"Earthquake!"
Thorin had never experienced one before, but nothing else could explain the terrible shaking and pitching of the ground beneath his feet. He was outside, with Barahir clinging to his hand and crying fiercely. The children were standing in the courtyard of a huge building, from which pieces of tile and stone were falling. The shifting and grinding of huge blocks of stone that composed the high courtyard wall sent paralyzing fear through Thorin's body as effectively as any poison could have done. All he could do was try to keep himself and Barahir upright.
People were running all over the courtyard. Thorin saw no one he recognized, he didn't know where he was, and he hadn't the slightest idea of what to do.
Everyone looked like Tojo.
Or at least, they all seemed Nipponese. They had the slanted eyes, shallow noses and dark hair that Cygnus said were common to all of Tojo's people. Of course, this could also be Kara-Tur on Oerth, or even Rokugan on Rolex.
Thorin frowned. He didn't even know what world he was on.
The child glanced upwards. Low in the afternoon sky he could see a moon. The moon was naked; light and dark circles plainly visible on its face. Luna's ever-present veil of clouds was absent.
Aarde then, or maybe Rolex. Thorin couldn't remember how many moons Rolex had, or what they looked like. He had never been to either world.
A large arch shaped like some type of Nipponese symbol stood at the exit of the courtyard. In what seemed like a peculiar perspective, Thorin could see past the arch across miles of plains and light forests without difficulty. Beyond that, immense mountains lost their peaks in the clouds above.
Women, children and the elderly were staggering through the swaying arch, and then turning aside either to the right or left. The courtyard wall blocked Thorin's view of them after that, but the child was sure that they were circling the courtyard and its attached building, heading back away from the mountains.
Most of those fleeing were either crying in fear or wailing in despair.
A growing rumble sounded near the boy, and he spun around. Despite the swaying ground beneath them, two dozen warriors on horseback thundered past. They all wore beautiful ornate armor of a type Thorin had never seen before, and several carried rectangular flags. White, with a blue triangle situated near the top.
The mounted men all carried longbows, and Thorin could see each one had two sheathed swords. With a start, he realized they were the same type of swords that Tojo carried.
They must be samurai, the child thought suddenly, as a sense of wonder overtook him.
So that's what their armor looks like.
Their battle cries filling the child's ears, the samurai poured through the arch and headed out across the plain. An equal number of foot soldiers followed them. They wore bamboo or padded armor and carried odd-looking polearms that were completely unfamiliar to Thorin. They had no blades at all, only small holes bored into their ends.
Barahir suddenly screamed.
Thorin whirled, but not fast enough as a hand clamped down on his left wrist.
A samurai stood before them. The warrior was bending forward, holding one boy fast in each hand. He wore a similar suit of elaborate armor to the other samurai, each of the two shoulder plates bearing the blue triangle on white symbol. His great helm was fashioned in the fierce visage of some Nipponese monster. Only his eyes could be seen, glaring down upon the two children.
Violet eyes.
"Tojo?" Thorin whispered.
The voice that answered was in the Common tongue, but it was not Tojo's.
"You must come with me!" the samurai shouted, starting to pull the children along towards the arch.
Thorin struggled. "No!" he screamed. "Where is my father? Where are the others?"
The samurai did not seem inclined to explain. "Come! I will lead you to safety!"
Will lead. This samurai spoke Common better than Tojo, but Thorin would have given anything to hear that mangled pronunciation right now.
"I'm not leaving! I'm waiting here until they get back!" Thorin pulled and pulled. In the end, it was more the terror of a cold sweat than any burst of strength that allowed him to slip his hand free of that grasp.
"Stupid child!" the samurai roared, pulling Barahir closer to him as though to ensure the security of his other charge. "They are not coming back!"
A sword went through Thorin.
The boy stared, dumbfounded, at the samurai. There was a pain starting in his chest. Worse than when he had been kidnapped by Nodyath. Worse than anything else in his abnormally short life. He could feel something terrible happening to his heart.
Something that was never going to heal.
For a moment, those purple orbs facing him dropped downwards. A recognition of something.
Thorin knew he was going to die if this pain didn't stop.
He didn't want to die.
Therefore, it couldn't be true.
"No," the boy croaked out, turning his head away to look outwards again. Just as he did so, the ground underneath them lurched suddenly, sending all three tumbling to the ground. There was a loud cracking sound and as Thorin watched, the large, red-painted wooden beam of the arch came crashing down. Commoners of all sorts picked their way over the rubble and continued to exit the courtyard. Beyond, the mounted samurai and their foot soldier followers were now mere dots on the plain. They seemed to be heading towards one of the nearest mountains, which seemed to rise directly from the far side of the plain without any intervening foothills. The clouds that had covered the sky seemed to have completely vanished at some point, because Thorin could see the entire mountain now, an abnormally smooth spike, jutting upwards in a slight concave curve, its snow-covered peak contrasting with the bright blue above.
Even at this great distance, Thorin could see something tumbling down the slope of the mountain.
It looked like an avalanche, with numerous huge boulders embedded within the landslide.
Thorin gulped. He didn't know how far away the mountain was, but to be visible at this distance, each of the boulders must be over a hundred feet across.
The avalanche reached the base of the mountain, spreading out in a stone delta across the plains and slowly coming to a halt. The boulders rolled on, rolling almost reluctantly to a halt.
Dozens of dots approached them.
And the boulders stood up.
Thorin cried out and jerked his head away.
Barahir ran into his arms. Thorin plunged his face into the smaller boy's blond hair and just held on. He didn't want to see or hear anything more, but the reality of the terrified toddler was real. It was as solid as the earth beneath his feet- and shaking just as badly.
Thorin suddenly realized that he was all that Barahir had left now. He couldn't abandon him.
The older boy raised his face. The samurai was now squatting down in front of them. He had apparently let Barahir run to Thorin.
Child and adult stared at each other.
Thorin could barely get the words out. "What's happening?"
To the boy, it seemed as if the samurai's hoarse reply had been forced out of him.
"Dao Lung- The Earth Dragon."
The tempo of the tremors underneath their feet shifted. The ground no longer shook randomly, but with a slow, steady beat.
Thorin didn't understand.
"Please," he half-whispered, half-cried. "Please tell me what's going on."
Those violet eyes danced around briefly, just like Tojo's always used to when he was flustered. Then they settled again on the small figure in front of him.
"Your father and his allies- they have failed."
The samurai's gaze turned towards the mountain.
"And so have we."
None of this made any sense to Thorin, and he was about to say so when a youth of perhaps fifteen ran up and bowed quickly but deeply to the samurai, not sparing even a glance at the gaijin children.
"Hizarga-san!" he began. The rest was a flurry of more Nipponese that meant nothing to Thorin, although the child saw the teenager point outside the courtyard entrance, where he could now see a wagon standing ready, hitched up to a rather nervous horse. A large crate and several smaller ones were piled in the back.
The samurai- Hizarga, Thorin guessed- nodded curtly at the youth, who bowed again and ran off. He turned again to the children. Thorin could see in his eyes that the next thing the samurai said to him was the last thing he was going to say before he dragged them away again.
The intensity of the tremors was increasing. They sounded like thunderclaps now.
"I am entrusted with your safety," Hizarga began. "Your fathers ask my daimyo to keep you two safe if they not return. Daimyo give this task to me. I know gaijin lands to west, across Sea of Nippon- Kingdom of Culliden." The samurai breathed hard. "No longer safe here! You dishonor your parents if you not follow their commands! You must come- now!"
Thorin knew that Hizarga was leaving something out. Perhaps he was leaving a lot out.
But he also knew they had to go with them.
He nodded, took Barahir by the hand again, and motioned for Hizarga to lead on. The trio began to head out towards the cart- and then stopped as the ground literally buckled underneath them- and a shadow blotted out the sun. Thorin, barely able to maintain his footing, looked upwards and gasped just as surely as if he had been punched in the stomach.
Stone rose high overhead. Too high. Too impossibly high.
And far too impossibly big to be moving.
But it was.
Thorin shrieked as what would have been a gigantic leg of stone, if something that size could possibly have existed, moved up and forward. A sickening plop drew the boy's attention over to his right, where a bloody pulp that might once have been a horse and its rider landed on the ground, apparently dislodged from the rough-hewn underside of a circular stone "foot" that was easily half the size of the entire courtyard.
"RUN!" yelled Hizarga, who doubled back to the children and with one swift motion, grabbed Barahir and swung the toddler over onto his shoulders, and locking his tiny hands together. Thorin at his heels, the samurai ran and jumped over the rubble of the collapsed arch and off to the left. The air was filled was screams of terror from both men and animals, but over even that could be heard the rumble of moving stone, as if the earth itself had decided to shake off some fleas that it had ignored for all too long.
The foot was coming down now.
The horse at the front of Hizarga's wagon had bolted, but Thorin could see a wooden lever of some kind jammed between the spokes of the front wheel and the vehicle's chassis- a brake of some kind. The animal had thus been forced to drag the conveyance behind it but had still managed to make it a respectable fifty yards through the power of sheer fright.
Just as the trio caught up to the wagon, there was a tremendous explosion behind them as a colossal pillar of stone came down on the courtyard. Thorin fervently prayed that everyone in there had gotten out in time, but he couldn't tell. The ground rippled and came hurtling up at them in a shockwave. Small rocks went shooting past them at ballista speed. The children were thrown against the wagon's chassis, and Thorin thought it an honest-to-Odin miracle that the vehicle, which rose up on its two right wheels briefly, did not tip over.
A dust storm creating by the impact quickly enveloped all three. Thorin turned away and kept his eyes closed, but it made little difference. He quickly started choking and was only barely aware of Hizarga placing Barahir in the bench seat of the wagon. Then the samurai's strong arms were around his waist, lifting the boy up and onto the bench next to Elrohir's son.
Fortunately, the dust began to abate quickly, and Thorin's coughing subsided to a manageable level. As best as he could tell through eyes still aching from dust and grit, Hizarga was climbing onboard and releasing the brake.
Thorin turned back and looked in the direction of the courtyard just in time for a fist-sized rock to strike him squarely in the upper lip.
The next thing the child knew, he was lying curled up on his right side in the wagon bed, just behind the bench. The rocking motion beneath him (with attendant banging of his head against wooden planks) told him the wagon was moving even before he sat up. He didn't think he had blacked out- it was if the scene had suddenly shifted, like a new chapter beginning in a storybook.
Please, All-Father, let this be a dream, the boy pleaded silently as he tenderly touched a painful giant welt on his chin. His lower lip had been split, and there was some blood, but not an excessive amount. He felt inside his mouth and wiggled one of his lower teeth. It was just about on the verge of falling out. Thorin couldn't even remember if it was one of his baby teeth or not.
The large crate rattled on the wagon bead behind him. Several of the slats were rotting or cracked, and Thorin could make out the jumbled pieces of what looked like a suit of samurai armor inside.
Unlike the others he had seen, this one was colored green.
"We reach Negacha City tomorrow."
Thorin turned around- a little too swiftly, for his head began to throb. He saw only Hizarga's back. He was no longer wearing his helm. Unkempt black hair just about reached his shoulders. The samurai had not turned around.
The child didn't know if Hizarga was addressing him, but there was no one else in sight.
"Unless the Guardians awaken, the spawn of Dao Lung cannot be stopped," the samurai continued. His voice was low and measured, but Thorin could hear repressed anger.
"Gaijin should not have been sent into the valley of Weng Tzen," Hizarga muttered, and then fell silent.
A dull hatred was starting to build up inside Thorin, competing for space with his headache. It sure sounded to him like Hizarga was disparaging his father and the others.
"My father and his friends have never failed at anything," Thorin said, wincing with the effort required to speak through his busted lip.
"Unless their wish was to die, they have now."
That sword went through Thorin again.
"My father is not dead!" the boy screamed, spittles of blood flying from his lip. "You don't know that! You don't know anything about them! Stop saying that!"
Hizarga abruptly pulled on the reins, halting the horse. The samurai turned around. Thorin could see a scar running from his chin and up the left side of his nose. Those violet eyes were flashing anger again. One hand abruptly reached out and grabbed the boy by the front of his tunic and yanked him forward, so that the pair were nose-to-nose.
"Baka!" Hizarga yelled back at him. "Stop whining! I have lost everything- EVERYTHING!" the samurai roared, shaking the child. "This is not time for your sorrows!"
But Thorin couldn't help it. He tried to wish away what Hizarga was saying, but the hurt and the pain and the sorrow suddenly overwhelmed the child. He leaned back in the samurai's grip and wailed.
"Father! Father! Come back! Help me! Please, let this be a dream! Wake me up! SOMEONE PLEASE WAKE ME UP!"
The rest was lost in a sea of grief.
But Hizarga shook the boy so hard that his tears literally flew from his eyes.
"You will survive, Thorin!" Hizarga shouted. "You and Barahir! That was your fathers' wish, and you must not disappoint them! I will stay with you! This is not the end! Do you understand me? This is not the end!"
13th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Hidden Jewel, Welkwood Forest
Thorin awoke with a start, but his scream remained behind in the dream.
The son of Cygnus sat still, unable momentarily to hear anything but the pounding of his heart. Although his conscious mind was already attempting to hurl this nightmare out of his memory, he knew his father had always told him that vivid dreams, even if unpleasant, could contain pieces of useful information. Certainly, his Aunt Talass held great stock in omens delivered from the gods via dreams.
Thorin was uncertain as to the truth of this. He just sat there in his chair, that terrible scene still replaying in front of his brown eyes, but it was already growing misty...
"Thorin?"
The child started again, looking over to his right. The classroom for magical studies was empty save for him, but now the face of an elven boy about Thorin's age poked around the tapestry that had been hung from the ceiling to divide this room from the rest of the house. In his current state, it took a moment for Thorin recognize his foster brother and fellow mage-in-training, Daekin.
"Are you all right?" Daekin asked, his face showing more concern than it usually did.
Thorin wondered for a moment if he had actually screamed in his sleep. Embarrassed, he looked away, muttering, "I'm okay. I just fell asleep. I had a nightmare, that's all."
His eyes suddenly shot wide open, and he looked down to the crumpled and drool-stained parchment below him, spread out on his desk. He remembered staring at the basic magical symbols imprinted on it and trying to grasp in his mind the power contained within. The classroom had been warm and quiet. It was merely an exercise designed to fill in the last few minutes in the lecture, while their teacher, Daekin's cousin Kymaista, put away her materials and made notes as to their next lesson.
He must have fallen asleep while studying. Even more embarrassed now, Thorin flushed red. Daekin, noticing this, assumed his more common expression; a smug smile.
"It was the end of class, anyway. Don't worry about it," the elf said, shrugging and then adding, "At least you don't snore. I've heard that noise is supposed to be loud enough to revive the dead." He chortled. "Fistlin said that all humans snore, but I told him it wasn't true. After four months of sharing a room with you, I think I'd know by now!"
Thorin managed a weak smile.
Daekin tilted his head. "Me, Fistlin and Zulli are going to go grab some lunch by the stumps. At midsun, they're having another performance over at The Shell. The Legend of the City of Summer Stars. We thought we'd catch it. You interested?"
Thorin considered, then slowly shook his head. From what he had heard, that was a very sad, tragic story, and he didn't need to be brought down any further.
"No," he replied. "I'll meet you for lunch, but after that I may take it easy until tonight. I'm kind of tired. Go on ahead- I'll be there in a few minutes."
That concerned expression reappeared briefly on the young elf's face, but it was clear that his foster brother was not about to elaborate.
"All right," he said, smile now back in place. "See you in a bit."
Daekin vanished back behind the tapestry. Thorin stared at nothing in particular for a moment, and then laid his head down on his desk and closed his eyes.
He didn't really know why he started softly crying.
It wasn't the nightmare. At least not directly. Things had been so pleasant for Thorin that it took the boy a moment to realize the obvious.
He missed his father.
Not only him, but all the others, too. They weren't really his relatives, but he always thought of them that way. He missed Aunt Talass riding roughshod over everyone, even Uncle Elrohir, when she thought they weren't doing the right thing. He missed listening to Uncle Argo and Uncle Aslan arguing over- well, over everything. He missed the horses, and the dogs, and the pegasi.
And even though he was living in the midst of some three hundred elves, he missed Tad. The best friend he'd ever had.
Thorin slowly got up, wiping his eyes clear on his sleeve. Unconsciously, his hand felt his lower lip. Unblemished, of course. He walked over to the double doors that led out onto the balcony. Frosted glass planes set into them offered a tantalizing glimpse of warm sunlight. He opened the doors and stepped outside onto the wooden platform.
Thorin never got tired of the beauty of Hidden Jewel, and he doubted he ever would.
As usual, his mind unconsciously divided the vista before him into three layers. The midmorning sun was situated just right for its warming rays to pierce down through the forest roof and bathe the young human without forcing him to squint. The sunlight fell upon the tops of the tall oaks, ipts and roanwoods, a good fifty feet above the balcony. Thorin watched the dappling of sunbeams bouncing off the leaves overhead and listened to woodland birds calling to each other.
At eye level, Thorin could see other elven houses like this one situated in the branches of the neighboring trees. Wooden plank bridges connected this particular grouping of six houses, while three ropes constituting a rope bridge snaked off from the furthest house deeper into the woods towards another grouping. Although no other elves were currently visible on the other balconies or platforms, Thorin could hear an occasional elven murmur, if he listened long enough.
The forest floor was about fifty feet below him. For the most part, it wasn't easily visible. If one remained still long enough, however, spaces in the foliage (perhaps not quite as naturally occurring as first glance might suppose) revealed portions of what lay below. Thorin knew from experience that from down there, it was even harder to tell that anyone, let alone an entire village of three hundred plus souls, might be watching overhead.
Everywhere, there was a soothing green.
Thorin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had quickly grown to love the smell of the woodlands. While the allure of dusty old tomes of knowledge still appealed to him, the child had in the last four months developed more of an appreciation for the outdoors than his father Cygnus probably ever would. Thorin considered himself lucky to be able to enjoy the best of both worlds.
Of course, it could hardly have been otherwise. As far as Thorin was concerned, Welkwood was where he had been born. The face of the elven leader Alias was the first memory that he could recall with any certainty, and he had spent the first several months of his life here, having complicated and unknowable spells cast on him almost daily. By the time Thorin had learned how to control the swirling, untapped chaos that was his own mind, it had been time for him to leave. Time to go and live with a father he didn't know, and without the mother he never would.
Thoughts of his father continued to intrude on his mind now. Thorin had heard little from him since his arrival here. There had been three letters from the Brass Dragon; the most recent dated the 4th of Planting, about five weeks ago. It had been fairly formal and lengthy, detailing the party's success of their mission to Highport, their most recent discoveries concerning Tadoa's fate, and their plans to return to the Pomarj to finish the slavers once and for all. Even the personal portions, where Cygnus expressed his hope that Thorin was all right and his desire to see him again soon, were written in a stilted, formal fashion.
Father needs to learn to relax, Thorin grimaced at the recollection. He needs to come live here for a while, or at least to bring me back home, where I can help him. Thorin wanted to get in touch with his father but was far too shy to ask the few elves that might have the ability to use a sending on his behalf. Thorin had sent off his reply letter the next day, but they took over three weeks to arrive. For all he knew, his father could have been...
A slight increase in both volume and quantity of voices filtering up from below caused the boy to open his eyes and peer downwards. Ahead some distance but moving along the path that would take them right by this particular tree was a small crowd. Although he couldn't make out details, Thorin could see four people, possibly humans, walking in a close-knit and somewhat rigid diamond formation down the path. Several Welkwood elves walked in front, beside and behind them, but it was the large dark shape in the diamond's center was drawing most of the attention.
Even in an elven enclave like Hidden Jewel, a black bear didn't often come strolling by, especially in the midst of four people.
Thorin turned and ran through the house to the space in the floor where Daekin had left the rope ladder dangling. The boy smiled as he began his rapid descent. When he had first arrived here, Thorin had been absolutely terrified of heights, ladders, rope bridges and all related objects and vistas. This of course was not an allowable phobia for anyone living with elves, and so the young human had been carried, literally kicking and screaming at first, to face his fears head-on. Fortunately, the elves were so adept at this process of acclimation that Thorin still felt embarrassment at his initial reluctance. Now he felt as home in the trees as he did on the ground.
He could see Daekin, standing about thirty yards down the path, standing with Fistlin and Zulli. The three elven children had apparently postponed their lunch to join the onlookers waiting for the new arrivals to pass by. The trio gave Thorin nods of acknowledgement as he pulled up to them.
"That one in front. He's a wizard. I can tell," Daekin announced, pointing at the lead approaching figure.
As much as Thorin loved to catch his foster brother in a mistake, he thought Daekin was probably right. The man walking in front (all four were indeed human) was perhaps thirty years of age. He wore a forest patterned tunic and trousers that were clearly of elven make, but no cloak. He carried a quarterstaff nearly identical to the one Thorin knew Cygnus carried. The man's head was nearly egg-shaped, with piercing green eyes set below rapidly thinning brown hair. His air of quiet determination and confidence looked so forced, it was almost comical. He looked straight ahead of him for the most part. Occasionally, he would smile at someone, but it was a grin so patently false, the man soon gave up on it. It was useless at best and patronizing at worst.
Behind him, on either side of the bear, were two warriors of some kind. Each appeared a good ten years older than the wizard they followed. The closest to Thorin and his friends had blonde hair, blue eyes and an easy, genuine smile. He wore leather armor and carried a small wooden shield in his left hand. A bow was slung over his shoulder, and a sheathed sword and dagger hung from his belt.
The bear blocked most of their view of the other warrior. As far as Thorin knew, it seemed like an ordinary black bear, but then again he didn't know all that much about bears. He was about to ask Daekin if the wizard was controlling the animal in some fashion when he saw the human walking behind the animal.
He was the leader here. There was no doubt.
The man looked about forty. His brown hair was cut short in front but left braided and long down the sides and back. His hazel eyes looked out from a face prematurely wrinkled by a hard life spent outdoors. His beard was big, thick and bushy. It wasn't braided like a dwarf's, but it was carefully groomed to give the appearance of a large ball extending out from the man's chin. The staff he carried looked like a vine-wrapped oak branch.
He wasn't smiling at all, although his left hand would sometimes reach out and stroke the bear lightly on its backside.
It was the touch of a friend, not a controller.
"He's a druid," Fistlin whispered to Thorin.
Zulli rolled her eyes. "What tipped you off, Fistlin? The fact that he's conversing with our Guardian of Nature in Druid's Cant?"
It was true. The man, druid or no, was speaking with a middle-aged male elf in a brown leather jerkin that they all recognized as Eldeth Shae. They couldn't understand any of the words, but the newcomer's attitude remained serious throughout the conversation.
The bear gave a short, sudden growl.
As they pulled abreast of the four children, Daekin yelled out in Common, in deference to Thorin.
"Eldeth! What did the bear say?"
The elven druid arched an eyebrow, turned and smiled at the child.
"He asked me if nosy children taste good."
Daekin, smug smile firmly in place, looked over at Fistlin. "Better be careful, Fistlin."
His friend looked wary. "Why me?"
Daekin shrugged. "Isn't Zulli always calling you her sweetie?"
In a shot he was off, running towards the orchard with Zulli and Fistlin both at his heels. Thorin smiled, then turned back to watch the procession head down the path.
There was something about that man. The human druid. Thorin knew he'd never seen him before, yet he somehow looked familiar. Almost as if someone had once described...
The four humans were about thirty feet past Thorin when the boy suddenly cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled. He never even wondered if he was right or not.
"Wayne! Wayne of the Woods!"
The druid stopped dead.
And the growl Thorin so clearly heard wasn't coming from the bear.