Father of the Mountain: The 13th Paladin (Volume VIII) by Torsten Weitze

Author:Torsten Weitze [Weitze, Torsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-14T22:00:00+00:00

The pair spent the rest of the night together in a little room that was made available to them in the Hall of Archives, an extremely tall, artificial cave full of shelves hewn out of the rock, storing neatly arranged stone tablets, each with elaborate Dwarfish runes etched into them. Ahren reckoned that a person could spend their entire life here without reading everything on the tablets before their mortal time on Jorath was done. Now, they were sitting in a small chamber with a chair and a lectern, doubtless used by a dwarf during the day for etching tablets with new runes. Culhen lay asleep in a corner of the room, having consumed over a dozen rabbits. Ahren was unable to sleep, concentrating instead on fine-tuning what he was going to say to the Father of the Mountain, to whom he still had to confess that he had aided his successor’s flight to the Wild Clans. Then the door opened and Jelninolan came in quietly. She looked at Culhen sympathetically, and Ahren put a finger to his lips.

‘He’s finally fallen asleep,’ whispered the young Paladin. ‘I’d prefer it if he didn’t wake up. His self-confidence has suffered just as much as his paw.’

Jelninolan nodded and approached the animal quietly. The elf gently took the wolf’s broken paw in her hands and whispered a single word. There was a low cracking sound, and the animal yelped once in his sleep before Jelninolan nodded and straightened up again. ‘When Culhen wakes up again, he will be as right as rain,’ she whispered. ‘Now let me look after you,’ she said, placing a hand on the young Paladin.

‘Are you allowed to cast spells, then?’ asked Ahren with interest.

Jelninolan nodded. ‘Only healing magic, and only until sunrise,’ She chuckled. ‘We really had to hurry to get here in time.’ There was a certain lethargy in her voice, and Ahren recognised the passivity that always resulted whenever Jelninolan did healing magic without the aid of Mirilan.

‘Where is your Storm Fiddle?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘Storm Weaving is strictly forbidden,’ she said with a frown. ‘My little song for the Ore Finder Clan has become the subject of general gossip, and now everyone believes that I performed some dreadful sorcery on the poor souls.’ She snorted. ‘That version of events is apparently more acceptable than the possibility that the lonely fellows might have simply neglected their work on account of a female singing to them.’

Ahren gnawed at the inside of his cheek. If news of Jelninolan’s song had done the rounds already, then doubtless their deeds on the Coronated Peak had been similarly broadcast.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’ she asked curiously.

Ahren shook his head. ‘It would be best if I told everyone at the same time. It was unreal and…terrifying.’

Jelninolan nodded, and Ahren was sure that she understood his need to come to terms with the events on his own first.

‘Once you have visited the Father of the Mountain, please go straight to Uldini,’ she said, finally taking her hand away from him.

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