IABD 26: Dreams, Harps and the Hunt

In the nights since Bregindoure’s capture, Matthias would enter his dreams.  

During those nights, his brother always had the same dream, or rather, nightmare.  

He was always in a blood-bog among islands of skulls. 

The Rune of the Berserker always burned in the black sky above him like a sinister sun. 

And Bregindoure was always a beast. 

The nightmare would begin with him feasting on the corpses of his family, while bodies hung from four bone gallows nearby. The only element in the nightmare that changed each night was whose bodies were hanging from the gallows: some nights it was the corpses of Petric, Haakon, Siegfried and Kari. Other nights, it was Eklund and three of his warriors, on others, guards from Bregindoure’s tower hung dead and decaying in four cages. 

The next part of the dream always played out the same way; after feasting for a time, the Bestial-Bregindoure would pause, vomiting out an endless stream of meat, blood and bone into the ichor. Then he would rampage, smashing skulls and clawing bones as he wandered through the bloody swamp under the light of the Rune of the Berserker. 

When he grew tired, he would climb on top of an island, roaring his hate and rage at the Rune in the sky.  

That would bring the nightmare-knights. 

Sur Matthias and Sur Dagma always appeared, riding the same steeds, mocking the beast who would attack the nightmare versions of the two of them. Then, the three would battle, fighting each other fist, tooth and claw.  

The fight was always bloody. 

The fight was always brutal. 

The fight was always short. 

They would surround him, using superior speed and skill to bring him down, then leave him impaled on Dagma’s lance on an island of skulls. Eventually, he would free himself to fight the two nightmares again. 

No matter how many nights Matthias watched that same scene play out, it never got easier to see; it stung him to the core and with each night, it was harder to stop himself from interfering.  

‘Have to keep focused,’ he thought, grimacing while watching as his rune-cursed brother was impaled again by the thing that wore Dagma’s face. Cruel laughter tore at his nerves. ‘Have to remember why I’m actually here.’ 

Shaking his head, Matthias silently waded away from the carnage, making for the doorway back to his dream-realm. 

“Every night Breg has the same dream,” he whispered. “Has it been that way since he was captured? Or has it been that way his whole life?” 

He couldn’t imagine suffering such horrors for so long. 

‘If he even had one different dream where I could just talk to him, I could free him…I’m sure of it...at least I think so. Maybe.’ 

As time went on, Matthias grew less sure of himself. 

Pressure was building up on his young shoulders. 

Though his mother supported him, Altaizar helped him, and Dagma encouraged him, his brother’s life and freedom rested squarely on his efforts. Time was ticking—each sunset brought them one day closer to Bregindoure’s execution—yet Matthias felt no closer to solving his brother’s plight. 

‘Even if I’m able to survive him in battle,’ he thought. ‘How do I get him to—how did mother put it—see his own soul. What words do I need to say to reach him?’ 

The struggle outside his brother’s tower stayed fresh in his memory: then, they’d tried everything they could to reach him. None of Dagma’s pleas, their mother’s words or Matthias’ cries had brought him to clarity. 

Matthias doubted his words would work any better here in this terrible dream. 

‘If I could just figure out what to say or know the right thing to do…’ he thought, reaching his doorway and climbing out of the blood swamp. ‘There has to be something.’ 

He shut the door behind him, stepping into Eklund’s dungeon in The Realm in Dream.  

Putting aside his worries for the moment, he thought about Blood’s Drop. 

The world became mist, forming the waterfall and forest. 

“Right.” He raised his gauntlets, pouring his energy into them, transforming them, changing them to their obsidian form. “Let’s focus on surviving him first.” 

Matthias faced the nearby boulders and trees and began firing. 

For several nights, he’d been training with his gauntlets; working on accuracy at a distance. His routine was simple: he’d start shooting at close targets that he was sure he could hit, then he’d slowly start firing at increasingly distant boulders and trees. When he reached a distance he would have trouble with, he would concentrate his efforts on staying there and firing at targets from that distance before moving on. 

On his first night, he’d struggled with hitting anything at twenty paces or more. 

Now, he was able to hit boulders at forty, only missing every third shot or so. Once he’d successfully mastered hitting anything he was aiming at from that range from a standing position, he’d changed, practising using the gauntlets while walking, then running. 

Focusing his intent on his training, and his mind on his enhanced senses, he’d gotten better quickly.  

“Wish I’d put more time into training with a bow over the years,” he lamented, firing a spike at a tree forty paces away and missing. “I’d probably be learning a lot faster if I had.” 

When he finished target practise, he’d moved onto life energy circulation, moving his power around his body in the Way of Stone. He was getting better at both: he could pump his soul a full nine times before it slipped from his grasp now. Altaizar had told him that he thought he was making excellent progress, and he’d also said his inner life pathways should already be growing stronger. 

Whether they were growing stronger or not, Matthias had noticed it was easier to move energy around his body using the Way of Stone. At first, he could only practice while sitting in a meditative position, his mind utterly focused. Next, he’d progressed to doing it while walking slowly, but now he could move his energy while running, jumping, climbing or practising his weapon swings. 

When using his weapons, he had sent power to his arms—enhancing their speed and strength—he’d then delivered blows with his warhammer that cracked boulders, and strikes with his sword that sliced deep into a tree trunk. 

If he ran, he would put power into his legs, stabilising his balance and steadying himself. His speed would also spike; and when his thighs were filled with power, his swiftness was dizzying; he could charge from place to place in no time. 

He’d learned to toughen his flesh. 

When he was done practicising with his warhammer and sword, he’d raised his arms up, calling out his shadow-tendril and putting it to work, whipping it across his forearms and pouring life force into his flesh and bone. The tentacle was stronger since his Awakening; it had picked up shocking speed when he swung it. 

After the first night of practising with it, he’d woken up the next morning with weeping welts and deep bruises all over his forearms. 

On the second night, he’d practiced with the tendril again, and by the following morning, his forearms looked less beaten up. 

His life force was now filling his arms with a stone-like sturdiness; the tentacle’s once brutal slaps had faded to dull aches. 

### 

When he woke the next morning, no discolorations marred his skin. 

“Yes, I did it!” he laughed, checking his arms carefully. There wasn’t a single welt to be found. He’d grown tougher. “I’ve got to tell mother.” 

He bounded from his bed, rushing down the hallway as a familiar tune called to him. Sitting at the dinner table, he found Beggahasta, her harp in front of her, fingers dancing along its shining strings. She sang as she played in the old tongue of the Evalmerans; a language that reached all the way through the mists of time back to their dark days during the Age of Wolves. 

Yet, it was a song of hope. 

A song of freedom. 

She paused, mid-verse, when she saw her son. “Morning.” 

“That’s the song you play in Bregindoure’s tower, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“It’s his favourite.” She gave a weak smile. “It reminds me of him.” 

Beggahasta plucked three strings—each ringing with discordant notes—then spoke three words in a tongue so old that it predated the even the Wolfwood. The words and notes brought harmony out of disharmony, and the harp shrank to the size of a coin laying in her palm. 

She placed it in a pouch on her belt. 

The harp was an artefact born in the Age of Wonder, a blessed instrument crafted with magics long gone, and approved of by the temples of the Ascended Pantheon. 

Beggahasta patted the pouch lovingly. “How did training go?” she asked her son. 

He stretched out his arms to show her. “Not a scratch!” 

“Well done. You are ready enough.” She nodded at the breakfast table. “Get your sister up then get something hearty to eat. Today, we hunt.” 

“Already?” He startled. 

“It might take us a few days to track the creature.” She tore off a hunk of black bread, handing it to him. “We have a little over a week until your brother’s scheduled execution.” Her face hardened. “I hate even saying those words. We’ll have to move quickly: I’ve already arranged for Altaizar to transport us to the last place the demonic beast was seen. As we’re tracking it, we’ll use the time to put our heads together and think of how to reach Bregindoure. I must also teach you how to use terrain against a beast.” 

“Got it!” Matthias took the bread, then turned, going to get his sister. He suddenly paused at the hallway door. “Are you sure Dagma should come with us, mother?” 

“The lessons you’ll be learning will be important for both of you. She should watch, as will I.” 

“Yeah, oka-Wait…you’re going to watch?” he asked. 

“Of course.” She looked at him in surprise. “How are you going to learn to dispatch a beast if I do it for you? It’ll be up to you to kill this creature we’ll be hunting.” 

Matthias took a deep breath. “I’m ready.” 

### 

“Death has visited this place.” Beggahasta Stonebreaker gripped the hilt of her sword, Tallis hung across her back. Her boot crunched a discarded bone. “And it has been feasting.” 

The barbarian warrior-woman stalked along the banks of the stream, her red armour contrasting with the dark browns and greens of the pines and undergrowth. Her bearskin cloak shifted around her shoulders as she walked among the bones. 

A battle had happened there: one that had ended badly for one side. 

Weapons—spears, short swords, bows and improvised farming tools—lay strewn across both banks of the stream. The dark marks of blood clung to them, staining earth, leaf and stone. 

Yet, no bodies were to be found; only cracked bones remained of those who had fought there, deep drag marks led deeper into the woods. 

Beggahasta examined their surroundings closely. 

Ahead, her children scouted the battlefield. 

Dagma Stonebreaker was carrying a newly sharpened spear in one hand, a dagger was belted to her waist and she wore a dark green gambeson under a black, hooded cloak. The young girl’s hand traced the disturbed ground. “There are tracks here, but I can’t recognise them.” 

Matthias Stonebreaker—towering above the rest of his family—stalked over with the grace of a cave lion, his tendril rising from his shadow beside him. A bow was slung across his back, sword and warhammer were belted at his waist, and he gripped a long spear. 

A green tunic sheathed his chainmail and a black cloak seemed to blend with the shadows under the thick canopy. Crouching beside his sister, he gently touched the track with a gauntleted finger. 

“Let’s see.” He traced the print. “Five long toes, clawed feet that bit into the earth, and a back claw. Hmmm, maybe gloaming tracks? No, these are too big, and there aren’t many gloaming tribes around here. Maybe one of the beastfolk? No, that doesn’t look right either: most of the beast-races that live this far north wear shoes or boots. Ah, I think they look like gnole tracks.” 

He looked over his shoulder, meeting his mother’s eyes. 

The warrior woman gave a silent nod. “We found gnole tracks along with the demonic beast-tiger’s when we returned from the Wolfwood. They were all heading in the same direction.” 

“Those minions you told us abou—” Matthias started to say. 

Something cracked in the distance. 

All three Stonebreakers froze, hands on their weapons. Matthias’ enhanced vision scanned the woods. Pine trees swayed in the wind, branches creaking, boughs groaning. The undergrowth rustled as shadows danced beneath the canopy. 

Matthias’ eyes fixed on something moving in the distance against the wind. 

“I see something out there,” he whispered. 

After a moment, a figure appeared through the undergrowth. It had a long snout, porcine tusks and a hunched back. 

He sighed. “It’s just a young boar. False alarm.” 

“Where?” Dagma asked, following his gaze. 

“There.” He pointed. 

She squinted. “Your eyes are really good. I can’t see it.” 

“Really?” he squinted into the woods. 

“I see it too. Your vision has improved, Matt.” Beggahasta was suddenly beside them—Matthias hadn’t heard her move—placing a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like the little thing was also in a fight recently. There are some healing wounds on his left flank.” 

Matthias squinted harder, but couldn’t make out that much detail. “Think the wounds are from our quarry?” 

“Probably not. I doubt it would have gotten away from an entire herd of gnoles, and definitely not from our tiger.” She looked at the tracks. “Do you think you can follow the gnole-trail?” 

“I should be able to.” Matthias’ eyes traced the footprints. “But I don’t think it’s going to be easy.” 

“Why not?” Beggahasta asked, in that tone that let him know she was trying to teach him something. “Those drag marks will provide an easy trail.” 

“Too easy,” he pointed out. “If some obvious drag marks and tracks lead back to the tiger’s lair, it would have been found by now.” 

“Good. You’re learning. Will you follow the trail, then?” she asked him. 

He looked around carefully. “Yes. The gnoles dragged more than one body away, and it looks like they butchered and ate some right here. There’s no other sign of tracks leading away from here which means this trail’s our only lead to start.” 

“Good, then let’s follow your lead. I’ll guide you when you need help.” Beggahasta looked toward the sky, waving at the figure floating above the Stonebreaker family. “We should be fine here, Altaizar. You may go,” she called, tapping a small wooden cage on her belt. A dragonfly perched inside. “We’ll send your messenger to you when we’re done and you can come get us.” 

“Excellent.” The mage looked to the northeast. His silver hair and crimson robes billowing around him. “I still have some more work to do. I’ve finished analysing the sample of stone I acquired from Bregindoure’s tower: I can confirm it had been softened.” 

“So, you’re sure about that?” Matthias looked up at Altaizar, remembering the theory the mage had proposed a few days ago. 

“I am.” Altaizar pulled a piece of stone from a pouch. “Someone took the time to soften the material fortifying Bregindoure’s tower, allowing him to break free. Combine that with the idea that someone slipped something into his food, it points to sabotage.” 

The mage snarled. “Once I understand exactly how they did it, I’ll have a better chance of figuring out who did it: if the Gift Wielder was careless, they will have left telltale marks of their will upon the rock. And that’s when I’ll teach them the folly of ruining over a decade’s worth of work!” 

Something flashed across Altaizar’s eyes. “My vengeance will be much subtler than theirs…but far more terrible. Far more—”  

He paused, his gaze growing unfocused for a moment. Something whispered around him. “Ah. Well, what timing this is.” The mage looked up to the skies. “Don’t be surprised if you have company.” 

“Who?” Matthias asked. “You think Eklund’s going to try something?” 

“Do you think he sent one of his mages to follow us?” Beggahasta began to draw her sword. 

“Perhaps, but that’s not the company I’m talking about,” Altaizar said. “A wind was sent to whisper to me: my mother is on her way and should be in the area sometime in the next few days. It appears she has finished her business in the Vale of Magi.” 

“Oh, should we go back to meet her?” Dagma asked. 

Altaizar grimaced. “No, trust me. She’ll find you. She…has her ways. She’s very good at finding just about anything.” 

“Oh, that’s useful,” Matthias said. 

“Depends on your perspective.” The mage growled. “Alright, I had better be off. Good hunting, all of you! Good hunting.” 

With that, he flew away. 

The Stonebreakers watched him depart into the skies, disappearing above the trees. 

Silence fell. Matthias inhaled deeply. “Alright then, follow me.” 

Together, the Stonebreaker family continued tracking the elusive demonic beast-tiger. 

###

Author's Note

Forgot the author's note at first! Gah! Well, uh so the hunt begins. Not a looot to say about this chapter. Oh wait, one thing I covered here was actually practising with the gauntlets. So many times I read stories where they just pick up magic items and can use them just as well as a character in a game would.

That's cool, but I wanted a different take here. Hence the practise.

Also the concept for the heart actually predates this version of this story quite a bit. But I'll go more into that when I tell you more about how IABD came to be!