Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 222: To Spread the Flame [Start of Book 5]

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads! (And also Infinity21!)

Toren Daen

The musty scent of pipe smoke and fire salts stung my nose, each inhale saturated with the heart of the underground. The fire mana twisted and churned of its own accord, palpable across my skin in a way I'd never experienced before.

The drumsticks in my hands were solid and sure–after a week of practice, I'd managed to achieve a level of comfort with them resting in my hands, and now they felt almost natural.

"Begin, you louts!" a full-bodied voice bellowed. "I want to see no hair out of line! You're earning your drinks tonight, you fools, so ya better play to impress!"

And as if a bomb had been set off, the music started. A concentrated mix of resonant horns, shuffling lutes, and intermittent drum beats resonated through the small cavern. In an almost tactile way, I felt the intent of the dwarves around me weave through the air. The excitement, hope, and at the deepest depths, an undercurrent of fear.

I struck the drum in front of me in tune with the rhythm, a deep bass echoing out that made the sound mana itself tremble. I honed in on the steady beat of my own heart as a centering force. The sound of deep singing filled the air as one of the band members–an exceptionally thin dwarf named Talgar–began to call from the depths of his throat.

It was my task to assimilate with the dwarves of Dicathen, to act as a bridge between Alacrya and Darv. And as part of that task, I'd approached the problem from an avenue I was most familiar with: music.

"Keep up that pace!" the first voice yelled over the chorus. "That's the way, lads! You'll earn a wagon-full of ale with this one, I guarantee!" they cried with pride.

Korsted was a balding dwarf with black hair streaked back at his sides. He had eyes that peered a little too far in opposite directions, but it was hard to notice with the laugh lines around his face and his bulbous cheeks. And he was a stickler for music.

I'd been working up a rapport with the dwarf for a while, slowly learning aspects of dwarven music and traditions. Writing it all down had become a habit–something that truly calmed me. And only recently did I finally feel I'd made enough headway to ask if I could be taught the craft itself.

I'd been handed a pair of drumsticks, a drum the size of my torso, and been told to "figure it out." I had a feeling this was Korsted's subtle way of pushing back against the Alacryans that occupied Burim—there were notably few compared to the dwarven rebels—yet he'd finally relented as he'd seen my earnest desire to learn of his culture.

And right now, the motley collection of dwarves all around me—who were barely kept together and organized at all—were doing a loose imitation of "practice" for the Aurora Constellate celebrations coming up soon. Every culture across Dicathen, be they humans, elves, or dwarves, attached ritual significance to the Aurora Borealis that stretched across the entirety of the continent for a few days at a time.

I still wasn't entirely sure how the Aurora Constellate worked. As far as I was aware, it was a similar phenomenon to the Northern Lights in my previous world, where the gravity at the poles captured charged particles from a solar storm. Except the Constellate was visible all across the continent, and while Dicathen–as far as I was aware–was situated in the northern hemisphere, it wasn't far north enough to even kiss the poles.

Probably some sort of interaction with mana, I thought absently as I continued to strike out a rhythm on the drums. But that doesn't really narrow down why.

Soon enough, the song ended on a final echoing note. I raised my drumstick, then brought it down hard on the leather-wrapped surface. As a little extra trick, I flexed my control over the ambient mana, making the note that rumbled out resonate slightly more.