The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 14: The Murderer, Kullervo

Kullervo's hold on the dagger was steady, but Ríg didn't flinch. "Aren't you afraid that I'll cut the magic from you, boy?" the madman asked.

"You'll do what you'll do," Ríg said coldly, "it's the way of dreams."

"Dreams?" Kullervo spun the blade between thumb and first two fingers, deliberating. "I have dreams, terrible dreams. Dreams of fire and volcanoes, like the heart of Ilmarinen's forge ... yes, the heat there, it's comforting." He paused, then excitedly asked, "This magic in you—tell me, boy, are you the Sampo?"

"No, I'm not the Sampo," Ríg replied firmly, forcing himself to stand close to the pale-skinned, cadaverous man when all he wanted to do was shrink away.

"Ah, well, then, I'll probably have to kill you," Kullervo said regretfully. His eyes widened. "Unless, you're Sigmund ... that's it! You're Sigmund in disguise! Which makes you a LIAR," he screamed and lunged at Rudyick, his fingers clawing the air before scratching the elf's face.

Rudyick fell backwards, still bound by Kullervo's restraining magic. He hit the ground hard, then didn't move.

Kullervo spun on Ríg and Skade, who also remained spellbound. "If you're Sigmund, tell me, do you want to kill me for binding your kinfolk to the cruel trees?"

"I'm not Sigmund, and none of us has done anything," Ríg said calmly, scanning the entire glade. A fierce anger rose, of an intensity he'd not felt since Mecina — the murders of all the dwarves and valkyries here, the beating of Rudyick and violation of Skade, the prisoners gagged and tied in contorted positions against the trees, the casual cruelty of the man ... all the factors fused in the youth's mind. He felt a quiet, warming determination to do more than escape. With all the corpses and death in the Sviddengen, moral outrage flared into physical compulsion, a searing obligation to stop Kullervo before he killed again.

The haunted, insane man pointed to the woods behind Ríg. "I've gagged most of them because they kept trying to talk to me, trying to tell me that I wasn't who I thought I was." He blew the cow horn again. "Where arethose dwarves?" He moved closer to Ríg and said softly, "I don't have much patience with dwarves. Do you know why?"

He smacked his lips with a thin, serpent-like tongue. "Dwarves and elves make too many magical things, and I can't. I used to be able to make things ... I think. I got lost. Unmade. But there's something about making that I should remember."

He glanced at the slag heaps which had hardened into lumpy, steely flows on the scorched grasses around the foundry. "Making and unmaking ..." He snapped out the next words. "Ah, well, no help for it when no. One. Answers. My. Questions. Hah! Better to kill dwarves than waste time wondering where I went!"

Three dwarves entered the meadow bearing bundles of firewood. They wore heavily soiled clothing, and masses of ugly, purple and black bruises marred their faces.

"Austri, Vestri, and ... one other?" Skade said as she and Ríg watched the brothers and other dwarf shamble to the furnace area. "Where did that otherdwarf come from?"

The Hospitaller squire looked more closely at the forge, able to see the entirety of the structure carved into the hillock. The foundry seemed more a temple than a blacksmith's shop, with its three walls and roof fashioned by thick slabs of blue-pearl labradorite and an entrance that opened onto the clearing, braced by pilings and oak beams that stood three times higher than Ríg.

The youth marveled at the intricate runes and carvings worked into the dark granite; even under duress, while kidnapped and enslaved, the dwarves had built this small factory with skill. More, the building had all the necessary equipment, drains, and work tables to make any smithy proud.