Dan the Adventurer, page 4
part #2 of Gold Girls and Glory Series
“Husband? Sister-wife?” Moro said, sounding outraged. “That’s not possible. You’re the Iron Daughter. They’re—”
“We’re what?” Dan said, stepping forward. “Say what you want about me, Moro, but choose your words carefully if you talk about Nadia. Holly’s all out of healing spells for today.”
Moro’s face reddened with anger, but he said no more.
Young enough to bark but old enough to know better than to bite, Dan thought. But then he corrected himself. Sure, Moro was young by elf standards, but the guy was older than Dan. Probably much older.
From what Holly had told him, elven newborns developed at a rate similar to human babies. Once they reached the toddler stage, things slowed down. Elves remained toddlers for twice as long as human children. Aging continued to slow from there. Elves entered puberty in their early thirties. From that point to adulthood, they developed six or seven times more slowly than humans.
Once they reached maturity, the human equivalent of seventeen or eighteen, aging slowed dramatically, and this pattern of exponential slowing continued throughout the elves’ long lives, with the second thousand years being spent in a state of elderly physical ruin but total mental clarity.
Bearing that dynamic in mind, Dan figured that Moro was somewhere between sixty and seventy years old, so yeah… fuck that guy. If Moro got mouthy again, Dan’s fist would age the whippersnapper into his first pair of dentures.
Holly demanded a report. Estus and Moro explained what had happened.
Two beasts had attacked the patrol, taking it by surprise. This meant that the beasts, whatever they were, were incredibly stealthy, as it was almost impossible to take an elf by surprise, let alone six elves on active patrol.
The black things had killed two elves in the initial attack. By the time the elves had drawn their swords, the beasts were already hurrying off with two living elves in their jaws.
Moro and Estus had given chase, and the larger monster had wheeled on them at the edge of the forest.
“I surprised the other one,” Nadia said. “Hid in the bushes and blindsided it. Sunk my teeth straight into its neck. Thing didn’t even yelp.”
Nadia’s arm was around Dan’s waist. She gave him a squeeze. “I’m glad you showed up when you did, babe.”
Such familiarity from Nadia in this form was strange but exhilarating, almost like having a third lover. “Happy to be of service, and thanks for tearing into the thing while it was taking a chunk out of my ass.”
“Whatever they are,” Estus said, “they can absorb a lot of damage.”
Holly and the elves had dealt the ape-thing a lot of damage, but it never seemed to weaken. Then, suddenly, the monster had stopped fighting and run off like a hound heeding a distant whistle.
Nadia and Dan told about their fight with the smaller beast.
He left out the most troubling thing of all, figuring he’d wait until he was alone with Holly and Nadia. These were the creatures pacing behind Zeke’s wall of red lightning. What did that mean?
They gathered their dead, and the elves called their steeds, which emerged skittishly from the woods across the road. The short, stocky horses whinnied and stamped as Estus and Moro lashed dead elves across their backs.
They tethered the mounts at the edge of the forest and walked into the woods to retrieve the monster.
“What is it?” Dan asked.
They stood in a loose circle around the dead beast.
“Whatever it was,” Nadia said, nudging the thing with her foot, “it’s dead now.”
The thing’s smooth hide had lost its glossy shine and lightened from coal black to charcoal. The snakelike body had stiffened with rigor mortis.
Dan winced at the smell.
“Look at its fangs,” Holly said, and everyone crouched down for a closer look.
“Sucks being the only one without night vision,” Dan said.
Holly brought her glowing staff close to the beast’s face, and the enchanted weapon’s faint illumination showed Dan a blunt face akin to a child’s crude drawing of a serpent
“I see what you mean about the fangs,” Dan said, leaning close. Black fangs sprouted from black jaws with no discernible joint or differentiation.
Holly nodded. “Where does the jaw end and the fangs begin? It’s all one piece.”
The thing was like a statue carved from a single block.
Dan leaned over and rapped the beast with his knuckles. “No shit,” he said. “It turned to stone.”
7
The Grove
As dawn broke along the Eastern horizon, they rode into an isolated meadow, autumn-brown weeds hissing across their stirrups.
Nadia, who rode behind Dan, gave him a squeeze. Her wounds had already healed thanks to regeneration, and she had since shifted back to human form. “Look,” she said.
Behind them, trampled weeds rose back up to stand straight and tall in the faint light of breaking day, erasing any sign that riders had passed this way.
Dan nodded in acknowledgment. Sure, it was weird—amazing, even—but right now, he found it hard to give a shit.
After an hour on horseback, his ass, arm, and left leg were screaming with pain. If only the petrified monster lashed to Holly’s horse would come back to life. Then he could kill the bastard again and get a little payback for the agony he was suffering.
Riding at the front, Holly drew up to the edge of the field, paused before a cluster of thorn apple trees, and started speaking in Elvish, her voice low and formal, ritualistic.
“Can we save the prayers until later?” Dan growled. “My ass is killing me.”
“You’ll be happy then, to know that we have arrived,” Holly said, and the thorn apple trees disappeared, revealing stone wall and the gated entrance of a large tunnel.
Elf magic, Dan thought. The entrance to their hidden grove.
“Nifty trick,” Nadia said.
The iron gate slid aside without so much as a squeak.
They rode into the tunnel, which was wide enough for three horses to walk side by side.
At the far end of the tunnel, a good hundred feet away, a semi-circle of daylight glowed, crosshatched in the dark, regimented lines that could only be another iron gate.
Paranoid bastards, Dan thought.
Something whooshed behind them, and the gate clanged back into place, locking them in the tunnel.
A voice spoke in Elvish, seeming to come from the tunnel wall.
Studying the space, Dan noticed dark rectangles staring like narrowed eyes from the walls and ceiling.
Arrow slits.
This wasn’t a tunnel. It was a killing tube.
Holly responded to the voice.
Dan couldn’t understand the words, but her tone was unmistakably cold and commanding.
The voice spoke again, sounding agitated.
Holly fired back. Estus and Moro joined in, talking over each other.
After a minute of heated debate, the second gate opened.
Waiting for them on the other side were two elves, one male, one female, seated atop huge creatures with burly lion bodies and the heads, wings, and talons of eagles.
Griffons, Dan realized, instantly awed. It was one thing to encounter a griffon in a game. It was another thing altogether to stand ten feet away from a living, breathing griffon that was staring at you with murder in its yellow eyes.
The griffons growled, clacked their beaks, and scratched at the ground with their great talons. They were huge and beautiful and terrible. One reared back with a loud screech, spread its wings, and pounded its clawed forelegs back to earth.
Dan’s hand dropped reflexively to his sword. Its wingspan has to be twenty-five feet.
The female guard drew her bow, pointing an arrow at Dan.
“Whoa!” Dan shouted. “Put it down.”
The elves shouted back and forth. The sentries obviously wanted to know what two humans were doing inside their secret compound.
Clearly pissed, Holly shouted back at the soldiers. She pointed at Dan and Nadia, the dead soldiers and monster, and at the sprawling meadow beyond the sentries.
At the center of the meadow towered a grove of massive trees. Towers rose among the trees like trunks of stone. Bridges and walkways ran between the towers and the trees, connecting hundreds of arboreal buildings and platforms.
The female guard, who had a jagged scar like an asterisk on one cheekbone, lowered her bow, but she and her male companion continued to cast venomous glances at Dan and Nadia.
Dan kept one hand on his pommel.
“I’m starting to get the impression that they don’t like us very much,” Nadia said.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Dan said, glaring back at the haughty, fine-boned faces of the sentries.
The male guard dismounted and went from corpse to corpse, frowning at the dead elves. Then he glanced up at Dan with an accusatory look.
Dan’s wounds were killing him. He wasn’t in the mood for this guy’s bullshit. “You keep giving me the stink eye, motherfucker, we’re going to have a problem.”
The elf stared back at Dan, trying to look like a hard-ass. With his long hair, thin nose, and pursed lips, he actually looked like a bitchy teenaged girl. Speaking in common, the elf said, “How dare you speak to me, human?”
“Dare to speak to you?” Dan said and pulled one foot free of the stirrup. To hell with his wounds. He was going to teach this prick a lesson. “I dare to do a lot more than talk.”
“No!” Holly said and shot Dan a warning glance.
At the same time, Nadia’s arms tightened around his waist.
“Please stay on your horse, husband,” Holly said. She gestured to the riderless griffon. Its muscular body was tense, ready to pounce, its yellow eyes locked menacingly on Dan. “If you dismount, that griffon will attack.”
Dan growled with frustration but stayed in his saddle. “Please explain to these assholes that I helped their buddies.” He pointed to the dead beast atop her horse. “That’s the monster, not me. I killed the fucking monster.”
“This is true,” Estus said.
Moro nodded in agreement.
The male guard walked to the back of Holly’s horse. The female guard drew her griffon closer. The guards studied the dead beast with looks of concern and confusion, whispering between themselves.
“There is another, larger specimen in the forest,” Holly explained. Then she, Estus, and Moro explained everything that had happened.
The guards were clearly gutted by the loss of the patrolmen, puzzled by the beast, and surprised to learn that a crevasse had opened in the forest.
Half a dozen griffons burst from the grove and sailed across the meadow. As they landed beside the other guards, the flapping of their great wings blew grit into Dan’s face, forcing him to shield his eyes.
Once the wind died away, Dan lowered his arm.
The lead rider had already dismounted. He was taller than the other elves, perhaps 5’8” , and wore a great helm, a purple cloak, and an ornate breastplate inlaid with intricate gold work. Purple eyes blazed within the great helm, below the lower edge of which hung a curtain of golden hair.
The riders behind this taller elf waited, lances at the ready.
The two original guards started speaking rapidly, talking over one another, clearly nervous.
The leader ignored them and spoke to Holly in Elvish, his tone menacing.
Holly fired back angrily, color rising in her cheeks.
The leader turned then to Dan and Nadia and said in common, “Humans are not allowed in the grove.”
“They are my guests,” Holly said.
“Which is why they still live,” the leader said. “Now, if they wish to continue living, they must leave.”
Holly stood her ground. “But they are protected within guest rights.”
The leader snorted with contempt. “Guest rights don’t extend to inferior races.”
“Inferior races?” Dan laughed. “I can out-drink, out-fuck, and out-fight any one of you pansies.” He swung down from his horse, wincing at the pain in his leg and ass, and everything went crazy.
The leader’s griffon reared up, spreading its tremendous wings and slashing the air with its razor-sharp talons.
“Stop!” Holly screamed.
Dan ripped his sword free of its scabbard, but the leader of the elves had already drawn his sword.
So fast, Dan thought, and Nadia appeared beside him, daggers in hand.
The other griffons screeched and stamped, drowning out Holly’s shouting, and edged closer. Five lances lowered at Dan and Nadia.
“Hold,” the leader told the other guards, and stepped forward, slicing the air with a flourish of lightning fast slashes. “I’ll show these savages what happens to those who draw steel in the grove.”
Dan knew that he didn’t stand a chance, but he was too angry to care. The griffons and their riders might kill him, but he was going to cut their leader in half first.
This asshole had top-notch armor, a shiny sword, and heavy backup, but Dan was bigger, taller, and stronger, and had enough hit points remaining to do some serious damage before the others took him out.
“Come on, cocksucker!” Dan roared, falling into a fighting stance.
“Feel my Thorn, barbarian,” the leader said, stepping forward.
Holly jumped off her horse, shouting, “Briar, no!”
Briar? Dan thought. That’s her brother’s name.
And in that instant, Briar attacked.
He was insanely fast, closing the gap before Dan could even register the attack. His sword whipped around in a flashing backhand slash—and stopped abruptly to avoid hitting the woman who suddenly stood between them.
The woman had appeared without so much as a theatrical flash. She was perhaps a thousand years old, judging by her graying blond hair and the faint wrinkles at the corners of her purple eyes, and strikingly beautiful. She raised a hand and spoke calmly in the common tongue. “This is finished.”
The elves and griffons stilled instantly.
Briar sheathed Thorn.
Dan and Nadia lowered their weapons.
The woman nodded toward Holly. “Welcome home, daughter.”
Holly bowed low. “Thank you, Mother.”
The woman’s eyes drifted over Dan and Nadia, the dead elves, and the strange beast before settling on the wooden box lashed to Holly’s saddle.
“You have brought your grandmother home,” the woman said, her tone even, her face expressionless.
“Yes, Mother,” Holly said, sounding nervous, and gestured to Dan and Nadia, “and I would like to introduce my husband, Dan, and sister-wife, Nadia.”
Grumbling rippled through the elven soldiers, but Holly’s mother betrayed no emotion. She merely looked at Dan, blinked, and looked at Nadia before turning to her son.
“Briar,” she said, “escort your sister’s young guests to the visitors’ chamber. There will be no conflict.”
Briar bowed. “Yes, Mother.”
“And you, daughter,” Holly’s mother said, “will come with me.”
8
The Iron Mother
For a long time, Holly’s mother stared down into the wooden box, saying nothing; the sound of seconds ticking away in the silence of the study.
Of all the rooms in the grove, of all the rooms in the world, this was Holly’s least favorite. Part library, part medical research laboratory, part museum, the study was her mother’s haven, a lifeless sanctuary where her mother spent days and evenings studying the dead and scouring the past. She was the Chief Scholar of the grove.
The grandfather clock ticked on while Holly waited, its single hand edging forward in perfect time, marking the passing seconds against nothing. No hour hand, no numbers, no symbols. The clock served only to mark seconds passing without referent, like a metronome pacing time without music.
Because, as her mother had told her countless times over the years, time is a lie.
They call Father the Iron Druid for his strength, Holly thought. They should call Mother the Steel Scholar.
For all of Father’s strength, the Iron Druid at least had a passionate heart, capable of sorrow and anger, warmth and love. Holly’s mother, on the other hand…
Without so much as a frown, the scholar impassively studied the decapitated head of her mother-in-law, a woman whom she had known for a millennium. There had been no animosity between the women. Holly’s mother simply lacked sentimentality.
Besides, Holly reminded herself, to Mother, none of us are ever really dead. Or wholly alive, for that matter.
To her mother, every life was a riddle that could be studied only as a whole and only in connection with other lives. To be able to see all lives, complete and interwoven, would be to know the Great Truth.
Time was an illusion, and mortality was an unfortunate limitation. To combat them both, she and her fellow scholars spent their lives connected with the Great Conversation, pouring over the countless tomes of past generations and adding their own learnings to the grove library in the form of footnotes, scrolls, and new texts.
Father studied trees, plants, and animals. In short, life.
Mother studied carcasses and dusty books. In short, death.
In place of warmth, Holly’s mother supplied consistency and reliability, earning Holly’s respect, admiration, and fear.
Not that Mother would harm her. Holly didn’t fear what her mother would do. She feared what her mother was—and what that meant for her own future.
Would Holly someday wake devoid of emotion and interested only in riddles of the past? The mere question made her feel like she was suffocating; made her feel like charging from this horrible, airless room into the light of day; made her feel like gathering up Dan and Nadia and fleeing the grove forever.
But of course, she would never do those things. Because the grove held her home, her people, and her family, her past and future—if not necessarily her present.
