the doing of the gods. But a few blamed the Warlord and that it was I who fulfilled his wishes.”
“Even if they all died, you can’t bring back the dead and you can’t live your life just reflecting on your past. Perhaps you should leave for the city. It’s been almost a century since you last went there. Much has changed and humanity’s longing for war has settled for at least a bit,” requested the wolf before it trotted towards the path that led either to the forest or to the village. Before Mace followed his companion, he simply hurled the hatchet into the wood. The blade sliced through the block and stopped only inches from the tree stump.
The path led through the outskirts of the woods that almost covered the entire hill. The brittle leaves of the trees fluttered through the air and the branches swayed vigorously in the cold wind. Mace caught up with the wolf and both continued towards Histia.
“So how was the hunting?” asked Mace while he was watching his surroundings attentively for any sign of the ceidwad of these woods. He had not seen him for some time. He did not want to see him; it was a confrontation he wanted to avoid. As much as he feared the keeper of the forest, he felt safe living in his forests.
“It was not bad, considering that Coldheart is at our doorsteps. The animals sense the waking of the Water God and the slow decreasing of the Wind God. They have already prepared for his reign and have built their dens or have already left this forest to get out of his reach,” answered Seth and continued as if it knew what bothered Mace, “I haven’t seen the ceidwad for some time. He is most likely on the other side of the hill. He’ll return soon enough. Don’t worry, I don’t think you are a threat to his realm.”
“He doesn’t like me and I’d rather stay out of his way. Are you going to join me into the village?” asked Mace. He saw the wooden palisades through the leaves and as he drew closer, the large fields scattered around the village. The land was flat and became slightly hilly towards the horizon.
“I don’t think so,” panted the wolf, “the people fear me. And you should be able to survive without my help.” With these words it trotted off into the shadows of the trees and vanished from Mace’s sight.
Mace frowned and continued his way towards the makeshift gate. The people were going through hard times; mercenaries and thieves were roaming through the realm. The King’s warfare had bled the lowborn dry and had brought instability to the realm. Now, everybody was fighting to survive.
Mace mumbled a “good morning” as he passed the farmer guarding the gate. The farmer raised his pitchfork as a greeting. Something was bothering him, but he did not dare approach Mace let alone speak to him. Mace noticed the man’s unease, but ignored it and followed the path that led to the inn.
Despite the weather, the small village was lively. Children were chasing each other over the muddy ground while the others saw to their daily work. He drew closer to the small inn, the one place he enjoyed staying at. Only a handful of men were usually there at this time of day, most of the time there were travellers, messengers or priests. Histia was the only decent village for miles and so many people passed through. Mace spent his time listening to their chatter and always knew what was going on in Ucaria.
This time however, the inn was packed full with villagers and they all fell silent when he entered. Their eyes followed his every step and watched him settle at his customary table. They waited for him to say something, but when he did not respond to the silence, the people returned to their own affairs and eventually normality returned.
There was a young man behind the bar and he nodded towards his father, who was pouring ale for the people. When the taverner nodded back, the young man approached Mace with a smile on his face. He seated himself in front of the old man and watched him stare out of the window, lost in his thoughts and oblivious to the world around him. He had not changed since the last time he had seen him; his expression was as sombre as ever.
“It is good to see you, Mace. Where have you been the last few weeks?” asked the young man curiously.
Mace looked up, somewhat surprised to see someone sitting opposite him. It was no other than Carn, the only soul in the village who dared approach Mace and address him like a friend. It took him a while to find what he thought to be the right words to answer: “I was at home, spending my time in ystafell. Why do you ask?”
Carn looked at him slightly confused. Mace had mentioned ystafell several times, but never explained where it was and how he got there. He had never asked, he knew that if it was of importance, Mace would tell him.
“Much has happened lately and the people have been growing restless because of your absence. They thought you had left or been killed by the King’s men. The villagers were worried when you did not show up at the water God’s wakening ceremony,” explained Carn, “You certainly had your reasons and the great water God Dŵr will certainly forgive you. But that’s not all. Good tidings come from Erethein: the tyrant King has fallen! He was beheaded by his son because the people demanded it, and now Adrian is our new King. The young King promises us peace and wealth and all he asks for is that the Longfinger and disturbers of the peace be eradicated.”
“The kings come and go like the weather. If you’re talking about Erethein’s son, I doubt that he will survive for long. He’s young and too inexperienced to solve the wars his father waged. The lords are cunning; there are several who have always wanted to sit on the throne; Tycho’s the one I’m most worried about. This matter aside, why did the people think I had left?” asked Mace.
“There was a man who asked for you a few days ago. He’s a nobleman from Erethein and bears Isos’ crest. He said he had an urgent message for you and wanted to see you immediately. We, of course, told him that we did not know of anything. He took a room here, at this inn, and went searching for you. He only returned in the evening and left early. So we thought he had found you and was trying to persuade you to do something; perhaps take you to the city because of the King.”
“Don’t worry; I haven’t seen a stranger around my house. And no one can make me leave. But this stranger seems to bear an important message, else he would not have stayed,” responded Mace somehow interested.
“He’s still here, somewhere in the village,” said Carn, “and I have a feeling I know where he is.”
“Why don’t you bring him in? Let us see what he wants,” suggested Mace.
Carn nodded and rose. He left for the tavern’s door and Mace saw him cross the muddy street over the small crossing and then vanish behind a wooden house.