Return of the Wizard King

by Chad Corrie

  “How? You don’t even know me.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Gilban’s eyes narrowed slightly as he appeared to take in the full figure of the man beside him. Dugan had to shake off the feeling of needles being jammed into his flesh as he did so. It just wasn’t natural to see a blind man acting like Gilban. “And I can tell you, there’s only one remedy.”

  “And what is it?” Immediately, Dugan’s interest was piqued.

  “In this city there’s a temple dedicated to the god you serve,” he replied. “Hidden away in the shell of a forest east of here, others of like mind have established a place of worship. Like you, they discovered the price of such worship is often higher than they thought they’d have to pay.

  “Go there. Confront the god through his servants and face his will.” Gilban motioned Dugan away as Alara approached from across the plaza. “It’s a sorrowful thing to witness a man destroy himself in the searing flames of revenge. Go quickly, for I fear there will be much to discuss, and the day continues to age.”

  Dugan didn’t know what to say or feel about the matter—momentarily frozen between hoping for answers and wondering if what Gilban said wasn’t perhaps too good to be true.

  “I thought you said you trust me now,” said Gilban, apparently sensing Dugan’s hesitation. “Or have you changed your mind already?”

  Dugan silently rose, growing uneasy with how Alara eyed him as she neared.

  “Go.” The blind elf waved him on. “Get your answers while you can.”

  He shook himself from inaction, traveling eastward with a quickened pace. If he really could get some answers then he might as well go after them. It wasn’t like he was going to find any more waiting for him en route to those ruins. And if it was too good to be true he’d find out soon enough.

  “Is everything okay?” Alara returned to Gilban’s side.

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just noticed you with Dugan. Is there anything I should know?” She watched the gladiator hurrying from the plaza. “He wasn’t causing you any trouble, was he?”

  “No. And there’s no reason to fear. Even now he’s gone to clear his mind and deal with the troubles burdening him. Now, let’s get to that inn,” said Gilban, rising. “I have to quench my thirst, and I think something will soon unfold there that will prove rather favorable to our cause.”

  “What now?” Alara asked with mild trepidation. “Hopefully, a less violent surprise than what we’ve been finding of late.”

  “Events are yet to unfurl,” Gilban said, steadying himself with his staff.

  “This have anything to do with that vision you had on the boat?”

  “I told you all I could at the time.”

  “Which wasn’t much.”

  “And you’re worried I’m holding something back from you?”

  Alara studied Gilban’s pendant for a moment, pondering all the things it symbolized. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Then it’s done so recently.” Gilban wasn’t the least bit offended by the comment, adding, “You never doubted my calling you for this mission. Nor any other part of what Saredhel’s shared with me. She made it quite clear you were to accompany me and—”

  “Lead the others,” she said, watching the rushing crowd again. “I know.” She took Gilban’s arm, helping ease his steps. She’d been aiding him for so long now, her moves were automatic.

  “You knew what would be required at the beginning, Alara.” The statement birthed a flash of memory. She’d never forget when the men sent to seek out a silver-haired young woman for a mission called for by Saredhel and the republic itself came literally knocking on her parents’ door. Nor would she forget her parents’ reaction when Gilban declared to them that Alara was the one for whom he’d been searching.

  “I thought I did, but now it just seems like too much.”

  “When the light shines upon an ant, its shadow can grow to the size of a giant. Perhaps it’s time to adjust your vision and see things as they really are. Saredhel would not have chosen you if you weren’t able to do what was required.” He paused. “Don’t forget the battle on the docks.”

  “Which was pretty chaotic,” she admitted as they passed a fishmonger hawking his wares.

  “Life is seldom as orderly as we’d like.”

  “No—it isn’t, is it?” She now caught sight of a Telborian woman pulling a cart piled with bolts of brightly colored cloth. For a moment she had a flash of the port cities of Rexatoius, realizing even more than before how much she missed her homeland.

  “But they followed you.”

  “But will they in the times ahead, when it really matters?” she asked, hoping perhaps he’d let his guard down and share at least some small hint of the direction she needed to take.

  “That’s not for me to decide.”

  With an inward sigh she let the matter drop, resting in the silence overshadowing the rest of their journey.

  CHAPTER 14

  Forsaking one’s heritage is like building a house upon sand:

  only with a strong foundation do you have hope for the future.

  —Old dwarven saying

  Vinder found himself treading a well-worn street in a forgotten part of Elandor. He had no clear idea of where he wanted to go after adding to the money already on deposit with the temple of Olthon, deciding he’d just wander for a while. It was better than sitting at the Mangy Griffin twiddling his thumbs, and it allowed him some personal time before he’d be joined at the hip with the others for who knew how long.

  While he’d meant for the walk to be something of a mindless venture, the more walking he did, the more thinking he found himself doing. He kept wondering if he was doing the right thing by taking this job and if he’d get enough money from it to finally put this life behind him. And then there was the occasional thought that he might not make it back from the jungle at all. Why he even thought this to begin with, he wasn’t sure, as he wasn’t one to entertain such fears. Nevertheless, the concern was persistent, much to his displeasure.

  Lost in thought, and oblivious to where he was going, he eventually found himself trailing a loose fold of men and women who, while not quite beggars, were close. The cobblestone road they traveled had long ceased to be level; it was full of small hills and valleys and puddles of brackish and sometimes putrid water, which he did his best to avoid. This was to say nothing of the scattered patches of grass, weeds, and even wildflowers sprouting out of and further destroying the road. This wasn’t the worst place he’d ever found himself in, but he had no intention of overstaying his welcome.

  Observing the buildings lining the street, his trained eye found the telltale sign of dwarven design here and there amid some of the structures. Though the shapes were almost faded now, like the rest of the memories the buildings once housed, he could still make out some small clues if he studied long enough. It was strange seeing the sign of dwarven craftsmanship so far from any clan, but Elandor was old—one of the first cities to be built after the Imperial Wars—and things were different then.

  Those who made their way down the street—humans mostly—did their best to avoid the armored and armed dwarf, giving him a wide berth as they passed. What once were larger stone homes, shops, and even what looked like a temple, had been converted to simple apartments. Not the more common wood, plaster, and stone buildings found in the newer sections of Elandor, but no longer the gloriously refined edifices they’d once been. Now crumbling, weatherworn pieces of once-grand adornments desperately clung to the façades of rows of small dwellings fit for little more than keeping out the elements. Again, he’d seen worse—been in worse—over the years and was thankful he’d soon be putting such things far from him.

  Oddly enough, Alara and Gilban had found him in an alleyway much like this before he’d agreed to their offer. It’d been in a small town in Altorbia, where he landed after his last job. A well-connected family in that area had wanted help waging a private war against b
itter rivals, a family that had been gaining power. The pay was good, and Vinder didn’t know nor care about the elven families involved, so he’d taken the job.

  The war was short but effective. The rival house was shattered, their climb to power halted in its tracks. Vinder had just healed up from the slight wounds he’d suffered and had been growing restless when Alara and Gilban appeared. If he’d been inclined to Gilban’s mindset, he would have thought the meeting fated, but instead he took the path of luck. Though, if he was back with his clan, he might have credited the deed to Drued instead. Either way it was a welcome thing that brought him closer to his final goal.

  He decided to make his way into what he thought might have been a temple centuries before. If that was its origin, it was more squat and utilitarian than any temple he’d seen. Two stories in height, it wasn’t grand from the outside, but he felt drawn to it nonetheless. Placing his hands upon the old stone, the smooth surface somehow remained refined and polished even after centuries of abuse from the relentless weather that had so clearly marred other buildings sharing the street.

  An open doorway stood to his left. Looking above the sill, Vinder caught sight of a design he thought strange for a Telborian city: two war hammers crossing over a double-bladed axe. The Holy Standard. The relief was clearly discernible, even after all these years. A miracle in and of itself, but what the crest denoted was something even more amazing and drew him through the darkened opening like a moth to the flame.

  He took a moment for his vision to adjust in the darkness, before cautiously making his way forward, ignoring the odd rat and puddle along with the dank, musty smell that seemed to be steeped in the stone itself. He found himself in a large room that once had been polished granite but now was covered with small bits of rock, rotting leaves, and a thick layer of grime. What had been in the room during its better days he hadn’t a clue, but it seemed able to house a hundred people without crowding. As his eye continued to adjust, he thought he saw the outline of another person farther ahead.

  “Hello?” The room swallowed the sound as soon as it left his lips.

  The figure didn’t move.

  Growing closer, he could clearly see the shape seemed to resemble a dwarf. He called out again, this time in his native tongue rather than Telboros.

  “Hello there.”

  The figure remained still.

  Finally, he drew near enough to realize he’d been calling out to a statue. Placing his hands upon the stone figure, he wiped away some grime caked into the folds of its clothing and armor with his calloused fingers. As he worked, he imagined who the statue might represent. Even this close, the darkness made it difficult to discern the figure’s features. All he could see was a statue of a male dwarf, dressed in a long sleeveless shirt of brigandine armor draped over a robe.

  Removing his pack from his back, Vinder went to a small pocket and pulled out a stubby candle along with his sparker. Like most sparkers, his resembled a small annular brooch. It was also utilitarian and well used. The flint ring was heavily worn and the steel needle was covered in scratches. Working it with a practiced hand, he birthed a tongue of flame to light the candle and proceeded to examine the mysterious statue. A thick patriarchal beard flowed from its strong face, upon which twelve adorned braids fell in perfect form.

  “Merciful Drued!” Vinder fell to his knees. His heart raced in his chest. This was an omen for sure. It had to be. Before him was a statue of Drued, god of the dwarves. Even in the midst of the shock of his discovery, a sense of shame rose as well. He’d been so long from his clan that he’d lapsed in his reverence to his deity. To find this statue here, and still intact . . . could Drued be showing him he was close to the forgiveness he sought? Telling him there was still hope for reconciliation?

  “Forgive me, Drued,” Vinder prayed. “I’ve learned from my mistakes and past sins. I beseech you to forgive me and lead me back to Diamant. I’ve gathered a tribute worthy enough to honor those whom I’ve offended. Please bless me on my journey so I meet with favor.”

  “Now this is a good sign.” A voice speaking Dwarfish brought Vinder to his feet. Another dwarf, dressed in muted browns and grays, had entered the temple. As he drew closer, Vinder’s recollection brightened.

  “Heinrick?”

  The dwarf was twenty years Vinder’s senior, but looked half that. He kept his graying hair in a ponytail that trailed down his upper back. And then, of course, there were the braids in his beard. Every dwarven male earned his first braid upon reaching his twenty-fifth year with an additional one added for every twenty-five years lived after that. The two strands, dyed a dark blue at the tips, flowed over a frayed gray beard, striped with flashes of silver and white.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You’ve been away so long you forgot already?” Heinrick greeted Vinder with a sarcastic grin. “I’m picking up a few supplies before winter sets in. Mostly a few trivial items that only come in through the sea trade.”

  “And I thought Diamants always strove for self-sufficiency,” said Vinder. He and every other dwarf in the clan had the ideal instilled in them as soon as they could walk.

  “And in time we’ll meet that goal,” said a clearly confident Heinrick.

  “If I recall, we’ve been seeking to attain it for a few millennia now,” Vinder replied, gently ribbing his old friend, who clearly took no offense on the topic.

  “We’ll get there in the end,” said Heinrick. “We’re dedicated, if nothing else.”

  “I think you meant stubborn.”

  Heinrick gave a small nod. “There’s still plenty of that going around too . . . as I’m sure you know.”

  “Only too well.” Vinder’s levity faded.

  “Believe it or not, I tend to come here when I first arrive in the city, and again before I head back to the clan,” Heinrick continued. “After all, it’s not every day you come across a shrine to Drued in a Telborian city.”

  Vinder again found the statue. “I’m surprised it’s so well preserved.”

  “I was, too, considering the rest of the place has just about been stripped bare. But that doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “Looking for some hope,” he confessed. “I’m getting ready to go back to the clan—seek to make amends.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Heinrick’s smile widened, a bit of mischief lurking just beneath his ever-serious face.

  “And I’m surprised you’re even talking to me. I thought that was forbidden.”

  “You know I am, and always will be, a true supporter of the clan. However”—Heinrick stepped forward and rested a hand upon Vinder’s shoulder—“it’s good to see you again, Vinder. It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long,” he mused.

  “It sounds like you’ve finally come to your senses, if what I’ve just seen is any indication.”

  “You warned me not to go.”

  “But I respected your decision.” Heinrick gave his shoulder a strong squeeze. “Just like I do now.” The sincerity of the comment washed over him in refreshing waves, cleansing away the years of fear, regret, and doubt. And for a brief span of breaths he actually felt like his old self again. But such relief wasn’t lasting—it wouldn’t be until he returned and finished making amends. But maybe everything wasn’t as hopeless as he was tempted to imagine.

  “And what news of the clan?” he asked.

  “The same as always.”

  “I was afraid of that. But I’m willing to come back, if they’d have me.” He extended his hand. Heinrick viewed it hesitantly. “Come, forgive me. I must have at least some hope I can return.”

  “I’ve heard from your own lips what I need to hear.” Heinrick clasped Vinder’s hand with a hearty grip. “You’ve learned from your mistakes. But while I can forgive you, it’ll be another matter altogether for the king and the elders to be so merciful.”

  “Whatever they decide”—Vinder released his friend’s hand—“I’m ready to receive it.�
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  “I’m starting my journey to the mountains tonight.” Heinrick attempted to lighten the mood. “Will you join me? It would be nice to have some company.”

  He slowly shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve given my oath to take care of one last matter. But once it’s done, I’ll take my tribute and join you and the clan.”

  Heinrick nodded stoically. “A man must be true to his word.”

  When Vinder sighed it felt like he’d just lightened a load from his shoulders. The pressing weight had been there for so long its absence now seemed foreign. “Seeing you, this shrine, even the statue of Drued—I can only think it bodes well for the future.”

  “If not . . . you might be walking into a death sentence.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take. Not unlike the chance you took with me. Standing by my side even to the last moment when I was banished.”

  “I did what I thought was right,” said Heinrick. “Just like I’m doing now.”

  “If only more dwarves were like you.”

  “Who says they aren’t?” Heinrick grinned. “You might find yourself surprised upon your return. And when that happens, I’d love to hear what’s happened since you left.” He pointed out Vinder’s patch.

  “A cautionary tale if there ever was one,” he soberly replied while he momentarily contemplated the floor.

  “No doubt. Still, it couldn’t hurt to pray some more to Drued for protection and guidance until you arrive.” Heinrick reached under his beard and removed a necklace he’d hidden there, passing it to Vinder. “May you find favor in his sight.”

  Vinder studied the necklace in his open palm, noticing it was of excellent workmanship. The pendant was a carved quartz figure on a golden loop, dangling from the leather strap. Taking closer note of the figure, he saw the form was of Drued, dressed in a full suit of armor and sporting twelve braids—each lovingly detailed in the semiopaque stone.