“What does it matter?” Threhof said. He sounded irritated as well.
Bim and Beldar started arguing in Dwarvish, Nafer quickly jumping in on their heated conversation as well.
“So, fire obliterated this part of the city,” Bryon said, “and burned the main gate, but barely touched the marketplace and the first part of the city?”
“Was it just the dwo—” Erik began to ask, but Balzarak turned on him hard, putting an open hand into the middle of the young man’s chest.
Erik knew dwarves were strong, but the force with which the general had struck him knocked the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t expected it. Neither had anyone else. Both Bryon and Befel moved next to Erik, swords ready. Nafer and Demik looked confused. Gôdruk and Thormok moved next to Balzarak. Turk tried to step between the two groups, only to be held back by Bofim. Erik could see that malicious smile growing on Switch’s face.
Balzarak stepped back quickly and gave Erik a quick bow.
“I am sorry, Erik,” he said. “I didn’t mean to strike you.”
“It’s alright,” Erik replied, rubbing his chest where the dwarf had struck him.
“This is not the place to mention their name,” Balzarak said and Erik nodded, understanding.
Threhof gave the general a hard look and the one Balzarak returned showed his worry … and fear.
The walls of the castle rose so high, the torch and magic light could not reveal the merlons at the top, but Erik could see that black char covered the stone. The wall had crumbled in some spots, and every length they inspected was pockmarked and showed signs of age and deterioration. Erik presumed, like in Thorakest, a great wooden gate once stood at the castle’s main entrance, but it was gone, and the giant portcullis hung halfway closed, warped and partially melted.
The darkness that lay beyond the opening, and the broken portcullis, made it look like a rotten mouth with crooked, nasty teeth, open and snarling. The courtyard presented little in terms of standing buildings. Crushed rubble lay where buildings once stood. The walls on this side were pockmarked as well and leaned in haphazard directions. If there was wind in this cavern, one strong gust could have toppled the whole castle.
“There is the keep,” Dwain said, pointing to a tall, square building stained black.
As they all entered the courtyard, Erik heard them—the undead, the ghosts that haunted his dreams—congregating outside the walls. He heard them goading him, cursing him, crying out for his blood. But something told him they could not enter the castle. He didn’t know why, but he was certain, they would stay on the other side.
“Not even ghosts would haunt this bloody tomb,” said Switch.
“Somehow that is true,” Erik muttered to himself. “What magic protects this place?”
Erik felt cold walking through the entrance of the keep. When he breathed, he remembered the coldest winter mornings, back on the farmstead, when he could see his breath and his lungs burned because of the chill.
The first part of the keep was a large room with a high ceiling and two staircases on either side, directly across from one another. When their lantern and torchlight flooded the room, a golden hue filled the hall.
“Is that melted gold?” Switch knelt and ran his fingers over a mound of yellow metal that held no distinguishable shape.
Erik scanned the walls and surmised that, before the fire, gold and silver ornamentations hung from the wall, or sat on small, stone daises. Now, even the iron sconces once held torches, but they were all gone. All that was left were countless mounds of melted metal, a distorted remnant of the opulence that was once the keep of Orvencrest.
“Could it really have been so hot in here that all the metal melted together?” Wrothgard asked, even though what they saw answered his question.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Threhof asked. “We saw melted Dwarf’s Iron, for An’s sake.”
“But, dwarf, this room is untouched by fire,” Wrothgard said. “Do you not understand? The heat in this room, even though it was untouched by fire, was so hot it melted gold and silver. General, what happened here?”
Switch had begun working a pile of melted gold loose with one of his daggers. He looked like he was in a trance, his eyes focused, his mouth twisted into a weird smile. Erik thought the thief might salivate.
“Don’t concern yourself with that pile of melted gold,” Balzarak said. “It is said that the treasury of Orvencrest has so much gold it will make that look like a pittance. We need to keep moving. Find the throne room … find the treasure room … and find a way out of here.”
The room must have been magnificent, and as they moved through the keep, Erik noticed how many piles of melted gold and silver there were. There were places where tapestries must once have hung, now gone with time. Just the construction of the room spoke of its grandeur. Even the two stairways leading to the next levels of the building, though now thoroughly distorted, suggested artfully carved and molded handrails, with inlays of gems and precious metal in each step. Everything spoke of opulence, and again, Erik couldn’t help noticing how the thief eyed the gems—emeralds, diamonds, and rubies—set within the steps.
As they moved behind a wall that extended from the ceiling of the first floor to the floor, at the back of the keep stood two large doors, intricate scenes of battles and ceremonies carved into their wood. As well as being untouched by the heat or fire, they also showed, after so many years, no signs of warping.
“That is the throne room,” Dwain said in hushed tones.
“Draw your weapons,” Balzarak commanded.
As they got closer, their light picked out two bodies lying in front of the double doors, nothing but skeleton. Their armor had melted, although they looked as if they had been untouched by fire, and bone and steel were now one.
Beldar stepped over the remains of the two guards. He looked back at Balzarak.
“Offne,” Balzarak said with a quick nod.
Erik tightened his grip on Ilken’s Blade. As the doors opened, he could hear his dream crawlers, from the other side of the castle walls. They cried out and screamed and cursed. A chill crawled up Erik’s spine, and goose pimples rose along his arms.
“This is the bloody throne room?” Switch asked, walking in after Beldar.
“Aye,” Balzarak replied, following the thief.
“It’s tiny,” Switch added.
“The doors would normally be left open,” Balzarak explained, “so that it felt as if it was a part of the main keep. But for security, these doors could be closed and barred.”
“Little good it did them,” Bryon said, pointing his sword at the remains of two more guards.
Old torches rested in rusted sconces along the wall. Demik lit them, and they illuminated the room. There were two thrones up against the wall opposite the door, the remnants of a small table with no chairs—although half a dozen might have sat comfortably around it—and a marble pedestal that was big enough for a vase and pitcher. The skeletal remains of an animal rested next to the table. Erik recognized the skull.
“What was that?” Switch asked.
“A bear,” Erik replied.
“Cave bear,” Turk added.
The remains of two more guards lay in front of the two thrones and another skeletal body still sat on the larger of the two thrones, thick bones covered by robes that had survived the decay of time. Erik imagined the dwarf whose bones these belonged to as a stout soldier, wide shoulders and thick chest. This was once a powerful dwarf, a decorated warrior. A crown resting on its skull had slipped down as the flesh disappeared, the golden headdress stopping just above the nasal cavity, blocking out the eye sockets.
“The king,” Erik said.
“Fire Beard,” Balzarak gasped.
And then Erik could see him. He saw the dwarf, standing on a distant hill. It was the hill from his dreams, and he knew that he had seen the dwarf in his dreams. Why had King Fire Beard been in his dreams? Under his robes he wore plate mail that gleamed with
a reddish hue. His crown was studded with rubies, and he still looked majestic, resting his hand on the handle of his battle axe.
Erik looked over his shoulder and saw Balzarak, along with the rest of the dwarves, kneeling.
At first, it appeared as if the smaller throne simply contained a pile of clothing, but as Erik moved the cloth aside, he saw more bones that seemingly had collapsed and a skull, much smaller than the king’s, had rolled back and it nestled in the corner of the throne. A child.
Back on the hill, Erik saw him, a young dwarvish boy, standing next to Fire Beard. He looked scared, and the king lovingly looked down at the lad—his son—as the boy clung to his leg. He looked like the king, with his red hair. The king rubbed his back and said soothing words to his son, even as the boy whimpered and began to cry.
“It will be alright,” the king said.
“I’m scared, Papa,” the boy replied.
“I know, my son,” the king said. “So am I. But no matter what happens, we will be alright.”
“Do you promise?” the boy asked, looking up at his father.
“Yes, my son,” the king replied. “Have faith. Have hope.”
Erik could see both sorrow and hope in the king’s eyes. He knew they were going to die, but that wasn’t the hope he spoke of. He knew they would die, but then they would be together again, in the halls of heaven. Such strength in the face of death. He heard prayers. It was the king’s voice. His son joined him. So did the guards in the room. They all stood on that hill, resilient, praying, and looking evil in its face.
“Do not touch it!” Balzarak yelled.
Erik stepped away from the remains, his leg brushing the child’s clothing and, as it did so, a small doll fell to the floor from underneath the clothing. Erik bent down and picked it up. It looked like a little warrior, all wood but painted gray as if it wore armor. One hand held a spear, a thin stick really, and the other held a shield.
“His son,” Erik said. “The prince.”
“Why is the king just sitting here?” Turk asked. “And why is his son with him, waiting for death?”
“Does a warrior not welcome death?” Threhof asked.
“Certainly,” Turk replied, “but surely, their guards would have escorted them away if escape was possible. And the king, especially with his son here, would not have just sat in his throne and waited for someone, or something, to kill the both of them.”
“They knew they would die,” Erik said, facing his friend. “At least, King Fire Beard did. That is why he sat here and prayed with his guards and his son, comforted them in their last moments as any good king would.”
“You sound awfully sure of that,” Switch said.
Erik just shrugged. But it wasn’t just that the king knew he was going to die. There was more to it than that. His hip tingled. His dagger agreed with him. The king certainly would’ve welcomed death. But his son? The king was protecting something. And the thing that he protected, the thing that he kept secret and safe, was so important, he was willing to not only sacrifice himself, but also his son and his most trusted guards.
“We must all say a prayer for the lost king,” Balzarak said, “and his son.”
“This is truly hallowed ground,” Threhof added.
“Aye,” Dwain agreed.
The dwarves all bowed their heads and muttered quiet prayers. Erik couldn’t help feeling tension in the room, especially as Wrothgard looked about, and Switch ran his hands over the walls.
“Where is the treasure room?” Switch asked.
“There are no doors in this room,” Wrothgard said.
“Perhaps in another part of the castle?” Erik asked, but the dwarves still remained inattentive as they prayed.
“Is the door hidden somewhere?” Wrothgard asked.
“Turk? Demik?” Bryon asked.
No one answered him.
“Damn it!” Switch yelled. “All this bloody praying and reverence. It’s a fucking skeleton. We’re here for the bloody treasure and for some thing the Lord of the East wants. That’s it. Not for some gods be damned day of remembrance. All this way, people dead, so we can sit here and cry over a fucking dead dwarf!”
Switch moved towards the throne, and all in unison, the sound of steel echoed through the room as the dwarves, including Turk, Demik, and Nafer, readied their weapons.
“No touch,” Bofim said.
“Or what?” Switch asked defiantly.
“You die,” Beldar replied.
Switch threw up his hands dejectedly.
“The entrance to the treasure room should be behind the king’s throne,” Balzarak said resolutely, moving slowly past Switch and next to the dead king.
“How do you know that?” Threhof asked.
Balzarak didn’t answer but stepped between the two thrones and crouched so he could place his hands on the side of the king’s throne. He began to push. Erik heard the sound of something sliding on stone and saw the king’s final resting place move sideways.
“Help him,” Wrothgard said.
Switch needed no more prompting. He joined the general in pushing the throne. So did Beldar and Bim. Slowly, as the chair moved away across the floor, a dark passageway was revealed. As soon as there was enough space for someone to pass through, they stopped.
“This is the way to the treasure room?” Switch asked, putting his hands on his hips and trying to catch his breath.
“This is the way to the treasure room,” Balzarak replied, reluctantly.
Bim and Beldar muttered something to one another, excited.
“I almost can’t believe it,” Turk said, running a hand over his face.
“Beldar,” Balzarak said.
The dwarf needed no more prompting. He took a torch and stepped into the dark tunnel.
“Switch,” Wrothgard said. “Maybe you should go with him.”
The thief needed no more prompting either, he grabbed a torch and followed.
“Was there no queen?” Erik asked as they waited for Beldar and Switch to return.
“I don’t know,” Balzarak replied. “Bim, Bofim, Gôdruk.”
All three bowed and left the throne room.
“They will explore the rest of the keep,” Balzarak explained.
The three dwarves returned before Beldar and the thief and Gôdruk spoke with Balzarak.
“They found the queen,” Balzarak explained, sorrowfully. “Her quarters. Everything was melted and burned. Her remains, the remains of two daughters, the rest of the king’s guard. They all deserved better.”
“They were all protecting something,” Erik said under his breath.
“What was that?” Balzarak asked.
“Most people who find themselves on the other end of evil intentions deserve better,” Erik said, thinking of the people from Aga Kona and his friends, the gypsies.
It had been a while since Switch and Beldar had left when Erik caught the glimmer of light coming from the tunnel behind King Fire Beard’s throne. He heard heavy footsteps and shouting, distant and inaudible. Within moments, the light grew, and he saw Switch, holding a lantern that gave off ten times as much light as any torch.
Both Beldar and Switch entered the throne room, bending over and trying to catch their breath. When the thief finally stood, he couldn’t stop smiling.
“Did you find it?” Wrothgard asked.
Neither one of them said anything.
“Beldar,” Balzarak said. “Speak.”
“Well?” Turk asked.
“By the bloody gods!” Switch finally cried.
“An be good!” was Beldar’s cry.
“We found it,” Switch said.
“Bloody shadow,” Bryon said, “I think Switch is crying.”
Switch reached into his pants and pulled out two handfuls of gold coins and gems and necklaces. There was more in his hands than Erik’s father would make in ten lifetimes. A dozen coins twice the size of Hámonian pounds spilled over his fingers. A diamond, almost transparent and the
size of a cow’s eyeball, slinked against the ground.
“The treasure of Orvencrest,” Switch said. “We found it. It’s like nothing I have ever seen. By the gods, we found it.”
Chapter 8
“Never …” Erik muttered.
“I would have never thought I would see such a thing,” Wrothgard said.
“I knew it would be here,” Turk said.
“An is good,” Balzarak said.
“How much do you think that is?” Bryon asked, and Erik shook his head. No one could ever even estimate the worth of all that lay before them.
“So much precious metals, gems, and coins that they just started piling it up in the middle of the room,” Befel said.
“Here are your rivers of gold, Bryon,” Erik said. “The treasures that the east has to offer. Now you just need a harem.”
“Very funny, cousin,” Bryon said, but for once he did not respond angrily to the sarcasm.
Erik walked down a long ramp that led into the room. About fifty paces on all sides, it was rather simple although it had a ceiling higher than five homes stacked on top of one another. As he walked around the five giant piles of treasure that sat at the center of the room, he felt his heart quicken.
Beldar, Bim, and Bofim had lit all the torches in the room, but there still wasn’t much light. Dwain found a small trough that ran along the length of the treasure room walls on every side, and when he put his torch to it, the oil in the troughs lit, finally revealing the true grandeur of Orvencrest’s treasure room.
The light reflected an eerie golden-red hew along the walls, and piles they had built cast even stranger shadows. The corners of the room, the places farthest away from the light, still looked dark and ominous. Erik wondered if they—the dead—could hide in those small, black spaces. The odd light and even odder shadows gave the room a somewhat discomforting feel, despite the massive wealth that rested there.
And it wasn’t just gold and jewels that sat in the room. Rich carpets and tapestries had been stored on one side of the room, some giant creations of craftsmanship, made from material native to faraway lands. Another part of the treasure room held furniture—tables and chairs and armoires and mirrors—that were suited for only the greatest of kings, with their intricate carvings and expert manufacturing. And yet another part of the room had rows and rows of shelves filled with books and scrolls.
Breaking the Flame Page 5