Marsheila Rockwell - The Shard Axe

Then she found it. An offhand entry, made almost four months earlier.

Goldglove had been mapping the fissure south of Frostmantle, on the Noldrun side of where it crossed from that hold into Tordannonhold. He’d been down in the newly formed caverns when he’d been attacked by a hooded dwarf who’d chased him away from the fissure, raving madly.

… as if I had any interest in the fool’s stash of Khyber shards! Yelling at me like that: “Mine! First! Last! Always! Only!” Obviously completely unhinged. Lucky to have escaped unharmed. Must start carrying a weapon of some sort …

Of course.

It was circumstantial, Sabira knew, and would never stand up to the Council’s questioning without more proof, but she was certain she had the answer now. Rockfist would be pleased to know he’d been right all along. So would Kiruk.

“What?” Mountainheart asked, leaning over to read the entry himself and not understanding what about it was making Sabira smile like a feral cat.

“I know who did it, and I think I know why. Now all we have to do is prove it.”

“Hrun Noldrun? Who is he?”

Sabira quickly explained about the latest pretender to Noldrunhold.

“He arrived in Krona Peak not long after the encounter Haddrin wrote about. Rockfist said he’d been badly burned at some point—maybe it happened in the cave-in. Maybe he was there, maybe he survived … what Ned and Nightshard didn’t.”

The words came in a raw whisper as she saw it all happen again, playing out before her like a show at the Livewood. In her haste to save Aggar, she’d triggered a deadfall, and the portion of the cavern roof that Ned’s chain was connected to had collapsed. Her devastated scream was drowned out by the thunder of falling rock as she watched Leoned’s body disappear into the magma moments before both the pool itself and Nightshard were buried beneath a small mountain of earth and stone. She and Aggar dug in vain, but all they uncovered was a hand gray with dust. On it, a Khyber shard ring gleamed, even through its coating of dirt. Of Ned, they found nothing. He was gone.

Nightshard had claimed his last victim.

Sabira blinked fiercely, struggling to keep sudden tears at bay. She cleared her throat and continued, hoping Mountainheart hadn’t noticed.

“Maybe it took him this long to find his way back.”

“To Krona Peak?” Mountainheart asked disbelievingly.

“To sanity. Or some semblance of it, anyway.” Host knew it had taken her that long … if she was even there yet. “We never really understood what he was doing back then, or why, but I think I do now. Haddrin gave me the clue. It was in one of the books he was looking at in … the library,” she said, glancing at Tysane. “One on mining claims in and around Noldrunhold. The names of most of the families had been grayed out—either their mines had been played out or the family lines themselves had. Several of those names seemed familiar to me at the time, but I was more interested in the material on magmatic fissures, so I didn’t stop to think about what that meant. But now that I understand that Noldrunhold’s been the key to this all along, it makes perfect sense.”

Sabira paused expectantly, waiting for Mountainheart to catch up with her, but he just gave her a confused look and shook his head. Tysane said nothing.

“The family names were familiar to me because I’d seen them before. Because they were all names of Nightsh—of the Stalker’s victims.”

“Wait. You’re saying the Stalker killed all those people … over mining claims?” Mountainheart couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the prospect.

“I think so, yes. To make sure the area in and around Noldrunhold was completely abandoned.”

“But why? Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody wants to live there. Who would, with Korran’s Maw on one side and Noldrunthrone on the other?”

It was a fair question. Noldrunthrone was believed by all to be haunted, and the Maw was possibly the most feared and shunned location in the entirety of the Holds. Though it was commonly known that the mine still bore rich lodes of ore, so great was the power of the legends surrounding it that those veins remained untapped, even four centuries after they were first deserted. Even so, there was one person who would not be deterred by shades and stories.

It was Tysane who provided the answer.

“A Noldrun.”

“At least one—remember, Hrun is just the accomplice. The Stalker who set all this in motion was probably a Noldrun, too.”

“So, what’s he doing now?” Mountainheart asked, frowning into his beard. “These new victims don’t fit the same pattern. Aside from Goldglove, most of them aren’t even from the southern holds.”

“You’re right, they’re not,” Sabira agreed. “They’re all people whose deaths would be easy to lay at Aggar’s feet for one reason or another, but other than that, they’re not important to Hrun’s greater plan. Not like the first victims were.

“I thought he just wanted to finish the job that I interrupted back in ’91—killing Aggar. But I realize now that was never his goal. Or at least, it wasn’t his only one.

“Haddrin stumbled onto the true plot when he discovered the fissure. Hrun wasn’t going to be content with just killing the Tordannon heir this time—he was going to destroy the heir and the inheritance.”

“Frostmantle?” Tysane asked, horrified. Tysane quickly curved her first two fingers into a fang shape—the sign of the Keeper, the Sovereign of Death and Decay, meant to ward off evil.

“Exactly. Hrun must have remembered Haddrin from his crazed wanderings and realized the threat your son posed. It would have been easy enough for Hrun to track him down at the hot springs, since he knew where to look. Then, when he read the logbook entries and saw that Aggar had threatened Haddrin, the idea to frame Aggar for the murder must have seemed like a gift sent directly from the Mockery. Only the authorities took too long to figure it out; Hrun had to help them along by laying even more murders at Aggar’s feet. But now that Aggar’s been arrested, Hrun can carry on with his true work undisturbed.”

“So how do we stop him?”

“I haven’t figured that one out just yet. But I do know where we can find him.” She grinned at Mountainheart, unaccountably relieved to finally have a sure course of action. “Care to visit some hot springs?”

As they were taking their leave of Tysane, Sabira reminded the old woman not to speak of what she’d heard and then thanked her again for letting them have Haddrin’s logbook.

“Your generosity today will save many lives, grandmother—” Sabira began, only to have Tysane smack her on the shin with her cane.

“Stop calling me that, girl. I’m no one’s grandmother—and won’t ever be, now. The Goldglove line ends with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sabira said perfunctorily, and then the old dwarf’s words reminded her of something she’d read. Ah, yes. Gunnett was likewise the last of her line.

“Speaking of which, grand—sorry, Tysane. Can you tell me what some symbols on a family pedigree mean?”

“Most likely,” the genealogist replied with alacrity. “Describe them.”

When she had, Tysane nodded.

“Hmm. The circle with the x in it is a fairly common one. It means the woman has been proven to be barren. The other symbol—two circles separated by a line, with one circle being larger—that one’s quite a bit rarer, at least in modern genealogies. It’s the sign of the fortunate twin.”