Breaking the Flame

by Christopher Patterson

  Perhaps that is where the Lord of the East’s treasure is kept, in some chest on a shelf, Erik thought, but then realized that that would be too easy, this deadly thing simply sitting on a shelf.

  The real treasure—according to some of the dwarves—sat opposite the books and shelves … an armory. Racks of weapons and armor, anything from basic swords and spears to the most exotic looking implements, sat there, grander than anything any soldier could imagine, certainly grander than the armory of Thorakest. This was something Erik never thought he would ever see, and despite the shiver the eerie light and odd shadows gave him, he allowed himself a tiny smile as he surveyed the room.

  Switch lay in one of the piles of treasure, wiggling his arms and legs in the gold and laughing. He wore a dozen bracelets on each arm, as many jeweled necklaces around his neck, and several circlets studded with gems on his head.

  “This is his heaven,” Befel said, smiling and shaking his head at the same time.

  “I bet, if we checked, he’d have a bracelet hanging around his cock,” Bryon said.

  “A bracelet may be a little generous,” Erik said with a laugh. It felt good to laugh.

  “A ring then,” Bryon replied, also laughing.

  “A small ring,” Erik added as the other two wandered off.

  “Come, my friend,” Balzarak said, as the other dwarves also started to walk about the vast room, “Fill your haversack with the bounty of the dwarves. We cannot deny you your reward.”

  “Where did all this treasure come from?” Erik asked.

  “Dwarves have always been a frugal people,” Balzarak replied.

  “That doesn’t really explain a treasure room filled with more gold and jewels than I think exist in all of Háthgolthane,” Erik said.

  “No, I suppose not,” Balzarak said. “We dwarves typically give a portion of our wealth each year to the king. It is an offering, and the expectation is that it would be used for the good of the city and the people in a time of need.”

  “So, this is all from offerings?” Erik asked.

  “Some,” Balzarak replied, “but then, this would be the place where we would store the spoils of war, those things like important documents and histories, treasured pieces of art that aren’t being displayed at the time. Orvencrest was the capital of the Southern Dwarves for hundreds of years before it fell. This is wealth that had been amassed over centuries.”

  “Does Thorakest, or the cities in the north, have a room like this?” Erik asked.

  “They have a treasure room, for sure,” Balzarak replied, “although I have never seen Thorakest’s, I am certain it’s nothing like this.”

  “Seems dangerous,” Erik said, “to have so much treasure in one place.”

  “Rest assured, Erik,” Balzarak replied, “that this is perhaps the most secure room in the whole city, its entrances kept secret.”

  “And yet we got in fairly easily,” Erik said. He didn’t know why, but this place didn’t seem so secure. It seemed more like a beacon to would be conquerors. “How did you know how to get in?”

  Balzarak just shrugged and smiled at Erik.

  “Please, explore the magnificence of dwarvish treasure,” the general finally said, joining his dwarvish companions. “Everyone can take their fill, and it will barely make an impact.

  As Erik headed to join Turk, the dwarf standing hands on hips in front of the shelves of books and scrolls, he stopped and turned to look at the tunnel that led to the throne room. They were there, waiting, but something stopped them from following him into the throne room of the treasure room. He didn’t know what it was that stopped them, but he knew they wouldn’t follow. They would be waiting for them when they left.

  “This is the real treasure,” Turk said as he and Erik walked by each shelf.

  Erik had no idea what it was he was looking at, or for, but the look on Turk’s face told Erik that the dwarf was serious when he said this was the real treasure. In that moment, Turk could have cared less for all the gold in the world.

  “You contradict those who said the armory took that title,” he said, and Turk flashed him a look.

  “Some of these books are worth more than all the gold in this room, Erik,” Turk said.

  “A book worth more than bloody gold?” Switch exclaimed, walking by Turk and Erik and shaking his head. “Poppycock.”

  “He wouldn’t understand, Erik,” Turk said. The dwarf ran his fingers along the spines of the books. “These are our histories. Some of them lost. Languages. Arithmetic. Science. Commentaries on our faith. Commentaries on other people’s religions. It’s priceless, Erik.”

  “I understand,” Erik said, “but why are they here. I asked Balzarak, and it didn’t seem to make sense to me. He said the dwarvish people give offerings to the king, just in case of famine or tragedy in the future. But this place seems like more than anything any kingdom … two or three kingdoms, would ever need. Why is there so much value in this one room?”

  “It is a large room,” Turk said, laughing.

  “Still,” Erik said, not sharing in his friend’s mirth.

  “What is it that concerns you, Erik?” Turk asked. “I mean, look at the wealth of knowledge here. This one is on medicine and healing.”

  Turk put several of the books in his haversack.

  “It just seems so unnecessary,” Erik said, more to himself than to Turk. “There is so much here—gold, jewels, furniture, art, books and scrolls, weapons. Why is it hidden away and not used to … to better the lives of your people?”

  “Erik, why are you worrying about what my ancestors did right now?” Turk asked. “We found something that has been lost to my people for millennia. Take a moment and enjoy it.”

  But Erik was having a hard time doing that. The treasure room was more of a mystery to him than a magnificence, and he couldn’t help thinking that its opulence had consumed the senses of even his good, dwarvish friend Turk. He wondered if hoarding such wealth was the reason the city of Orvencrest fell. Perhaps, this was a lesson the ancient dwarves had learned, and no one had found the city for that very reason. His father always warned him about the dangers of greed and wealth and the righteousness of humility. He shook his head.

  “Do you think the Lord of the East’s treasure is hidden on one of these shelves?” Erik asked.

  “What was that?” Turk asked, nose plunged deep into a book, wide smile on his face.

  “The scroll, the heirloom the Lord of the East wanted us to find,” Erik said. “Do you think it could be on one of these shelves?”

  “Oh,” Turk said with a sudden look of realization, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, at the moment, I don’t care. Let us not think of the Lord of the East for a moment.”

  Erik nodded with a smile, but he couldn’t stop thinking about their mission. Men had given their lives for this mission. Drake, Samus, Vander Bim, Mortin … more.

  As Turk continued to peruse the books, Erik made his way to the other side of the room, joining Wrothgard as the man looked through the myriad of weapons hanging from racks, sitting in stands, or simply leaning against the wall. The soldier seductively rubbed his fingers along a mail shirt.

  “Do you think it will fit you?” Erik asked.

  “It looks like there are weapons and armor here to fit all sizes of people,” Wrothgard said, pointing to a giant of an axe just lying on the floor.

  “Spoils of war,” Erik muttered.

  “Can you imagine the size of the man who would yield that?” Wrothgard asked.

  “You will not find weaponry or armor better crafted,” Balzarak said, walking up behind the two men.

  “Why are there armor and weapons that were clearly made for men … people larger than men?” Erik asked. “Were they collected on some battlefield?”

  “Some, perhaps,” Balzarak replied. “But some were crafted for men, gifts, offerings of friendship, and signs of peace to be given at treaty signings. To be given a suit of armor, a sword crafted by an ancient d
warvish blacksmith, would be an honor greater than almost anything else.”

  “It is still strong, after all these years?” Wrothgard asked.

  “It looks that way,” Balzarak said with a smile.

  “I would think even good steel would have been ravaged by the hands of time,” Erik pondered.

  “I have found that sometimes it is best to simply accept things, rather than continually asking questions,” Balzarak said. “Please, take what you wish. Mail shirts, swords, helms. You won’t find the likes ever again.”

  Erik nodded with an insincere smile, and Wrothgard began to examine things more closely. Erik shook his head and wandered among the armor.

  If this place is cursed, then what about this armor? What about this treasure?

  He mulled over a coin he had picked up. It was gold, and the slight bend in the money said it was pure. One side of the coin had an etching of a wall with a single, arched opening. The other side had a symbol carved on it, something he didn’t recognize. He let the coin fall from his hand.

  Erik grabbed a mail hauberk. It looked sturdy and heavy, but when he put it on, it felt as light as a cloth shirt. He donned steel plates that covered his shoulders and arms and legs, and again, despite looking cumbersome, they were light and allowed for almost maximal movement. He even found a mail coif that fit his head and a helm that would protect his nose and cheeks and jaws.

  For a moment, looking down at himself, seeing the glimmering steel—what he assumed to be Dwarf’s Iron—of his new armor made him smile. Erik remembered playing knights and warriors as a child, envisioning himself as an armored warrior riding into battle, slaying the evil enemy, and rescuing the damsel in distress. For a moment, he was that warrior.

  The shouting and cheering broke him from his trance. It was Switch again, throwing coins and gems into the air, letting them fall back down upon him as if they were a gentle, cooling rain. Bryon sifted through the mounds of treasure as well along with several of the other dwarves. Others marveled over the weapons and armor with Balzarak. Even Befel inspected a diamond the size of a fist, hemming and hawing over it with wide eyes. Erik felt overwhelmed. How could all this treasure—just the treasure alone—make someone happy?

  Switch was never happy. Threhof was never happy. Bryon was never happy. And the simple gleam of gold and gems, the glimmer of Dwarf’s Iron, even the smell of ancient books, made them happier than they had ever been in their lives.

  Erik walked away, towards the chairs and tables. He found a large, cushioned chair and sat. He wanted to be alone. They were here for a purpose, to find some lost family heirloom for the Lord of the East. The sooner they did that, and the sooner they left, the better. This place was a prison, a tomb, guarded by ghosts.

  All this wealth, and all this treasure. For what? What good did it do Fire Beard and his son and his wife and daughters? His guards? His people? For all this treasure, they’re trapped down here, forever. Always running from those dream crawlers.

  A shiver ran along his spine, and he knew they were there, just on the other side of the castle walls. They could read his thoughts, and he could feel them squirm as they so desperately tried to cross into this realm, whatever that was. It was like his dreams, the dead crowding around the base of that small hill, but never able to step on it. Erik wondered what force kept the dead—and the dwomanni—at bay.

  Looking at his feet, he saw several gold coins scattered about the ground. That shouldn’t have seemed so odd in a vast treasure room, but these coins were marked with a large X or cross, deep grooves dug into the metal. He bent down and picked one up. The profile of some patriarch was on one side. The other side should have been the image of a laurel, but the deep lines marred the picture. There were seven coins in all, all with the same markings, and he gathered them and put them in his belt pouch. As he put them in, he touched the smooth service of a rock. He retrieved two stone-sized rubies that sat a dull red, reflecting no light. And yet, in the dim corner of the treasure room in which Erik sat on a wooden chest, they seemed to glow.

  Marcus, your gifts are as curious as you. I wish I could have gotten to know you better.

  He still had no clue what these stones were and wondered if they had some mystery locked away like Marcus’ flute and dagger. Then, an image flashed into his head, one that looked like a giant red sun. The words he heard told him he would understand what they were soon enough. Erik looked at his dagger, feeling the surge of energy at his hip. Remembering the first situation in which Erik learned about his dagger—a fight with slavers—made him a little uncomfortable with that revelation. He pushed his mind back to more immediate matters.

  How will we ever find the Lord of the East’s treasure?

  He looked at the simple vastness of the room. He looked at all the treasure. It would take a hundred lifetimes to sift through ever single piece of treasure, to find this thing the Lord of Golgolithul wanted.

  His hip tingled.

  It is hidden.

  “How do you know?” Erik asked.

  It is something that the dwarves wanted to hide away. They knew of its power.

  “It’s a family heirloom,” Erik said, “a script of lineage, according to The Messenger.”

  Laughter. The dagger was laughing.

  And you believe him?

  “I guess not,” Erik said.

  The dwarves would have hidden it away, separate from everything else. They knew he would seek it.

  “How?” Erik asked. “The dwarves lived here a thousand years ago. Was Golgolithul even a country then?”

  City-states, ruled by the families that now serve as Golgolithul’s aristocracy.

  “What are those?” Erik asked. “And if Golgolithul didn’t exist, how would the dwarves know someone from there would be looking for this thing? This is all too complicated.”

  Yes, his dagger replied.

  “Is this some deep magic?” Erik asked. “Some ancient, mysterious magic, like the moon fairies?”

  But then, it wasn’t the voice of his dagger, consuming and almost controlling his thoughts. It was a vision. A great dark space with stars and streaks of vivid colors and suns. The cosmos. Erik didn’t even know what that meant. He looked to the ceiling. It was the place beyond the sky, past the sun and moon; if someone could travel there, that is what this would look like. Other worlds. Other suns. And then he understood. There were things that transcended time. Somehow the dwarves knew they possessed something that a man would eventually seek.

  A prophesy, Erik thought.

  In a way.

  They—Fire Beard—knew the Lord of the East would seek this treasure, so they hid it away, somewhere in the vaults of Orvencrest. Erik’s stomach twisted with another revelation. Fire Beard knew the dwomanni would come. He knew his city would fall and be forgotten and that his wife and children would die.

  Fate, but no, not fate.

  Erik felt he understood, then, that Fire Beard could have avoided it. He could have saved his family. But then this treasure, this thing that the Lord of the East now sought, would have fallen into the wrong hands. It would have been used for evil, in service to the Shadow. So, he sacrificed himself, his family, his city, and his people so that it would remain hidden.

  “The Lord of the East is somehow better?” Erik asked.

  No, but you are.

  “But I … we are to hand it over to the Lord of the East. How is that better?”

  When the time comes, you will know what to do.

  That was all his dagger said. Erik shook his head. This was too big for him. It was too big for his brother and cousin and Switch, and even Wrothgard. He would give this heirloom, if they ever found it in the vastness of Orvencrest’s treasure, to Balzarak. This was something a general and a lord could understand. But then what? Watch his back for the rest of his life? Just wait until some assassin from Golgolithul murdered him and his family in their beds, assuming he still had a family and assuming he could even find what this thing was.

&
nbsp; “What are you doing, Erik?” Turk asked.

  Erik snapped out of his internal conversation with his dagger and saw his dwarvish friend standing there and staring.

  “Just sitting,” Erik replied, “and thinking.”

  “About what, if I can ask?” Turk said.

  “Aren’t we supposed to find something for the Lord of the East?” Erik asked. “Wasn’t that the original intent of this whole journey?”

  “Yes,” Turk replied.

  “And yet, here we are, reveling in the spoils of a lost treasure room,” Erik said.

  “What would you have them do, Erik?” Turk asked, slightly exasperated. “We wondered if this city even existed. Not only have we found a city that has been lost from my people and from the world for a thousand years, we have found a treasure that is beyond anyone’s dreams.”

  “I suppose so,” Erik replied with a quick shrug.

  “On top of that, we have all made sacrifices to find this place,” Turk said. “Shouldn’t we take time to celebrate that which we thought was impossible?”

  Erik thought for a moment and then nodded.

  “Where do you think this treasure of the Lord of the East’s is?” Erik asked.

  “I don’t know,” Turk replied. “I suppose it could be anywhere in here.”

  “I don’t think it is in the treasure room,” Erik said.

  “Really?” Turk said. “And what makes you say a treasure wouldn’t be in a treasure room?”

  “Just a hunch,” Erik said, thinking of his dagger. Turk eyed him suspiciously.

  “Where, then?” Turk asked.

  “Somewhere in the keep,” Erik replied. “Somewhere secure. Hidden.”

  “Lead on, then,” Turk said with a nod.

  Erik and Turk left their companions to their revelry, walking back through the dark tunnel that led to the throne room. Erik could feel their presence, the undead. He could smell them and hear them, but, again, something kept them at bay.