77. Hammer of Hafaesir
Chapter 77
Hammer of Hafaesir
22 nd Day of the Blood Moon
Vindakur, Lodhar Mountains – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Lumeera Arian hefted her shield in her left hand, her sword hanging in its scabbard at her hip. Before her stood an enormous stone door set into the rock face of the cavern, framed on either side by walls of stone and rubble piled some twenty feet high.
The riders had returned with reports that Hoffnar’s forces marching upon Vindakur numbered almost fifteen thousand, dwarves and elves between them. Over double their own number.
In all likelihood, Lumeera would die this day. She knew it, and she accepted it. Not in the wildest of her dreams would she ever have imagined that one day she would be Lord Captain of the Belduaran Kingsguard. Not ever. Tarmon Hoard had been a man cut from the cloth of the gods. She would have followed him wherever he led. And so too Baria Hawe before him. To be mentioned in the same breath as souls of that ilk was more than she had deserved in this life.
The Kingsguard may have been gone – they were the Highguard now – but their purpose, her purpose, remained the same. To stand shoulder to shoulder with the men and women around her, to lead them as their Lord Captain in the defence of the last bloodlines of Belduar… There was no greater honour, no more noble a thing for which a life could be given. That thought, those very words, brought a smile to her face as she remembered what Tarmon Hoard had said the night Belduar had fallen.
“We are the Kingsguard of Belduar!” he’d roared, his hand on the pommel of his sword as he’d looked out at the assembled Kingsguard. “They sing of our deeds across Epheria! Those men and women marching on our home, they were raised on stories of our defiance. We are their legends! And tonight, we will be their nightmares! Some of us will not live to see the rising sun, and to those brave souls I say ‘thank you for the honour of allowing me to stand by your side.’ There is no greater purpose than to protect. And there is no more noble a thing than to give your life in the preservation of another. You are the Kingsguard of Belduar, and you will live in the stories told of this Age. You are immortal.”
Lumeera’s blood had been pure fire that night, and every hair on her body had stood on end. She had given her entire life to defending the people of Belduar. She held no fear in giving them her death too.
“Lord Captain!”
Lumeera turned to see Oleg Marylin pushing through the rows of Highguard. He wore an ill-fitting set of dwarven plate, an axe hefted over his shoulder.
“What are you doing here, Oleg?” Lumera looked down at the man, his scraggy beard poking through the bottom of the helmet, the chainmail beneath his breastplate bulging. “You are the Keeper. These people will need you on the other side.”
Oleg simply smiled back at her. “The portal is open. The evacuation has begun.”
“Thank Varyn.” The beating of Lumeera’s heart settled a little at that. Now she truly did have something to die for. Every swing of her blade would be another soul through, another moment bought for those still travelling the Wind Tunnels.
“Indeed.” Oleg drew a long breath and shifted the axe on his shoulder. “I have no dreams of leaving this mountain,” he said softly. “I was born atop it, and I’ll be happy to die under it. My duty is to the people of Belduar. My duty is here.”
“It’s been an honour,” Lumeera said. “You are a great man, Oleg Marylin.”
“I’m a short man,” he corrected. “A short man with an axe.”
“You do yourself a disservice, my friend.”
A silence of sorts held for a while, the sounds of chatter and armoured feet echoing in the vast cavern blending into the back of her mind. Every now and then a whoosh sounded, announcing the arrival of a Wind Runner in the docks, more Belduarans readying to find a new home.
A thunderous crack accompanied a tremor that swept through the stone beneath Lumeera’s feet. Dust and loose rocks fell from around the giant stone door.
“They’re here,” Oleg whispered.
“They are.” Lumeera tilted her neck side to side, receiving a few sharp cracks in reward. “I’m going to need you to step back, Oleg.”
“I am more than willing, Lord Captain.”
“I know you are. But you are not trained in the ranks of my guard. You will only break our lines. Step back, and keep that axe ready.” She grasped the man’s forearm. “I meant what I said. It has been an honour to serve you. You would have made a great king, and every man, woman, and child that steps through that portal will live a life granted to them by your wisdom, your strength, and your will.”
“The honour has been mine, Lord Captain.”
As Oleg stepped back, Lumeera slid her sword from its scabbard. “Kingsguard of Belduar!” she bellowed. King or no, they were still the Kingsguard. “If today is our last day, let us make it glorious!”
Steel clattered against steel all around her, men and women chanting.
“I grant you permission to die today, but only if you take ten with you. Do you hear me?”
The clamour rose, cheers and stomps echoing.
“For millennia, the Kingsguard have given their lives in service to the people of Belduar. If we are to be the last, let us ensure this song is the grandest ever written. It has been the pride and the privilege of my life to stand with you all. In the words of Tarmon Hoard – you are the Kingsguard of Belduar, and you are immortal!”
Cries and roars erupted, steel clattering.
“For Belduar!” Lumeera roared.
“For Belduar!” the cries answered.
The door shook again, a tremor sweeping through the stone, more rocks breaking free.
“Kingsguard, form up!”
Shields clicked together, feet shifting. Lumeera gripped her sword tight and pulled her shield close to her body. “Give no quarter, fight like demons, and die like heroes!”
The dwarves on either side of the Kingsguard lines slammed the butts of their axes against the ground and set themselves ready for the battle.
A tense silence hung in the air, and then the great stone door erupted inwards. Chunks of stone smashed into the ground and the walls of rock on either side of the doorway, clouds of dust spewing into the air.
A hunk of debris came to a stop only five or six feet in front of Lumeera. She clenched her jaw, steadying her racing heart.
Time stood still for all of a moment, the grey stone dust drifting outwards making it nearly impossible to see further than a few feet. Then shapes coalesced in the cloud of dust, and in a thunder of boots on stone, the dwarves of Volkur came charging.
A sharp whistle rang over Lumeera’s head. Arrows fell, dwarves died.
“Hold the line!” Lumeera roared as the dwarves drew closer. “Hold the line!”
Kira had promised that if Lumeera and the others could buy them time, then she would even the odds with Hafaesir’s hammer. And so that is what Lumeera would do.
Kira watched as the great doors of Vindakur turned to rubble. She stood at the centre of the main thoroughfare between the doors and the island upon which the Portal Heart resided. Just under three hundred dwarves stood around her – Erani, Vikmar, Ahktar, her uncle, and her cousins among them.
The vast majority of those who had come were of Kira’s Queensguard, for the bersekeer blood ran in the veins of the greatest warriors. But so too did Kira see many faces she didn’t recognise, some bearing the colours of the other kingdoms.
Each one of them had stripped themselves of their armour upon Kira’s instruction, their weapons laid on the stone. And each one held a vial of shimmering Rockblood, veins of glowing gold rippling through the black.
She looked down at the markings drawn in Rockblood along her bare arms and chest, many more along her shoulders, legs, face, and back. Markings she had never drawn with her own hand until that day but had seen in the memories of those that had come before her.
The Rites of Leadership were as old as the mountain itself. The blood of the king or queen willingly cut fresh each day and crushed with Heraya’s Ward, to be taken by the next in line, so that the histories of their people would never be lost. A chain unbroken.
Cries and shouts echoed through the enormous cavern, resounding off rock and stone. Flashes of lightning erupted at the doors, screams following, plumes of fire roaring. And still the Kingsguard of Belduar held their ground, as they always had. To a man they were some of the greatest warriors Kira had ever laid eyes on, and to a man they would be slaughtered were it not for Hafaesir’s gift.
Kira walked through the two columns of waiting dwarves, the markings of the Rockblood on their skin glowing with a black and gold shimmer. “Each of you has the blood of the bersekeers in your veins. The ancient blood of our people emboldened with Hafaesir’s fury. A fury you will need to wield his greatest weapon. It has been eight hundred years since the true form of the bersekeers has been witnessed. That changes today.”
Kira nodded to a dwarf who stood on a nearby roof, and the call of horns filled the air: the signal for the Kingsguard and those at the doors to fall back and pull from the main street.
“Let us show these dwarves of Volkur the fury of our people,” she roared. “Drink deep the blood of the mountain, and lay low those who threaten it. May Hafaesir guide you.”
Kira lifted the vial of Rockblood into the air, the gold veins shimmering within. Around her, the others did the same.
A brief moment of panic touched her heart when she looked at Erani, but that panic died in an instant. This would not be the last time she looked upon her sister. Hafaesir would not allow it. They would serve his will together. She knew it in her bones. “I love you, my sister, even if I do not say it enough.”
Erani inclined her head. “Where you lead, I follow.”
Kira nodded to her sister, brought the vial to her lips, and drank deeply. As she did, so did those around her.
The first step had been taken. A line crossed that could not be uncrossed.
She reached over and grabbed her sister’s hand as the burning started in her veins. “Listen to the rock.”
“Silence is the sound of our home,” Erani answered, pain twisting her words.
Kira’s skin cracked and flaked, crimson blood seeping through, her bones feeling as though they would burst through her flesh. She squeezed Erani’s hand. “Listen to the wind.”
Erani’s sudden scream cut off as she clamped her jaw shut. Her head jerked sideways, slivers of black rock slicing through the flesh of her neck. “For it breathes—Agh!” Her hand shook in Kira’s, her shoulders snapping back. “For it breathes life into the soul of the mountain!”
To Kira’s left, a blood-curdling scream erupted and a dwarf snapped backwards, his spine splitting so he stood like a crab, jagged rock bursting from his bones, steaming blood pouring onto the stone. More screams ripped through the cavern with the sound of bones splintering like dry kindling.
Kira gritted her teeth, her blood on fire. Her cracked skin blackened, shards of rock growing from her very flesh. She howled, her bones stretching.
More screams, and Kira watched as her cousins, Lomak and Kandzal, both twisted and broke, shoots of rock bursting from their skulls and spines.
She felt Erani let go of her hand, but her vision blurred and the burning in her blood rose to a new level of agony. Kira screamed until her throat went dry as dust, every piece of her shattering.
And then, from the depths of agony, her vision burst to life, illuminated with a golden light. A deep, seething rage blazed within her, and all she could do was dream of ripping the dwarves of Volkur limb from limb.
She took a lumbering step forwards, disoriented. Voices swirled in her head, voices she did not know, and yet she trusted them. They told her to lift Hafaesir’s hammer and smite his enemies across the mountain.
Kira dropped to one knee, the golden light in her eyes burning and blurring. She pressed a hand against the ground, and something within her called to the mountain – a fury, a need, a desire. Her fingers sank into the stone as though it were water and wrapped around something solid. With a roar, she pulled back and ripped her hammer from the rock itself, veins of shimmering gold rippling through its surface.
She took another step forwards, the rage within her building as she watched the elves and the dwarves of Volkur flood into the lost city.
Another step, her limbs feeling less awkward, a constant buzz droning in her ears, the rage within her slowly rising and rising until two steps became three, became four, and she was charging. Kira roared. The voice that left her lips was not her own, and the words on her tongue were strange and ancient, and yet she knew them.
A chorus of thundering roars joined hers, and the bersekeers of Durakdur charged.
Lumeera shoved her shield forwards, throwing the dwarf back, then twisted and drove her sword down through the slit in the dwarf’s helm, feeling the scrape of bone as the blade buried itself in his eye.
“To me!” she howled, ripping her sword free. A score of Kingsguard fell in beside her in an instant, shields levelled. Most of her warriors had cleared out to the side streets at the sound of the horn as Kira had instructed. But they couldn’t all go, lest they be overrun. Some had to stay and hold back the tide. And she would never be the leader who stood in the back and shouted orders.
She threw her left shoulder forwards and rammed the rim of her shield into the mouth of a helmetless dwarf, teeth snapping and blood spraying. Within a heartbeat, another dwarf took its place, hacking and slashing with a long-hafted axe.
More Kingsguard fell in beside her as they recovered from the waves of lightning that had torn them apart. The elves had only sent a handful of mages, but they wielded the Spark with utter devastation.
“Do not let them pass!” Lumeera shouted. “Heave!”
Across the line, each of the Kingsguard pushed forwards with their shields, then stabbed down into the crush of dwarven bodies hemmed in by walls of rubble piled either side of the entranceway. The lines would not hold for long. The elven mages were toying with them. They could have ripped the formation in half with fire or lightning or whatever other manner of destruction the gods had granted them, but instead they seemed content to let the Volkuran dwarves throw themselves at the Belduaran shields.
Arrows rained down from the rooves of the nearby buildings. Many bounced and ricocheted off steel plate and shields, skittering across the stone. But some found their way through the thick dwarven armour, blood spraying.
“Heave!” she roared again, and in perfect unison the Kingsguard pushed forwards, stabbed, and fell back into the formation. As the dwarves gathered themselves, the second row struck through the gaps, steel slicing flesh and spilling blood.
A long, bearded axe blade flashed at the edge of Lumeera’s vision, glinting in the golden light from the flowers on the chamber’s ceiling. Lumeera swung her head back to avoid the full weight of the blow, but the blade cut a burning gash through the bridge of her nose and she let out a gasp.
The dwarf tried for a second swing, but Lumeera thrust her sword and buried the steel in the meat of his arm, piercing the rings of mail that had already been damaged. She pulled the blade free as the dwarf stumbled backwards.
Just as Lumeera fell back into formation, tightening her grip on her shield and readying herself, a sound like no other rumbled through the mountain city, as though the mountain itself raged and howled, and the ground beneath her shook.
“Behind us!” came a cry.
Lumeera glanced over her shoulder, bringing her shield high to protect the back of her head. “By the gods…”
Her heart stopped as she stared at the monstrous creatures that charged down Vindakur’s main thoroughfare. Abominations plucked from the darkest stories of her childhood. They stood taller than even Uraks, bodies wrought from jagged rock, veins of glowing gold rippling through them. Horns of rock splintered out from their skulls, all twisted and harsh, and a golden light misted from their eyes.
“What manner of demon…” a voice whispered beside her, and it seemed even the dwarves of Volkur had stopped to stare at the dark manifestations.
The ground cracked beneath the creatures’ steps, then reformed once they passed over. Each one of the beasts wielded an enormous spiked hammer as long as Lumeera was tall, wrought entirely of rock and shimmering light.
The fear rising within her stilled at the sound of cheers and the clapping of steel that rang out from the dwarves of Durakdur, who had pulled back at the horns. Could it be? Could these stone-forged demons be the great power Kira had spoken of?
The queen had been clear: do not stand in the way.
“Fall back!” Lumeera roared. She looked over her shield. The dwarves of Volkur stood with their mouths open, axes hanging loose at their sides. Lumeera shoved the soldiers next to her, shouting again, “Fall back!”
The Kingsguard broke off and sprinted towards the side streets, but some weren’t fast enough. She watched in horror as a man tried desperately to escape the charging monsters’ path, but one of the beasts caught him with a stone leg and sent him hurtling across the ground. Dread coiled in her stomach as a second creature brought its foot down and snapped the man in half without breaking stride, crushing his plate and bones in a single step.
The beasts crashed into the Volkuran lines with such devastating force that Lumeera thought she had stepped into the Godsrealm. Massive rock hammers crushed dwarven plate in single swings, golden light shimmering with each blow. They fought with a savage fury, roaring and howling words in a strange language as they ripped the Volkurans apart.
She watched in awe as one of the great monsters slammed an enormous fist down onto a dwarf in a horned helm and crushed him in an explosion of gore and bone, strips of flesh clinging to the jagged rock. The creature lifted its leg, then stomped on a fallen dwarf, shattering their legs, before swinging its hammer and tearing a body clean in half.
Lumeera had never seen carnage like it. These beasts were death incarnate.
Another horn blast sounded, but this one did not come from within the city.
A sharp whoosh was followed by a blur and an enormous bolt smashed into the arm of one of the stone beasts, tearing it free in a spray of dust and shards of rock. Another whoosh , a second bolt, and a leg was ripped from one of the creatures.
The bolts were followed by arcs of lightning that streaked from behind the destroyed doors, tearing strips of stone from the ground and ripping through dwarf and monster alike.
As one of the creatures fell to the ground, the horn sounded again, and the Volkuran dwarves let out a thunderous war cry and charged forwards. They swarmed around the creatures, hacking and slashing with renewed vigour, steel skittering off rock. Even more warriors swarmed past and towards the thoroughfare beyond. Towards the Portal Hearts. Towards the citizens of Belduar.
Lumeera surged forwards without hesitation, her fingers tight around the hilt of her sword.
Arrows continued to rain down from above, bouncing off dwarven armour. Deep, sonorous horns bellowed from further down the street, and Lumeera cast a glance to see the rest of the Durakdur forces breaking into a charge, crimson cloaks of the Queensguard fluttering, axes raised above their heads.
Lumeera pulled her shield tight and slammed it into the side of a charging Volkuran, sending him sprawling. She leaned backwards to avoid the swing of an axe, then opened the wielder’s throat. More Kingsguard and Belduarans flooded around her. There were no lines drawn, no shield walls or slow advances. The battle descended into pure madness and slaughter. Lumeera stabbed down into a dwarf’s open mouth and ripped the blade free in the same motion. “Do not let them pass! Do not let them reach the portal!”
A roar sounded near the entrance, and she watched one of the stone monsters sweep aside a score of Volkurans with one mighty swing of its hammer before taking a bolt to the chest and a second to the knee. It fell, reeling, and then an arc of lightning smashed into its head and shattered it to pieces.
Rage was all Kira knew. It was the blood in her veins, the beating of her heart, the song in her ears. She roared as she swung her axe and impaled two dwarves on the jagged spike that jutted from its end. Their blood soaked into the rock. It fed her, fuelled her, and drove her fury even deeper. She would have their blood. All of them. She would feed the mountain with it.
Something sharp whipped past her head, and a roar sounded behind her. She twisted around. One of her kin had fallen, a massive bolt piercing his chest. Volkurans climbed atop him, hacking with axes and smashing with hammers. She roared, her lungs burning and grating. Her existence was pain, and the pain drove the fury. She surged forwards, her legs devouring the ground beneath her.
Hafaesir’s hammer ignited with golden light in her hand as she swung, killing three of the Volkurans in a heartbeat, their bodies crumpling. She swung the weapon high and brought it down atop a dwarf holding a wicked battleaxe, who burst apart like a bug squashed beneath a boot. With each kill, each drop of blood that seeped into her hammer, her fury burned brighter, and she welcomed it. She was a bersekeer. Her rage was her lifeblood.
Another bolt whipped past her head, slicing a groove through the rock that was her flesh. She snapped her head around and spotted three Bolt Throwers mounted on mobile platforms. She roared and launched her hammer through the air. It spun, golden light spilling from it, screams sounding as it smashed into the leftmost Bolt Thrower and shattered into a thousand shards. As the Bolt Thrower and the platform collapsed, the shards sliced through the flesh of anything nearby, ripping apart the dwarves that operated the other Throwers and tearing through the wooden supports of the weapons themselves.
Kira howled in triumph. She smashed her fists into the ground, crushing bodies everywhere she went.
Something crashed into her chest and sent her staggering backwards, followed by an arc of lightning that tore her right arm free from the elbow, shards of rock splintering. Pain and agony fed fury and rage. She found the mage standing amidst the chaos, golden armour swaddling its body like some pampered child, a crimson cloak swirling at its shoulders. With her vision flooded by Hafaesir’s light, Kira could see the streams of power that swirled around the tiny creature, the threads of the Spark.
She bounded through the thick of battle, then slammed her severed arm into the ground. She called to the rock, to the mountain. She summoned it to her, and it answered. With a roar, Kira ripped her new arm free of the mountain, fresh rock forming joints and fingers.
The threads of power around the mage stiffened and pulsed, ready to strike. Kira lunged, and for a brief moment, she savoured the look of terror on the mage’s face before she slammed her open hands together and crushed the horrid creature between them. Blood and organs spurted, bone and steel crunching.
Kira slammed her fist into the ground once more and ripped a new hammer free. She roared wildly, and her kin about her answered.
She could feel the terror in the hearts of those around her, as tangible as the ground beneath her feet. It was sweet as honey. Hafaesir was awakened, and she would teach these traitors to fear his wrath.
An axe skittered off Lumeera’s pauldron as she twisted and turned amidst the swell of bodies. She swung her blade, only for it to bounce off heavy plate. She swung again, breaking chains on the mail that coated the dwarf’s neck. Finally, Lumeera lifted her knee and planted her foot into the dwarf’s shield, launching them backwards. The dwarf stumbled and fell, only for one of those stone monstrosities to slam its foot down and crush the dwarf inside their own armour.
Lumeera had to hold back the bile as shards of bone snapped through flesh and blood sprayed in a mist.
Those creatures may have fought on her side, but they killed anything that moved. More than once she had come within a hair’s breadth of her own end by the stray swing of a jagged, rock-wrought hammer.
She looked back towards the central island where the Portal Heart was sheltered within the broken mound of stone. Rows of dwarves and Belduarans stood steadfast across the streets that gave access to the island and on the bridge at the far side. On the ledges above, citizens continued to stream down from the Wind Tunnels.
Lumeera stumbled backwards as a leg of jagged rock swept past her face and crushed two elves in their golden plate. One was broken from the waist up, and the other’s skull became nothing but pulverized bone and brains.
The Volkurans and the elves had pushed them almost halfway down the main thoroughfare, and the fighting raged in the side streets and alleys. But the enemy’s strength was waning. The might of Kira and her bersekeers was too much. Around her, she could see their numbers thinning, their resolve wavering. The sight brought a renewed vigour to her bones, and she let out a war cry, slamming the rim of her shield into the face of an elf who had turned to strike her down. The elf stumbled backwards, and Lumeera pressed her advantage. He turned her first two swings away, but she caught him with the third, steel hacking deep into the flesh of his neck. She shouldered her shield and pushed as she heaved the blade free, letting the body drop.
The triumphant cry had barely touched her lips when something hard punched into her lower abdomen. She stumbled backwards, the air catching in her lungs. An arrow jutted from just below her breastplate, the head buried in her flesh.
As she looked down at the wooden shaft, a horn rang out from the tunnels, followed by cries of “Fall back!”
The surviving Volkurans and the elves broke free from the melee and began their retreat, and cheers and war cries rose up from those who defended the city. The monstrous bersekeers paid no heed to horns or the fleeing. They carried on swinging their mighty hammers, crushing and killing everything within reach.
Amidst it all, Lumeera spotted an elf standing still, a bow in its hand, an arrow nocked and trained upon her, the string drawn. She drew a breath and prepared for the end, but before the elf loosed, Oleg Marylin – of all people – came swinging from the rush of bodies and slammed his axe clean into the elf’s chest. The blow struck with such force the axe cleaved the steel and blood streamed around it.
The elf dropped the bow, the arrow skittering to the floor. It fell backwards, taking the axe with it.
Oleg reached down and ripped the axe free, a look of shock on his face. He stood there in that ill-fitting armour, a bloodied axe in his hands.
Lumeera dropped her shield and brought her fingers to the wooden shaft embedded in her stomach. Every breath she drew sent a surge of pain through her. She swallowed hard and looked to Oleg, giving him a nod of thanks.
A smile slowly spread across the man’s face, and he pressed a hand to his breastplate. Oleg may not have been a warrior, but he had a warrior’s heart.
Lumeera pressed her hand to her own plate in return, but coils of dread slithered through her veins as one of the giant monstrosities let out a roar and swung its hammer.
And then Oleg was gone.
The creature’s hammer swept him aside as though he were nothing, and then it carried on, tearing through the Volkurans and the elves as they fled for the entrance.
Lumeera dropped her sword and broke into a sprint, her body screaming as the arrow scraped at her with every step. She threw herself to the ground to avoid the sweeping legs of another stone monster, then scrambled upright, only to drop to her knees beside Oleg’s broken body.
His chestplate was caved in, his right arm hung on by threads of skin and muscle, and his neck was twisted and broken.
A pair of hands pulled at Lumeera’s shoulders, but she ignored them, brushing her fingers across Oleg’s bloodied, lifeless cheek.
“Lord Captain.” The hands pulled at her again, a dwarf with a crimson cloak appearing at her side. “We need to go. The bersekeers will not stop. It’s not safe here.”
Lumeera clenched her jaw, the pain in her stomach burning. She grabbed the haft of Oleg’s fallen axe and hacked down through the shaft jutting from her torso. The wood splintered and broke, leaving the head buried within her. She dropped the axe and slipped her hands beneath Oleg.
“I’m not leaving you here,” she whispered as she lifted Oleg’s lifeless body into her arms, his shattered arm dangling. “You will be returned to ash under the light of the sun.”
Pankar, one of Lumeera’s Kingsguard, rushed to her and tried to take Oleg’s body, but she snapped at him and carried on, whispering to her dead friend as she hobbled through the street of corpses, the bersekeers still killing and butchering everything that moved behind her.
“I’ll build you your own pyre,” she whispered. “I’ll take some of the ashes and spread them across Haftsfjord.”
He’d spoken often about his love for the lake that glittered in the sunlight below Belduar. It seemed like a good place for him to rest, a gentle place.
Lumeera hobbled the length of the street, many of her Kingsguard and other Belduarans following as they saw whom she carried in her arms. By the time she’d crossed the bridge and entered the structure housing the Portal Heart, she was ready to collapse from the pain in her stomach, but she refused to stop.
The Belduaran refugees were still streaming down from the Wind Tunnels and through the Portal Heart, but they parted before her, whispering and pressing their hands to their hearts.
She walked past the pedestal at the centre of the shattered chamber and stopped before the ring filled with molten gold that rippled like water.
Sweat streaked her brow, and her vision had started to blur. She grunted at a dwarf who stood at the steps that fronted the portal. “I just walk through?”
“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving Oleg.
Lumeera nodded in response, unable to muster any more words. She took the steps one at a time, then passed through. A wave of ice washed over her, and then she was on the other side.
People rushed to her, voices dull and distant in the back of her mind. She ignored them all and dropped to her knees, gently placing Oleg’s body on the stone before collapsing, her vision going black.
Kira shivered as she knelt naked amidst the corpses. Her mind was dull and achey, her body screaming in pain with each movement. The rage that had consumed her still smouldered within. Crushed limbs and bone shards lay amidst pools of blood and innards. The sight was so visceral and raw, her stomach lurched.
Images flashed in her mind: her own hands ripping bodies in half, her hammer crushing and smashing bones and armour. She looked down at her arms and hands. Veins of gold marbled grey skin, bits of which were still cracked and split like rocks, blood coating every inch of her. She turned over her hands, tracing the gold that flowed across her palms and around her fingers.
What had she become?
“What I needed to be,” she whispered to herself. She was not ignorant. She saw the bodies of Belduarans and her own kin, not slain by sword or axe or bow, but by the crushing blows of Hafaesir’s hammer. Many others stood or knelt amidst the bodies, naked as the day they’d been born, grey skin shimmering with marbled veins of gold. Sixty or so, not many more.
“Sister?”
Kira’s heart fluttered at the sound of Erani’s voice. She had feared the worst. She turned to find her sister stumbling through the corpses, arms wrapped tight about herself. Tears streamed down Erani’s cheeks, her eyes raw and red. She shivered, her lip trembling.
“Erani.” Kira stumbled as she got to her feet. She pulled her sister in close, resting her chin on Erani’s shoulder. “You’re all right. Hafaesir bless us.”
“Kira.” Erani’s voice trembled. She squeezed, her hands gripping Kira’s back. “Kira, what have we done?”