“It’s beyond words! I wish Elmira could see this place,” I whispered to myself.
It certainly felt good to be able to witness the ancient, striking structure, and it definitely improved my spirits and determination to continue.
Who would believe me now? As if what I’d already witnessed hadn’t been enough, I thought of the many things I deemed unfathomable just a week ago.
“It certainly has a special beauty! Ever since I found it, I meant to go down there and visit, but I never have. And now I’m not that sure I could still go. One thing’s for certain; it’d surely make a great hiding place.” The witch let out a quick laugh as she peeked through another hole.
I lifted myself, still overwhelmed, and vaguely cleaned my clothing of the yellow dust I had collected.
A long moment of silence followed while I mutely grabbed the stone-torch and sat in front of the witch. She was staring through the holes, seemingly without looking at anything in particular. I assumed she was lost in her memories.
“You ready?” she then asked, pushing herself briskly onto her feet.
“I am. Where to now?”
“Before we leave,” a worrying exhale of air came out of her mouth, as if exhaustion had finally taken its toll on her old body, “I want you to keep this with you!” She took her own cloak off and gave it to me.
Its wool fibres were finely woven with prowess and, although it was of a pale green colour I did not like, it appeared clean.
“Why?” I asked as I took it from her extended hand.
“Just put it on!”
Beside feeling warm and nice to the touch, it also smelled pleasant – a subtle scent of flowers and dried herbs which names I thought I had on the tip of my tongue, yet I could not identify.
“It fits quite well!” I said, looking about my figure.
“It would be a first for this cloak not to fit the one who wears it!” she added.
“You mean –” I was quickly interrupted.
“I mean it’s not a cloak to keep you warm, Lorian! Although it does that anyway. It may appear a bit plain but it’s of a very distinct provenance and fashion. It occludes the sounds of the one that wears it and most of the times shades you from the most distracted eyes. You’ll be as stealthy as a cat while you wear it and just as silent,” she explained softly.
I could tell she was not done and there was a portent of bad news about her face.
“You will have to continue alone from here, lad!” Her cold words wrecked part of my recovered excitement. “I’ll lead you to the stairs that’ll take you almost underneath one of the citadel’s towers. To the dungeons. Once there, you’ll have to find Nuuk and get out the same way you got in. No matter what happens, do not release any of the other prisoners, take the imp and come here! If nobody follows you, you can take your time and wait for me, even for a few days. Inside this bag, if well rationed, there’s plenty of bread, dry meat and cheese for the both of you. If he’s fussy about eating any of this, I brought some stale wax for him, it’s not that much. If I’m not here in two days’ time, do not wait for me and return to the cave. To open the cave, you’ll have to say ‘Reverthua’ as clear as you hear it. Now try and say it!” she commanded, denying me the opportunity to retort.
“Re-ver-thua!” I said it as clear as I could.
“Once again!” she insisted.
“Reverthua!” It sounded better now.
“Do not forget it! It’s what will give you access to everything I hid and protected with wards when we left. Without this spell you won’t be able to move the boulder that hid it, and even if you succeed in removing it, you’ll walk into an empty, cold cave where you’d both perish if it snowed again.”
“And what if I don’t find Nuuk? What if Ghaeloden has freed Nuuk?” I wondered if indeed there was such chance.
“If Nuuk is still alive, he is in one of the cells in this citadel. Ghaeloden can only give us time to act, if that. He cannot compromise his standing among the rest of the Drakhahouls, not for Nuuk, not for any of us. I am sure he’ll do whatever he can to delay an accursed fate for the imp, but it’s you that has to find and save him.”
I nodded at her words. They alluded to a dreadful possibility; that the imp was already dead.
“I will provide as much distraction as I can, though I rather hope you’ll find him before all of us have to reveal ourselves. This way, we can still come back and start looking for the tokens.”
“I understand.” I was afraid I was not up to the task.
She had entrusted me with finding and rescuing Nuuk, and although I was proud, I was also concerned. So I made an effort to banish all negative thoughts and determined to take the opportunity to prove myself. If nothing else, I was eager to try my best to make them see I was not as bad as I looked, or at least I was more than willing to give my best.
“Have you had enough time to think about my offer?” Felduror’s malice-filled voice rang sharply in Nuuk’s ears.
As if he had been sorrowfully forced to return from a reviving deep-sleep, the imp panted with fright and effort for a much-needed mouthful of fresh air. He tried to lift himself up from the cold wall his body was propped against, but could not make it. His legs and arms were too weak and compelled him to return to his former position, realising that it was not sleep he was returning from. His ribs hurt badly, more than his hands, back and neck but less than his forehead. Especially the left temple. His vision was blurred and it was not because of the eyes that had been shut for a long time, it was his swollen-face’s fault. He lifted his aching arms and checked softly over his forehead, cheekbones and lips. He hissed at each gentle touch and felt his dry throat whenever he tried to gulp down the slow realisation of his awakening. Through blurry vision he spotted wet, red stains on his fingers – blood.
Had he been caught by the wizard sneaking in the higher levels, those he was not allowed to venture into? Was that why he had been hurt? Was this his punishment? If that was the case, perhaps he deserved it, he thought. There had been many times in the past when he had been compensated in the same manner.
“I…” he achingly cleared his voice, forcing down a knot in the back of his throat, “… I am sorry, master! I shouldn’t have ventured into the higher levels. I don’t know what got into me!” He could not cope with the pain of keeping his eyes open so he shut them again.
“Pardon me?” The wizard’s voice acquired a curious tone. “Oh, yes, that too! You should never go where you’re not supposed to, you’re only worth the fifteenth level. And now, I am afraid you’ve lost that privilege too. Yet, that was not what I wanted to know from you. What I want to know, and it becomes a bit annoying having to repeat myself again, is for you to tell me who taught you the spell?”
“What spell, master?”
“Nuuk, do not force me to do what I do not like doing! Do you like feeling weak and miserable and in pain? Don’t you want it all to go away? Don’t you want it to be as it was, between us? The spell that has brought you back from whoever-knows-where. Ghaeloden told me you had eluded him. You escaped from his sight thanks to this sceptre and I still cannot understand why. I doubt you’d be willing to go to such lengths on your own and I have a very clear idea of who it is that is helping you. Though I need you to say the name.” His irritated voice became angry.
Nuuk did not say a word. Through his limited, one-eyed sight, he spotted a twinkling sceptre in the old man’s hand and questioned why he was pointing it at him. Was that a weapon? He wondered what the wizard could do with it or if his bruises and cuts were not testaments of its already-provided services.
Of everything the wizard had said, only one word sounded pleasant to his ears; Ghaeloden. Even though it did not remind him of any face in particular he knew deep inside it meant something to him. A strong feeling of assurance and positivity sprung each time he repeated it in his head, and equally failed at each attempt to remind himself to whom it belonged. It briefly tingled against a cord in his heart and a vein
in his brain before it slipped again into oblivion, clouding his mind as badly as his fogged vision. He gave up trying to put a face to it and settled with the thought that it must’ve been the name of his friend. That brought a small measure of peace upon his suffering figure. He tried to open his eyes again.
“Water!” he managed to beg.
“I’m growing impatient, imp. I’ll have no choice than to let the Gholaks take the words out of your mouth. Do you want that?” Felduror bent over the imp, his breath touching his face.
“Master Felduror, I don’t know what spell I’ve used, I barely remember why I am here and I definitely can’t explain why am I being punished!” His shaking voice cast doubt upon the wizard’s face.
This is the honest truth; I don’t remember. The imp wondered at length what had he done to anger his master and, more to the point, why he was hurting so badly.
“Why did you steal the sceptre then, creature?”
“That,” the imp tried to point at the object tightly held in Felduror’s bony hand, “I can’t recall, master.” The shadow in his mind obscured every trail of memory.
The object was unknown to him, and maybe if his master said he had stolen it, maybe indeed he had.
“Don’t make me hit you again, imp!” Felduror barked as he lifted the hefty object above his head.
“Master…” Nuuk forced himself in pain to lift his arm above his forehead and protect himself from the imminent blow, “… I don’t know!”
The blow did not arrive; the wizard stopped himself in time with a long exhale of effort.
Nuuk did not know if his master believed him or he stopped out of compassion for his haggard state, yet now he was certain why he was hurting. It hadn’t been the first time. That he remembered.
“Very well then, imp. If your memory has abandoned you, you won’t mind some time alone to try and recover it,” Felduror said with a harsh voice.
The wizard closed the metal door and nodded to the orc outside to lock it.
Before he removed himself, he added through the small, squared aperture of the cell, “And since you’ve failed in your task, as well as prevented Ghaeloden from fulfilling his mission, I give you time before my Gholaks return from Sallncoln to refresh your memory.” He stepped away, leaving the imp in complete darkness.
Sallncoln? The imp repeated the word in his mind, trying to roll over. The numbness in his shoulder was unbearable.
Why did it sound so familiar to him? By the gravity in the old man’s words it was clear his fate would be decided soon, and it appeared more inclined towards a dramatic end rather than anything else. He had to do something but he could barely move, wincing and hissing with each small change in his twisted body. He needed time. Time to recover his strength and time to find his lost memories. How was it that whenever he tried to picture his past days there was complete darkness in his mind? What he once knew with certainty, was now clouded and unclear.
Did he really try to use magic? If he did, he was not sure which spell he could have possibly wielded to upset his master so much. He propped his back flatter on the wall and forced himself to breathe more slowly. Although it hurt, he felt much better sitting in a straighter position and felt that his mind benefited from it. It was pitch black, though somehow, he knew exactly how the cell was made and where the door’s handle stood even if he couldn’t see it.
There’s no escaping through that heavy thing! His consideration brought back resolute memories of his past incarceration, almost reliving the pain those many punches and kicks to the door had brought to his limbs.
Instead of wasting his remaining energy, he knew he had to put his efforts into remembering everything he could. Amongst the muddied visions, he remembered the tall tower and the cold rain that showered against the windows of the rooms he was serving in.
Was it raining?
There were endless moments of silence when he was with his master and, of late, he recalled being with him quite often in one of his libraries. He did not mind having to wait for him to dictate something, actually he preferred it that way. What he did mind was when he was required to impart his master’s instructions to those few orc-commanders he seemed to favour.
Those nasty brutes! His mind’s visions of the Gholaks brought back unpleasant moments; they wouldn’t miss a single occasion to torment him for his small nature and his bound wings.
He had to quickly dismiss the new recollection as well and force himself back on track to remembering more recent events. The unpleasant thought, however, helped him recollect another event linked to his bound wings and he was thankful now that he had indulged for a brief moment in thinking about the orcs. His master, Felduror, had promised to free his wings; he could recollect that as if it happened a few moments ago.
“Of course! How silly of me to have forgotten that,” he mumbled as it all became clearer.
He was supposed to watch a dragon up close, see what he was up to and report back to his master. If he had done everything correctly and his master’s hunch was right, the dragon would prove to be one of those who dared to go against the realm and therefore, at the peril of said dragon, he would gain back his freedom of flight. The problem was; who was that dragon? Why couldn’t he recollect his name? He recalled some of the Drakhahouls of the citadel; Yrsidir, Sereri, King Belrug, Jaro. Any of the others were unknown to him. Maybe Ghaeloden was one of them? It must’ve been since his master specifically said that he himself had prevented him from accomplishing some unknown assignment.
“Damnation! Why can’t I remember anything?” He surprised himself with the loud and short-lived echo his voice created inside the cell.
It was becoming hard to maintain his wits about himself since it was not only the bodily pain that he had to deal with anymore. Now a wretched feeling of self-anger was raising from his stomach between his aching ribs. It made his teeth grind and his jaw clench. He shifted again his position with the intent of casting it away, though he interrupted himself brusquely as he thought he heard steps outside. He held still for a long moment and hissed an exhale of pain when he couldn’t hold his position anymore. Certain he had imagined it, he lay flatly on his back again, on the dirty blanket and thirty, or so, straws he had between himself and the cold floor. Maybe a bit of rest would aid his sore mind and body and so, he decided to sleep for a while.
The meaningless dreams Nuuk experienced were interrupted when a hand briskly shook him. His neck ached when he twitched his head up and opened his eyes in pain, only to find another imp staring into his eyes. What astonished him more was his improved sight, a bit less blurred, and not the fact that another imp has brought him food. Somehow that felt normal to him.
He stared at the shorter creature who was holding a white candle in one hand, its yellow light bringing to vision the entire small cell. In his other hand there was a platter with a mug of water, a slice of bread, two boiled, small potatoes and one carrot. He could even spot the sprinkled grains of salt that were half way melted on the boiled vegetables, a sight that made his muscle burst with invigorated energy as he put his back against the wall.
“Thank you!” Nuuk said to the other imp, one hand already on the carrot.
Two bites and it was gone. It wasn’t old. Same was true for the two potatoes that still had warmth at their cores. He gulped them down, peel and all, and afterwards he drank the whole mug of water.
“Thank you!” he said again, feeling cleansed in spirit by the cool liquid. “Who are you? I thought I was the only Iprorim at the castle. Are you only allowed to serve in these fetid cells?”
The other imp did not reply. Instead, he mutely sat himself cross-legged on the floor and rubbed the bottom of the candle to the abrasive rock until it was fixed in one position. Once done, he turned his head to his side and picked a featherless quill from inside his dirty, tattered shirt, which was secured by a dirty rope he used as belt.
Nuuk watched him with some suspicion, not really comprehending what he was trying to do.
>
The small imp lifted the quill, strongly clutched between his fingers, and smiled at Nuuk before he pointed the inkless and featherless feather on the floor, making sure that Nuuk’s eyes followed his hand. He then started moving softly his clutched feather, just above the hard stone’s surface, and, although there was no ink, words in Iprorims’ tongue started forming in the light of the candle as if made of molten gold.
“My name is Quick, or so my master likes to call me. I have been here long before you arrived, master Nuuk!” Quick paused and opened his mouth while pointing towards his cut tongue for him to see.
“Oh,” Nuuk instinctively placed a hand over his own mouth. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry!” he then whispered, finally comprehending the old imp’s deficiency. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet another Iprorim, Quick!” He managed a small smile.
Before he even realised, the words on the floor started to fade away, making Nuuk shudder at the thought that Felduror would sense the magic quill being used.
“Do not use magic! Master could come at any time,” he whispered fast.
“This is not any magic. This is a stolen pen from his desk. He boasted about it on countless occasions; a magic no one could trace, he said. But he never uses it!” Quick’s smile became a grin. “I never thought I’d find any use for such an item until now.”
Nuuk was amazed. He propped himself a bit higher against the wall so he could follow more closely.
“I must apologise and I do hope you understand,” Quick fixed his eyes on Nuuk’s face at each of his written sentence, “I didn’t know what you were up to, I only knew that Felduror was looking for someone and realised it was you when you revealed yourself to me, last night.”
“What? I don’t recall seeing you, ever! I didn’t even know there were other Iprorims in the castle.” Nuuk slowly started to realise what this meeting could mean.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 35