“What’s got you all rattled?” A deep voice asked from the opposite side of the room.
Bridazak opened his eyes and looked at the red-bearded Dwarf leaning in a chair against the wall, smoking his pipe.
“Thule and his goons,” he sat at the dining table.
“They deserve a good Dwarven beating. Did you sell that damn feather you and Spilf concocted?”
“Yes, the noblewoman came through. We will have enough to live on for a while.”
“Good. I need a good drink tonight, so cough up some coin.”
Bridazak tossed a leather pouch filled with gold pieces onto the table and the coins jingled loudly. The Dwarf tilted forward in surprise of the amount, showing more of his face in the dimming light. He had a large scar on his left cheek that was partially buried by his thick, foot-long beard.
“Whoa, you made how much for that feather?”
“Three-hundred,” he fibbed; Bridazak was distracted with other thoughts and responded mechanically.
“I’m impressed, you came out ahead this time, what with all of your costume regalia purchases. Where is your sidekick?” Dulgin moved to the dining table and inspected the coinage by feeling the weight in his ruddy hand.
Just then, the door burst open and another Ordakian, several inches shorter than Bridazak, came through. He held a large cloak rolled up in his arms. His short brown hair matched the color of his eyes.
“Do you know how hard it was to balance myself on those wooden crates? That was incredible Bridazak,” the excited Ordakian said. “I wish you could have seen it, Dulgin.”
“Ah, it’s not my way, and you know that.”
“You should have seen Bridazak in action. He played his part like a pro, except when he called me Sally. I told you it was Seelly.”
Spilf was smirking toward his long-time friend, but he could see that his mind was elsewhere. “What’s wrong, Bridazak?”
“What? Oh, nothing. You did well today, Spilfer Teehle.” Bridazak gave a half-hearted smile.
“It’s Thule, isn’t it? He got to you this time,” Spilf pressured him.
“It was something he said that really bothered me.”
“What?”
“He said he would make sure there are three less of our kind in the world.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Dulgin interjected.
“I don’t know. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Spilf asked.
“He needs a drink is what he needs.”
“Good idea, Dulgin. C’mon Bridazak, let’s get our table at The Knot.”
“Not this time. I’m going to sit this one out and get some rest. You guys go on without me.”
“Suit yourself. C’mon Stubby,” Dulgin said as he grabbed the loot off the table.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“You’d think you would be used to it, after two decades of travelling with me.” Dulgin headed for the door.
Spilf followed, “I don’t mind a nickname but pick something with some pizazz, like Amazing or Magnificent.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go Amazing Stubby,” the Dwarf laughed.
The door shut behind them and their voices trailed off as they made their way down the path toward the tavern. Bridazak was now alone with his thoughts. His long-time friends were right; they had heard all the ridicule among the Humans before, so why was it bothering him this time? Thule brought up his kin in hiding. Why was he not with them? Why had he not succumbed to the pressure, like the Elves and Dwarves?
“Thule did have one thing right; we are misfits,” he thought aloud as he hopped down off the chair and made his way to the bed. As he lay there, his mind began to race. Snippets of feelings came to the forefront of his memory and sparked to life. He closed his eyes and allowed them to continue. Ruauck-El had changed over these many decades, especially as the Horn Kings continued to dominate the good folk of the realm. A century ago seemed like yesterday—when he first met Dulgin on the road through Ogre’s Pass, and their years of adventures across Ruauck-El since. The Dwarf had been his only family until they found Spilf, another orphaned Ordakian, stealing food from a vendor on the streets of Baron’s Hall. Bridazak connected with Spilfer. He was alone, abandoned, and looking for something more to life than hiding their existence from the world—a true thirst for adventure. Spilf had been a younger brother to him these last twenty-seven years. Bridazak drifted deeper and soon fell asleep.
His eyes opened, but he knew that he was still sleeping. Above him was a soothing, brilliant white light. He turned his head and peered down the side of his bed. Below him was darkness—a pitch-black that had no end. A cold fear forced him to look away. His bed hovered between the nebulous dream realms. The silence was broken by whispering above. He squinted his eyes, as he saw amorphous beings approaching. Bridazak felt waves of peace emanating from the aura above. The two ethereal figures were outlined by the light flooding from behind them. Their muffled voices became clearer the closer they came.
Suddenly, his bed began to shake as their mysterious words finally resonated clearly, “It is time.” Their voices were hollow and their bodies ghostlike. The frame beneath him shattered and he could feel the hay-filled mattress give way. He didn’t fall with it; he was pulled on from both directions. The spirits stretched their hands, holding something, and he instinctively reached for it. As soon as he touched the object, a jolt of electricity shot through his arms.
Bridazak lurched violently from his dream and awoke back in his bed inside the dark cottage. He could feel sweat trickling down his forehead and the cold chill of damp clothes. The intensity of the dream still seemed real. He told himself to breathe; he was safe at home. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and something fell from his lap and crashed onto the wooden floor. It startled him.
He fumbled for the candle at the nightstand next to him, but before he could get it lit, the room suddenly glowed in a blue aura. The source was a small rectangular item on the floor. The words from his dream came back to him, “It is time.”
.
2
Bridazak’s Destiny
Bridazak sat at the wooden table, staring at the candle’s fickle flame. His hairy, fur-topped feet were propped on the table’s edge. He heard his comrades’ muffled conversation as they returned from the tavern. The click of the lock and the slight squeak of the door swinging open alerted him, as it would have any skilled thief, of his friends’ arrival home.
“Why do you always have to end a perfectly good evening in a fight, Dulgin?” Spilf sarcastically questioned.
The weathered, red-bearded Dwarf lumbered in behind him. “Wasn’t much of a fight but, he had it comin’. I could see it in his eyes,” he responded in his gruff voice.
“In his eyes? Are you kidding me? What, did they say, ‘punch me in the face’?”
“Yeah, something like that. Best be leavin’ it alone.”
“Are you going to hit me too, or, hey - Bridazak, you’re still awake? Are you feeling better?” Spilf continued as he closed the door behind Dulgin.
“Hey guys,” he said in a low voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Another nightmare,” Bridazak responded.
“Same one?”
“Yeah, except—” he paused.
“Except what, ya blundering fool? It’s just a dream. I don’t know what the big deal is. Every time it is the same. You are in bed, it’s dark, there’s a light, you wake up,” the Dwarf said.
Dulgin ignited a match for his tobacco pipe. His eyes squinted as he tugged on it with short breaths to get the hot embers going. Smoke billowed out from his mouth and nostrils, escaping through his red hair on his face.
Spilf joined Bridazak, taking the place opposite him at the table, “Leave him alone, Dulgin. Dwarves wouldn’t understand nightmares. All you know is drinking and picking fights,” Spilf retorted.
The Dwarf’s eyes flared wide and he gave a mocking snarl. “Come over h
ere little-one, and I’ll show you a Dwarven nightmare you will never forget.”
“You are all talk, and you have too much drink in you.”
“I’d say not enough, after coming home to this Troll-shit dream talk, again!”
“Enough, you two! This time it is different,” Bridazak interrupted their bickering.
“Ah, what do you want us to do about it?” Dulgin grunted. He tilted back in his chair, balancing on two legs against the wall.
“I have to agree with the Dwarf for once, Bridazak. What can we do? It appears to be a childhood nightmare, and we have no skills in the area of dream walking.”
Bridazak, with a concerned look, gazed at each of them. “This time is different because of this—” he pulled open his tunic, which had been concealing the mysterious item, and then placed it on the table next to the candle. The wooden container was three inches high and five inches wide, with ornate writing encompassing it. Spilf edged closer so he could get a better look. Dulgin’s chair clopped to the floor from his tilted position. As he approached, a steady stream of pipe smoke trailed behind him.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Been trying to figure that out all night.”
Dulgin’s brow furrowed in thought as he inhaled.
“Look at the writing,” Spilf stated in amazement, and continued, “I don’t understand what it is saying, but it looks like an ancient dialect. How does it open?” He did not touch the box, but leaned in close to inspect every square inch.
“What do you mean you can’t read the writing? It’s written in Ordakian, clear as day,” Bridazak stated.
“No, it’s not; at least not to me. It’s a language I have never encountered. What does it say, then?”
“It says, “I have given you eyes to see. Knock and the door will be opened.””
“If you see it in our language and I can’t, then it’s definitely magical, but I have never seen anything like it. Very clever, and look at this craftsmanship! I don’t recognize its workings to be from around here, or even from this region,” Spilf continued examining the box, still reluctant to touch it.
The mysterious item had no seams, no lock, no apparent way to open it. Embossed gold writing in the strange script wrapped around the edges of the ebony wood, imbuing it with a sense of importance.
“What does this have to do with your dream?” Dulgin asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me. It can’t be any worse than the tall tales Amazing Stubby tells me all the time.” Spilf gave Dulgin another glare and slightly shook his head.
“It came from my dream,” Bridazak blurted.
There was silence as his friends digested his statement. Dulgin placed the pipe tip back into his mouth; bright red embers came to life as he breathed in the tobacco. He walked toward the window. It was late at night. The fragrance of his pipe filled their small cottage.
“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” Dulgin finally responded.
“Spilf’s never seen anything like it. Can you tell me where it came from then?” He paused, then continued, “I want to find out what this thing is, but I need your help.”
“So let me get this straight, you want us to help you uncover the mystery of this box that supernaturally appeared out of your dream?” asked Dulgin.
Bridazak looked up at him, nodding in agreement.
Spilf reached his hand out to touch the container, but it strangely pushed away from him the closer he came to it. He retracted his hand in fear and the other two looked on in amazement. His legs suddenly became wobbly. Bridazak lurched and grabbed hold of his friend to stabilize him.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, did you see that?” Spilf slowly asked. “Dulgin, try touching it. There was a strange sensation that I felt when I reached for it. I can’t explain it.”
Dulgin scoffed, “This is ridiculous!”
“Bridazak, have you tried knocking on the box? You seem to be the only one who can touch it,” Spilf spoke, still watching the oddity, but now with a sense of fear.
“Yes, I’ve knocked. I’ve tried everything.”
“Someone is playing a practical joke on you, Bridazak. They snuck in here and placed this, whatever it is, in your hands and then left. They are probably laughing at us right now,” Dulgin placed his pipe back into his mouth for another tug.
“No one sneaks up on Bridazak,” Spilf defended his friend. Then Spilf caught his Ordakian brother’s glint in his eye, “Bridazak, you have that look on your face that I have not seen for quite some time.” Dulgin ignored them and walked back to his chair. He leaned again, and rested his head against the wall.
“What look?”
“The look you have when you’re making a plan.”
Bridazak paused, “Matter of fact…”
“I knew it!”
“Hold on Spilf, it’s not a plan, just an idea.”
“Yes, and?” A smile of anticipation froze on his face.
“I think we have been cooped up too long in Gathford. Thule and his goons are getting on our nerves. Plus, we will have Lady Birmham on our tail. It is time for us to move on to bigger and better things; to get out of here, onto the open road, and start adventuring again. Roam the land and be our own kings.” Bridazak knew wanderlust called out each of their names.
“Finally! I’m ready to break into some serious coin for once, and stay out of these treasureless, small towns,” Spilf said, already on board.
The Ordakians peered over to the quiet, stubborn Dwarf.
“You don’t know what you are talkin’ about.”
Bridazak slid, bare-footed, on the smooth wooden floor. He leaned in and whispered, “Did I forget to mention gold?”
Dulgin didn’t flinch, but his right-eye shot wide open and glared into Bridazak’s teal eyes. “How much and where?”
“That box on the table is highly magical and probably rare. Worth more than you can possibly carry, I’m sure of that.”
“I’m in, as long as it doesn’t involve any of those damn Horn Kings. These humans are leaving a bad taste in my mouth that I would love to be rid of.”
Spilf then asked, “How much do you think we can sell it for?” he pointed at the mysterious item.
“Yes, about that,” Bridazak hesitated. “We are going to need to find someone who would know about such things. Someone who,” he paused, “someone who knows magic beyond magic itself.”
Spilf cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed what Bridazak was after. He feared to say it out loud. Bridazak nodded as he understood his friend knew what he was alluding too.
“You have gone mad, Bridazak. We have done a lot of crazy things together, but this one takes the prize,” Spilf walked to the window, contemplating Bridazak’s hidden agenda.
“What are you Daks talking about now?” Dulgin asked while still resting his head, eyes barely open.
“He is talking about things that shouldn’t be talked about! Leave it alone, Dulgin.”
“Okay Daky, don’t be telling me what to do,” Dulgin glared at Spilf a moment, then questioned Bridazak again. “What are you getting at? Stop with all your cryptic dances with Stubby over there and spit it out.”
In pure frustration, Spilf yelled out, “He is talking about the Oculus!”
Dulgin stood up out of the chair and walked to the table where the mysterious item lay. He slowly moved to touch it but it pushed away the closer he came. He retracted his hand, and looked at his friends who held their breath, waiting to see if he felt what Spilf had experienced earlier. The Dwarf visibly resisted something. His eyes then focused on Bridazak.
“No way in Dwarven hell am I going down into those smelly, rotting, rat-infested sewer tunnels! Are you crazy? Is this thing worth risking your very soul?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but it is the only way that I can see to figure this out.”
“I said yes to gold, but Oculus? That thing is an abominat
ion! Why, Bridazak? Give me something else besides treasure, cause going there just doesn’t make any sense.”
“We have been through a lot my friend, and this is yet another adventure. You are the one that always told me the greater the threat, the greater the reward. Time to find out if that is true.”
“Whatever is inside that box has to be worth a lot. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m in,” Spilf said.
“Both of you don’t make a bit of damn sense!” Dulgin shouted.
“Your four-hundred and fifty years as a fighter brought you here, a year spent in this cowpeck town of Gathford,” Bridazak quickly resounded. “When exactly is the last time your axe has been truly put to use?”
Dulgin looked long and hard before responding, “Alright, alright. It’s not in me to back away from a challenge. Let’s go and see what the Great Oculus is staring at these days.”
“Spilf, we will need supplies,” he said while placing a reassuring hand on Dulgin’s broad shoulder.
“I will get what we need. It will most likely take us a good three to four days to reach the lair; could be a hard journey.”
“No harder than it was for us cutting through King Cerberus’s garden.”
“Yeah, good point. This will be a snap,” Spilf smirked, and then he was off.
Dulgin gathered his belongings. He paused as he looked at his dented metal armor on the floor, waiting to be donned. Entranced in a flood of memories, he recalled how every nick and scratch came about, and it warmed his heart. As stubborn as he was, he had missed the thrill of adventure.
Bridazak wandered over to the window and watched Spilf move through the shadow of night until he could not be seen any longer. He stared down the small street to Gathford. The shadows were heavy as the night waned. He caught a sudden but slight shift in the blackness. Yes, there was something hiding within, but it was far down the street, three structures beyond, just past the old candle shop. Bridazak’s eyes narrowed to focus in.
The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) Page 2