Kimber turned her head quickly and hissed.
“Your necessity is waning, mage,” she said, her voice a snake’s whispering hiss.
“Your time is nigh at hand,” Krista, added, her voice the same as her twin’s.
“We are strong,” Kimber said.
“We are powerful,” Krista added.
“The gods smile upon us,” Kimber said.
“They have given us the mysteries we desire,” Krista said.
“You speak in a witch’s riddles, full of your own self-importance,” Andragos said, “which is nothing more than nonsense.”
“Show him,” Krista said.
The Lord of the East turned and made eye contact with Melanius. The old, broken wizard nodded his head.
“Follow me,” the Lord of the East said rising before turning. Following the witches and wizard, he disappeared behind his curtains.
Andragos did as he was told, pushing aside the heavy curtain and stepping into the Lord of the East’s private quarters. The ruler of Golgolithul walked along a path, lit by magical light, followed in a single file by the witches and wizard who had waited for the master to lead the way. Andragos followed, and beyond the path, the space behind the curtain was pitch black, but he knew what terrors waited in the darkness. This wasn’t the first time he had been behind the curtain, but it had been a long time.
The Lord of the East stopped in front of a small platform, square and made of pure gold. He stepped up onto it, everyone else, including Andragos, joining him. The ruler of Golgolithul snapped his fingers. The space around them shimmered and, only for a moment, Andragos’ vision went black, and when it returned, they were in a wide, dark room barely lit by several torches and smelling of disease and death.
“The dungeons, Syzbalo?” Andragos asked.
The Lord of the East didn’t reply. He simply led them down a hallway that ended in a single cell, iron bars old and rusted, no door in them—just thick, iron rods. A single torch burned faintly outside the cell, leaving most of the cell dark. Andragos could see feet poking out from the darkness.
The Lord of the East lifted a hand, and the iron bars of the cell disappeared. He stepped inside, and the witches and his new advisor followed.
“Do you want to know how we have discovered the mystery of Orvencrest,” the Lord of the East asked, “and the dragon scroll?”
Andragos stepped forward. The Lord of the East started speaking in a language—one different from what the witches had spoken—that Andragos hadn’t heard in years.
Shadow tongue.
“Yes,” Kimber said, turning to face Andragos, her blue eyes glowing in the darkness of the cell. Krista’s eyes grew equally as brilliant, becoming gleaming emeralds.
Andragos stepped forward even more and gasped.
“Is that?” he started to ask.
“Yes, Andragos,” the Lord of the East replied.
A dwomanni leaned against the wall, chained and bound. It looked as if it was sleeping, although Andragos couldn’t quite see in the darkness. The Lord of the East snapped a finger, and a ball of red light appeared, floating in front of them. The dwomanni hissed, putting an arm in front of his face.
“What is your name?” the Lord of the East asked of the dwomanni, speaking in the Shadow Tongue.
“You know my name,” the dwomanni replied in the same language, its voice raspy and angry.
“Tell me again,” the Lord of the East said. “And put down your damn arm.”
The dwomanni put its arm down. Its skin was a pallid gray. Its eyes were glassy, seeming to be blind, but the way it looked about, Andragos could tell it could see. As it snarled, its face flat and head hairless, it bore teeth that had been shaved to points. It was a sickly-looking thing, smaller than any dwarf Andragos had ever seen and barely bigger than a gnome.
“Tarren,” the dwomanni replied. “Tarren Red Hair, Captain of Shadow Horn’s Guard.”
“Little good you did as a captain, no?” the Lord of the East said, and Andragos could hear the chiding mirth in his master’s voice. “And why are you here? What have you confided in me thus far?”
The dwomanni hissed again and squirmed a bit, but both witches started chanting, and the dwomanni’s back arched and he grimaced in pain.
“Curse you bitches. The dwarves hid a powerful weapon from us, a millennium ago,” Tarren Red Hair confessed, “when our mistress reclaimed lands and gold that were once hers. It was a spell that could control the mistress or allow her to control others of her kind.”
“Dragons?” Andragos asked. “A spell of dragon control. That is what the dragon scroll does?”
The dwomanni hissed again.
“The dwarves tried to use it themselves,” Tarren Red Hair continued, “and that is why she destroyed them and burnt their flesh. While she has slept, we have protected her, her offspring, and searched for the scroll, but the dwarves are crafty whores, aren’t they?”
“But when the mercenaries found the scroll,” Andragos said with realization, “they awoke the dragon.”
“The mistress is awake?” the dwomanni said with a hint of glee. Clearly, he hadn’t known. He cackled. “You are all doomed. She and her mate will lay waste to your lands and enslave your people, the ones she doesn’t feast on. Your cities will burn. Your lands will burn. The world will burn.”
The witches looked at Andragos and hissed. The Lord of the East waved them off.
“But the scroll is incomplete, isn’t it, Terran?” the Lord of the East said. When the dwomanni didn’t answer, the witches chanted again and, again, the twisted creature jerked and writhed in pain. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Terran said. “The dwarves separated the weapon.”
“And what are we missing?” the Lord of the East asked.
“The dragon sword,” Terran replied, “and the dragon crown.”
“You are a cursed thing, aren’t you?” the Lord of the East chided. “Your whole race is. When I rule, I will wipe you and your kind from the world.”
They left the dwomanni screaming and cursing as the Lord of the East snapped his fingers and the iron bars to the cell reappeared. As torture, he left the ball of light in the cell, and as the dwomanni’s screaming intensified, so did the light.
“It is doubtful the dwarves tried to use this weapon … this spell for themselves,” Andragos said.
“Doubtful, but still possible,” Melanius said.
“More than likely they hid it so that it could not be used,” the Lord of the East said, “but now, with this little wicked creature in our possession, we not only found out where the scroll was, but we know how to find the dragon sword as well. He was able to give us detailed information about the scroll. It is from Terran that we constructed the map to Orvencrest. And it is because of him we know the sword lies in the keep of Fealmynster, north of the Gray Mountains, guarded by an ancient mage.”
“And this is your plan?” Andragos asked as they stood in the main room of Fen-Stévock’s deepest dungeons. “You wish to find the three pieces of this weapon and rule all the world?”
“It is my destiny, Andragos,” the Lord of the East said. “It is my future, one I wish you to be a part of, my old mentor.”
For a moment, the Lord of the East’s little charm worked on Andragos. He felt the gooseflesh on his arms, the excitement of being needed and wanted. But it quickly wore off. Syzbalo was a powerful mage in his own right, but not that powerful. Andragos would be a powerful ally, but despite Andragos’ many inequities, Syzbalo knew the Black Mage had seen what such power could do, had done. The Messenger remembered the time before the Long Peace, and a time even before that.
Andragos steeled his mind, knowing that the Lord of the East’s witches and new mentor were always searching it. He had to go home and prepare.
Chapter 34
Ecfast was more than just a dwarvish outpost. A myriad of peoples gathered there during the day, trading and requesting passage into the lands of the dwarves. Erik saw og
res, men, and gnomes. He even saw the cat-men he had seen at The Lady’s Inn, in Finlo—five of them, all an array of different cats, and they bartered with the ogres and spoke in a language of purrs and meows and hisses.
A tall dwarf, all clad in plate mail with a dark red cloak trailing behind him approached the mercenaries, helmet tucked under an arm and smile evident under his thick, red beard. He spoke to the Turk for a moment and then motioned for the companions to circle up around him.
Turk produced a piece of rolled parchment for the other dwarf to read. Then he turned to Erik.
“Show him,” Turk said.
Erik retrieved the circlet Balzarak had given him and handed it to the dwarf. His eyes widened a bit as he handed the circlet back to Erik.
“Friends of the General of Fornhig and Keeper of the North are always welcome in Ecfast. Turk Skull Crusher tells me that all of you speak Westernese,” the dwarf said in a voice that carried only a little bit of an accent, “so I will speak to you in that tongue. Welcome to Ecfast. You are honored guests. I am Captain Khamzûd Tall Tree, the Captain of Ecfast. You will stay here for a day and then we will send you off to be on your way.”
Khamzûd Tall Tree bowed low and then added:
“You are free in this place to do as you wish within our laws, but know only a few things. The main gate to the Liha marketplace stays closed so, if you wish to go there, you must first ask the guard to open the door. Secondly, the main gate to Ecfast opens at sunrise and then closes at sunset. It does not open at any other time for any other reason, on orders from King Skella.”
Ecfast seemed a simple structure. The middle of the outpost lay open, rising up four stories. The various rooms and quarters sat on the south side of the outpost. Dwarves leaned against the railings of each level, staring down at Erik and his companions. Walls sat along the north side of the outpost, centered by wide stairs. As they moved into the center of Ecfast, Erik saw that the stairs led down to the foyer in the front of the outpost, where the main doors sat. Two inner watchtowers raised the height of the outpost, one on each side of the main doors, and bear handlers stood in front of the double doors, large, thick leashes tied to the collars of huge, brown bears.
That night, the dwarves of Ecfast pulled more than a dozen long tables into the main center of the outpost, and that is where they ate dinner. Erik found it a joyous occasion and, once the guards of Ecfast knew he could speak their language, it became even more fun, with good food and good conversation. After dinner, and after the tables were put away, Erik and Wrothgard took to training.
“No one drank ale or wine,” Erik commented on one of their breaks.
“I suspect they wouldn’t,” Wrothgard replied.
“And why not?” Erik asked.
“Ecfast is a major outpost,” Wrothgard replied. “As you saw, many people come through this place for a number of different reasons, and not all of them come under the banner of peace. Naturally, they must have their wits about them.”
“When you were a soldier,” Erik said, “did you not drink a lot? Even in the field?”
“When I was young,” Wrothgard said with a smile, “I drank enough to make up for all my years. But when I grew older and wiser, and when my skills improved and I was given more responsibility, I realized it was to my detriment to do so.”
“I see,” Erik said.
“Now, that isn’t to say I never had fun,” Wrothgard replied, his smile growing wider, “but in order to be an effective soldier, you must always be aware, be at your sharpest.”
They trained late, stopping only as the doors closed at sunset. A myriad of people milled about hurriedly, noisily trying to make a last minute sale of their goods and wares before they had to leave for the night. Erik watched the waning sun of the Southern Mountains spill through the front doors of Ecfast and thought the sun looked a little different here. He looked to the sky, and this didn’t have the same vibrant pinks and purples and reds it did back home.
He looked the other way and studied how the dwarves had carved the outpost straight into the mountainside. Watchtowers jutted from the stony cliffs, and guards stared down, watching the road that wound through the mountain … and watching him.
****
“Onbreg!”
Erik heard the call as he and Wrothgard finished their morning training session and the sun began to rise. With a large creaking, the front gate opened, and as before, a diverse group of people spilled into the front gates, meandering through the outpost and into the marketplace.
It was noon when Erik gathered with his mercenary companions in front of Ecfast’s gates.
“It will be hot,” Captain Khamzûd Tall Tree said, mopping his brow with the back of his hand.
“Aye,” Wrothgard replied before turning to the dwarf. “Your kindness and hospitality are appreciated. And, we know that you must go back to your business and tending to us takes attention away from your duties.”
Captain Khamzûd Tall Tree bowed.
“Last night,” he said, “a messenger arrived from Thorakest with word from King Skella which concerned you.”
Erik, for a moment, thought the captain might demand the Lord of the East’s treasure, or even try to stop them. What did that mean about Bryon? Was he dead?
“King Skella has ordered we give you each two horses,” the captain said as they heard a clatter of hooves behind them. “They are well trained, from the King’s personal stables.”
Several dwarves led a train of fourteen horses to the mercenaries who began loading bags onto seven of the horses which had not been given saddles and bridles.
“You men must have made a good impression with His Highness,” said Captain Khamzûd Tall Tree smiling, “to receive such a gift.”
Erik held the reins of a white quarter horse. Khamzûd came over, directly to Erik, and extended his hand.
“Each passing moment, word comes to us from all over Druum Balmduukr,” the captain said. “It seems these are becoming dark times with the emergence of ancient enemies.”
Erik shook the captain’s hand but looked at the dwarf with confusion. Khamzûd Tall Tree explained, “Further word has come to us, that of a man who has found a great treasure lost to the dwarves, a treasure that will help the dwarvish people immensely, a man who is a true friend to the dwarvish people, a man who is a hero to the dwarvish people. They call him Erik Wolf’s Bane, Erik Troll Hammer, and Erik Dragon Slayer. Truth be told, I have no idea where you could have gotten such names, Erik Eleodum, but if you are a friend to the dwarvish people, and you have, in a way, contributed to the health of my people, then I do hope our paths cross once again.”
Erik felt goose pimples rise along his arms. A hero? Wolf’s Bane? Troll Hammer? Dragon Slayer? If they only knew. If they only knew what thing he carried back to the Lord of the East. If they only knew that a dragon he supposedly slew—and most of the dwarves who heard that probably didn’t believe a dragon lived anyway—still lived and had begun plotting her revenge, a revenge the dwarvish people would most undoubtedly feel first. If they only knew that the treasure he … they found was guarded by the deepest, darkest evil imaginable, he wouldn’t be so lauded as a hero.
“Thank you,” was all Erik could muster.
Fame, right Befel. Fame and fortune, for your brother. Fame and fortune in the east. Didn’t help you much did it?
Khamzûd bowed and then held up a hand. “Go with An.”
“Go with An,” Erik repeated.
Erik and his companions rode down the winding trail that led from the entrance of Ecfast to the foot of the Southern Mountains and, eventually, to Fen-Stévock. He looked over his shoulder, watching the dwarvish outpost fade with each step against a background of the bright blue noon sky.
I feel as if a part of me is gone. A part of me was lost in these mountains. A part of me died, maybe.
He thought of the farm again. He thought of Simone and his brother, his cousin. He was now the eldest, a status he never wanted. He was now a lea
der, something he never wanted. He was now rich by any standard, something he never wanted. He was now a wanted man, the dwomanni and who knew who else desiring him dead. Erik looked back at Ecfast one last time.
A part of me is gone, yes, but I think a new part of me has emerged as well.
Chapter 35
Ranus and Cliens walked down the mountain path. They had to be careful because this was dwarvish territory, and the outpost of Ecfast was close. Cliens couldn’t help noticing Ranus’ posture. He was dejected and upset. They had trailed the mercenaries across the ravine, passing through the remnants of a battle that they had clearly won. They had even followed them through the thickest forest Cliens had ever seen. And then … gone.
It irritated Ranus the most. He was a master tracker after all, hailing from the Shadow Marshes. He spent a whole day trying to find their tracks, all the while Cliens had noticed oddities within the mountain forest. He had never felt so unnerved. He heard voices on the wind, saw odd glimmers at night, and felt as if someone closed a hand around his throat when he closed his eyes. He finally had to pry Ranus away and convince him to return to the Plains and that was slow going. They ran into a cave bear, a pack of red-eyed wolves, and more of Patûk Al’Banan’s men, hiding for what seemed an eternity each time.
Then they found them again, walking out of the entrance to Ecfast. Cliens had hoped they might rest and resupply at Ecfast, but seeing their target again offered a better option; supplies could wait.
“Fortune smiles on us,” Cliens said nudging Ranus’ arm.
His friend refused to turn and look, just shaking his head and grumbling.
“Look, my friend,” Cliens said, grabbing Ranus’ shoulder hard and pointing to the group of mercenaries, “it is them. I recognize the younger one although his beard looks thicker.”
Ranus finally relented and looked. He stopped, and Cliens didn’t need to see his face to know his eyes widened with excitement. Cliens was a little surprised that this was the mercenary group from Finlo, the group that had traveled with the dwarves of Drüum Balmdüukr.
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