Breaking the Flame

by Christopher Patterson

  “And now?” Turk asked when they entered the throne room.

  Erik looked around the room. It seemed too obvious, too simple, and too close to the treasure room. Surely the king wouldn’t hide something so valuable in the throne room?

  “The queen’s quarters,” Erik suggested, to which Turk nodded.

  They walked up the staircase, heavy with soot and dust, although it showed no signs of fire damage. It wound up and up until they reached a heavy door that sat open. At the end of a long hallway, another heavy door stood open, and when Erik and Turk entered the room, the air seemed thick and heavy.

  Erik could smell the death in this room. He could hear crying and sniffling and a woman’s voice trying to console her daughters. He heard prayers and then he heard the sound of deafening thunder and felt the room shake with a great earthquake. He felt his hair grow searingly hot and thought his skin might melt. He looked to Turk. The dwarf felt, heard, and smelled none of it.

  A large bed sat at the other end of the room, curtains around it drawn and exposing the bodies of three people. They were the skeletal remains of an adult and two children—the queen and her daughters. The remains of others lay about the room—guards most certainly. Erik saw no signs of trauma, no broken bones.

  Erik found pieces of wood—the legs of chairs or tables—that could serve as torches and lit them, stuffing them in the iron sconces hanging from the walls. The room was large, and Erik could tell at one point it was a fancy place. Pieces of tapestries and pictures still hung from rusted hooks on the wall. Several chests of drawers and armoires sat along the walls, a deep, cherry wood, albeit warped and unsteady now. A rug consumed almost the whole of the floor, once brilliant colors, now faded and stained by dust and soot and full of tatters and tears.

  Erik looked out the room’s single window, looked out into the darkness of the city. It should have been pitch black, but he saw a faint glow hanging over the city, one not bright enough to fully illuminate anything but enough to break through some of the darkness. It was a sickly deep red, like dried blood.

  “Them,” Erik muttered, peering in between what he supposed to be the effigies of buildings. He thought he saw movement out there, in the city.

  “Where do we start?” Turk asked.

  “You’re the dwarf,” Erik replied with a smile.

  “The chest of drawers, the armoire, the chest at the end of the bed,” Turk offered.

  Erik nodded with a shrug of his shoulders.

  They searched through everything and found nothing but old, dilapidated clothing. Erik even looked under the bed, and behind it, in the corners. He even, to the protest of Turk at first, looked under the blankets of the bed. They gently moved the bodies of the queen and her daughters and cut open the mattress of the bed even.

  When they had determined that it wasn’t in the queen’s quarters, they began to search the other rooms, a dozen of them, at least, over four stories. They had all but ransacked the rooms, anywhere from quarters with ancient corpses to storage areas. They even started feeling the walls, checking for loose stones and bricks in the walls.

  “It’s not here, Erik,” Turk said. “Perhaps it is in the treasure room. Or maybe it is hidden somewhere in the city.”

  “I’m not going back into the city,” Erik replied. “Something evil is out there. The dwo—”

  “Hush, Erik,” Turk said. “Do not speak their name in this place.”

  “Will speaking their name suddenly bring them down on us?” Erik asked, but a part of him actually wondered if that was what kept them at bay, that no one dared speak their name in this place.

  They walked back to the throne room, looking about, feeling the walls as they had in the rest of the keep.

  “They’re so consumed by their treasure, they probably don’t even know we’ve been gone,” Erik said, nodding to the tunnel that led to the treasure room.

  “Why did he just sit here?” questioned Erik, looking again at the king’s skeleton. “When he knew death was coming.”

  “Maybe he was protecting something,” Turk said, “to the end. He was protecting the entrance to the treasure room perhaps.”

  But then, Erik had a thought. He wasn’t protecting the treasure room. He was protecting something else, and that required him to remain on his throne. Erik gently felt underneath the king, the arms of the throne, the sides. Nothing. He was moving around the side, wanting to look behind it, when the toe of his boot knocked against the foot of the throne. It looked like gold, but it wasn’t even solid. He tapped it again, and a hollow sound reverberated around the small room.

  “Did you hear that?” Erik asked.

  Turk nodded, wide-eyed.

  Erik bent down. He felt about the foot of the throne. It was simple wood, painted to look gold. It wasn’t warped, and the paint hadn’t chipped—charms or magic for sure. The piece of wood wouldn’t budge. He removed from his belt the hand axe he had taken from the weaponry in Thorakest and aimed. It struck the wood hard, and he heard a crack. Another strike, and then another, and then another, and the wood splintered and broke. He could reach inside.

  Erik cleared the broken wood away to reveal a small compartment in the bottom of the throne. A small chest sat in the compartment. A small lock sealed the chest, but three hefty strikes from the axe, and the lock fell away. A case, one that might be meant for a scroll, rolled and sealed, sat inside it. It was solid at one end and corked at the other.

  “Is that it?” Turk asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erik replied. “If it is, we can’t open it according to the Lord of the East.”

  “Look,” Turk said, pointing to an etching on the outside of the white case.

  “Is that a rune?” Erik asked.

  “I don’t know,” Turk replied. “I have never seen one like it.”

  Then, Erik recognized the symbol. He had seen it, once, on the map. Maybe one of the many mysteries of the map that even the dwarves couldn’t figure out. This must have been it. It was the symbol that would tell the finder this was the treasure.

  How did the Lord of the East know this symbol would be on the case?

  Magic. Curses. Sorcery.

  Erik grabbed the case.

  “We’ll look at the map,” he said, holding the scroll case and letting the small chest fall to the floor.

  As Erik held the scroll case, the floor underneath him rumbled, the walls shook, and the torches in the room flickered and dimmed.

  Chapter 9

  “Please tell me you felt that,” Erik said. “Tell me you saw that.”

  “Yes, I did,” Turk replied, eyes wide, mouth slightly set open.

  The torches in the room sputtered and seemed to brighten and dim as some whim fancied them.

  “We should get back to the treasure room, get the others and get out of here,” Turk said.

  “Agreed,” Erik added.

  As they entered the tunnel that led to the treasure room, Erik heard laughter behind them.

  “Did you hear that?” Erik asked.

  “Hear what?” Turk said.

  Erik turned and stared into the throne room from the darkness of the tunnel. A pallid red seemed to consume the room. They were there.

  “Nothing,” Erik said with a shake of his head.

  Befel and Bryon met Turk and Erik at the bottom of the tunnel’s ramp.

  “Where were you?” Befel asked.

  “Searching for the real reason we are here,” Erik said curtly.

  “What?” Bryon asked.

  “The Lord of the East’s treasure,” Erik said.

  “Why wouldn’t you search for it in the treasure room?” Bryon asked.

  “It wouldn’t be hidden in a treasure room,” Erik replied.

  “Of course, it wouldn’t,” Bryon said, rolling his eyes. “It’s treasure.”

  “No, you fool,” Erik seethed. He had had enough of Bryon’s sarcasm. “It’s too important to be hidden with simple treasure. It would be concealed somewhere else, like a
secret compartment of a throne, on which a dead king sat, staring death in the face.”

  “Truly?” Bryon asked with a hint of disbelief in his voice. “And how do you know?”

  “I just do,” Erik replied.

  “We found it,” Turk added.

  “Really?” Befel asked.

  “Aye,” Turk replied. “At least we think we found it.”

  “How can you be sure?” Befel asked.

  “There is a symbol—a rune—on the scroll case,” Erik said, retrieving the thing from his belt and showing it to his brother and cousin. “I think I saw the same rune on the map. I wonder if that is a sign, an indicator that this is it.”

  “I do not recognize the rune,” Turk added, “and I think we all thought it might just be some cartographer’s embellishment, but now …”

  Turk smiled and shrugged.

  “Wrothgard,” Erik said. The soldier and dwarves were all congregated near the armory of the treasure room, marveling in their newly acquired weapons and armor.

  “Erik, my friend,” the soldier said with a wide smile, “where have you been?”

  “Can I see the map?” Erik asked.

  “I beg your pardon,” Wrothgard said with a cocked eyebrow.

  “The map, Wrothgard,” Erik said, “can I see it?”

  “Well, certainly,” Wrothgard replied, retrieving it from his haversack and handing it to Erik.

  Erik unrolled the parchment and found the symbol on the map that looked like the symbol carved into the case of the scroll. It was a series of triangular lines, and if he looked closely and studied it, Erik might have thought it was some ancient symbol for a claw or teeth. He pointed to the symbol, drawn in the lower corner of the map, away from the directions.

  “What does this mean, Balzarak?” Erik asked.

  Balzarak peered close to the symbol. He shook his head, ever so slightly.

  “It means nothing, Erik,” Balzarak said. “It is a simple embellishment.”

  Erik pulled the scroll case from his belt and presented it to the general.

  “It matches the symbol carved on this scroll case,” Erik said. “Could it mean this is what the Lord of the East wants us to find for him?”

  Balzarak’s eyebrows rose, and his eyes widened.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked.

  “It was in the throne room,” Erik explained, “hidden in the bottom of the throne, in a small compartment.”

  “How did you know to look there?” Threhof asked, chiming in and looking over the general’s shoulder at both the scroll case and the map.

  “We searched the whole keep,” Turk said. “We considered that this thing might be important, and so, it would not be kept with the rest of the treasure. Finding it was fortuitous.”

  “This could very well be a marking that signifies it is what the Lord of the East desires,” Balzarak said.

  “What is in there?” Threhof asked. “Why would dwarves, a thousand years ago, care to hide this thing away, right underneath where the King sits?”

  “We haven’t looked inside,” Erik said. “We were commanded not to.”

  “You were commanded not to look,” Threhof said, grabbing at the scroll case, “but we were not.”

  He tried to pull the case away, but Erik pushed the dwarf and stopped him from grabbing the treasure. As Threhof stumbled back, he drew his sword, and Erik complied, doing the same.

  “It belongs to the dwarves,” Threhof said.

  “No,” Erik replied. “The deal was we get to keep this and return it to the Lord of the East. I thought you owed me a blood debt. This is how you honor such a debt?”

  “This is how I honor my people,” Threhof replied. “General.”

  Balzarak shook his head.

  “No, the King’s wishes were that these men would be allowed to return whatever it is the Lord of the East is seeking back to him … if we found it.”

  “It’s the Lord of the East,” Threhof said. “It’s Golgolithul.”

  “It does not matter,” Balzarak replied. “These are King Skella’s wishes.”

  Erik looked to Wrothgard.

  “Do you want it?” Erik asked.

  “No,” the soldier replied. “You keep it … keep it safe.”

  Erik didn’t want to keep the scroll safe. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it, especially as the dwarves—and Switch—eyed him coldly like starving animals ready to make an unadvised attack simply for an empty belly.

  “It is time to finish gathering what you want, what you can carry,” Balzarak said to everyone. “We need to leave this place. We can revel in our find, and our treasure, when we return to Thorakest.”

  As everyone dispersed, gathering what final treasure they wanted or could physically carry, Switch walked up behind Erik.

  “I know you’re there,” Erik said.

  “Of course, you do,” Switch said. Erik could feel the smile in his voice.

  “Then why are you trying to sneak up on me?” Erik asked.

  “I wasn’t sneaking at nothing,” Switch replied. “If I wanted to sneak, I would’ve done so.”

  Erik turned to see the thief, thumbs tucked into his belt.

  “I don’t believe you,” Erik said.

  “Believe what you want,” Switch said, then gave his chin a quick tilt. “Let’s have a look. What do you say?”

  “I say no,” Erik replied.

  “Come on. Aren’t you at least a little curious?”

  “No,” Erik lied, He was but not enough to want to deal with the Lord of the East when he had to give him the scroll.”

  “How do we even know we’ll make it to Fen-Stévock?” Switch asked.

  “We’ve made it this far,” Erik said.

  “How will he know?” Switch asked. He inched closer.

  “He will,” Erik replied. He didn’t doubt The Messenger when he had told them, in Finlo, that the Lord of the East would know if they had looked at his treasure.

  “I don’t think so,” Switch said. “I think it’s all troll shit, just to scare us into not looking at what he has here … at what the trolls have here. Come on, let me look at it.”

  Switch stepped forward again and extended a hand.

  “No.”

  “Don’t you want to know what Vander Bim and Drake gave their lives for?” Switch asked.

  “Not really. You don’t care about them anyway.”

  “That hurts,” Switch said, and then shrugged his shoulders. “But it’s true. Let’s find out what has caused all this trouble. What do you say?”

  “No.”

  “All right,” Switch said with a smile which soon faded, “then I’m done asking. Now I’m telling. Give me the fucking scroll.”

  “No,” Erik repeated.

  “They’re too far away too help you,” Switch seethed, a knife appearing in his hand, his eyes squinting.

  “Good,” Erik said. He gripped his sword with both hands.

  “I’ll have you gutted by the time any of them get here,” Switch hissed.

  “You can try,” Erik replied. He felt a smile growing on his face.

  “You little shit,” Switch spat. “You think all that training you’ve been doing with Wrothgard will help you? It won’t do you a bloody lick of good.”

  Erik smiled. “Come and see.”

  Switch hesitated a moment, then straightened his back and huffed.

  “It’s not worth the trouble.”

  Switch sheathed his knife, kicked a silver cup at Erik like a petulant child, and walked away.

  Erik cursed silently as the thief left.

  Watch him. He’ll try to take it again.

  “I know,” Erik replied to his dagger.

  As he turned to walk away from Switch—far away from Switch—he thought the light in the throne room looked a little dimmer, and he felt the floor underneath him move. He looked to his dagger, then to the scroll case, stuck snuggly in his belt.

  Chapter 10

  Bryon ne
ver thought he would pass up a coin the size of a Hámonian pound, but diamonds and emeralds the size of his fist were worth hundreds of Hámonian pounds. He would be rich. When they reached Fen-Stévock and delivered the Lord of the East’s treasure, he would buy a villa. He would have everything he ever wanted—servants, women, the richest food.

  Bryon was running out of space in his haversack and becoming selective about what he took, picking mostly coins that looked unique and large gems. As he sifted through a small mound of treasure, the glint of a huge diamond caught his eye, sparkling in the firelight of the treasure room. He had to have it. Bending down to pick up the gem, he heard something growl, and it startled him, causing him to lose his footing and fall backwards.

  “Damn it,” Bryon cursed.

  When he pushed himself up, he gasped and scooted backwards.

  “What, by the shadow, are you?” Bryon muttered as some ugly, mongrel dog-like creature stared back at him.

  It gave another growling whimper.

  It was larger than any dog he had ever seen, perhaps the size of a wolf, but maybe even bigger. Bryon went to one knee, right hand on the handle of his sword. He dared to lean closer. The creature backed up a bit, a low grumble coming from its mouth. It had red eyes void of pupils, and its head looked too big for its body. Its eyes followed Bryon, as he scooted away from the treasure and onto more solid ground. As the creature’s eyes followed, its head tilted.

  It was green with no hair. Its skin looked wet almost. And when it tilted its head, it looked like it was going to fall over. Bryon cracked a smile. He dared to stand. The creature moved as well, and he could see it had short, squatty legs and a long, almost scaly tail. Now it looked something like a mountain lizard, although, they didn’t have ears.

  The creature seemed less apprehensive now and yelped, showing a row of fangs, long and sharp. As silly as it looked, Bryon suddenly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of its teeth. Or its claws, for that matter, which were long and black.

  The creature moved closer, and Bryon, keeping his right hand on the handle of his sword, extended his left. He crouched. The thing moved even closer. It sniffed at the ground, watching Bryon all the while. Bryon extended his hand farther. The creature moved closer, sniffing.