The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “But people still call it Bellweed?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Oh, people it had been called it a weed for hundreds of years before someone figured out how marvelous an ingredient it was. The name wasn’t going to change at that point,” said Dom with a shrug.

  “And I assume that the bell portion of the name is from these blossoms here?” said Nal’drin as he touched one of the many plump, albeit shrunken, blossoms that grew from the stalk.

  “That’s it. They are quite large too, before the drying process, of course,” said Dominar.

  “So what makes these things so special?” asked Nal’drin, his face giving away his skepticism.

  “Now you’re asking the right questions,” said Dominar with a bright smile, the campfire flashing in his big brown eyes. “First you want to separate the blossoms from the stalks, but you be gentle and pull them off like this.” Dominar showed him how to gently cup the blossoms so he could pull them free without crushing the delicate flower. “You don’t want to crush the bells. They contain nectar that even when it’s dried, can still make a big mess. Not to mention you don’t want to lose any of it!”

  “Oh, okay,” said Nal’drin with a nod. He was so intently focused on the cooking lesson, that he didn’t even realize that Kiriana had taken up a seat on the bench next to him.

  Old Dominar gave her a subtle wink and returned to his instruction. “Here, now you try a few.”

  Nal’drin used the technique that Dom had showed him, and after a couple, he got the hang of it.

  “Okay, now we set all the bells aside for now. Next we take all these stalks, and we put them in the pot,” said Dominar.

  Nal’drin picked up a stalk and snapped it in half and prepared to toss it in the kettle, before Dom stopped him. “No boy, you don’t want to do that! Toss that one aside. You don’t want to snap or break them, just toss ‘em in whole.”

  “Okay, but why?” he asked.

  “Here,” Dom said, handing half of the snapped stalk back to the young man. “Take a small whiff.”

  Nal’drin should have listened better. He inhaled deeply. The vapors of the stalk’s oils scorched the back of his nose and throat. He began to cough and tears fell from his eyes. Kiriana and Sharka both laughed, even Theros grunted in amusement.

  “My boy, I said a small whiff,” said Dominar as he shook his head.

  Nal’drin finally stopped coughing long enough to catch his breath. “Anyone else want some?”

  There were no takers, but there was another round of laughs. This is healthy, laughter is good, thought Dominar. This crew had already been through so much individually, and collectively. They need a break every now and then; they need a chance to laugh and a chance to hope. These small distractions were good. Especially with the nightmares that lurk here. Aneri’On help us.

  Dominar smiled and his thoughts shifted back to his instruction. “If you cook the stalks whole, it releases the oils slowly, giving the broth a nice subtle heat. When you snap ‘em, you burn your face off.”

  Nal’drin chuckled, “I see that now!”

  “Once you get all the stalks in the pot, we can get to the next ingredient,” he said as he retrieved another larger bundle from his pack.

  As he peeled back the layers of this bundle, it exposed a medium sized leather sack. The sack was tied closed but looked to be packed tightly with its contents.

  Dom’s surprisingly nimble fingers worked to untie the knot with relative ease, allowing the sack to fall open. As it opened, it revealed thousands of golden-brown colored grains. The pea sized balls had an oddly dimpled texture, which gave them a speckled appearance. Dom then reached in and scooped out a handful, and after gesturing to Nal’drin, he poured it into the man’s hands.

  “It’s called sendrid. It is actually a grain, like rice, but as you can tell they are bigger and have more substance—more consistency,” explained Dominar as he poured a handful into the kettle.

  “Huh, I’ve never heard of sendrid before,” said Nal’drin.

  “That’s because it doesn’t grow on Darnisi,” added Kiriana.

  “Smart girl,” said Dominar as he regarded her with fondness.

  “Where—?” started Nal’drin.

  Dominar beat him to the punch, “Sendrid is commonly grown across the Old World. It’s ideal for traveling because it keeps forever, and it’s cheap!”

  Nal’drin followed Dom’s lead and poured his grains into the pot too. Then he turned to the dwarf with youthful eyes and asked, “What’s next?”

  “Ah yes, just a moment here,” said Dom as he retrieved the final bundle from his pack.

  Like the first bundle, which held the bellweeds, this was a leather wrap all rolled up. When Dom unrolled the final leather wrap, a pile of darkened strips of dried meat was revealed.

  “This jerky doesn’t have much flavor on its own, but it is made from kluelle calves, so it’s a fine choice for this type of meal,” said Dom as he tore the long strips into bite size pieces. Once he was done he dropped them all into the bubbling broth.

  Nal’drin wasn’t the only one paying attention to the culinary lesson. Kiriana now sat on the edge of her seat as she studied everything that went into the pot.

  Dominar took notice. “Kiriana, my dear, you look like you’ve never seen a proper meal prepared.”

  “Well, I really haven’t,” she said with a shrug. “During my early years in Tempour, I was too busy training. Once I became a slayer, I was too busy either training students or running missions. There was no time for this.”

  Nal’drin turned. For a brief moment, he had forgotten just how beautiful she was, but his reminder was little more than a foot away. It was a strange thing, the way that he was drawn to her. The way that her pale skin and green eyes contrasted against her fiery reddish-orange hair struck a perfect balance. Even the faint scar than ran down her right cheek seemed without a flaw. He couldn’t ignore the grace with which she moved and the intensity and passion that burned in her eyes. As a prince turned king, he had known both women of beauty and women of grace, but she was captivating. He had enough wisdom to know that no one was perfect, but he was foolish enough to believe that she could be.

  “...Nal’drin. Are you okay?” she asked as she studied his face with concern.

  The smitten king snapped out of his trance. “Ye—yeah, I’m here, I’m fine. Sorry.”

  “Good, because that was creepy,” replied Kiriana with raised eyebrows.

  Theros chimed in, “Even made me uncomfortable.”

  Sharka shot him a private glance and asked, “Is that all it takes?”

  Old Dominar chuckled at the series of quips. It reminded him of home, it reminded him of Gretchen. He missed her and he missed his girls, but he had work to do here. They understood that. He just needed to make it home.

  The spicy, yet sweet, aroma of the food filled their small quarters as Dom slowly stirred the contents of the pot, careful not to spill any. He had made sure to fill his packs full of food, but there was only so much they could carry once they didn’t have the help of the horses. He had even thought to bring a mule for that purpose, but with the danger they expected to encounter down here, the idea was pointless. The last thing they needed when facing traps or enemies was a pack mule. So, while Dominar packed the bulk of the supplies, the other four had all made sure to pack some amount of food stuffs as well. Even still there was only so much food, and it was highly unlikely that they should find anything edible underground. With careful rationing, Dom expected they had enough food for close to a month, but that was it. So he made sure to not waste any food.

  The team relaxed tonight. In this hidden nook, they had more than they could have hoped for. They had fresh water, a warm fire, soon they would have a hot meal, and they had the seclusion to enjoy it all with stories and laughter. Dominar longed to be home with Gretchen and the girls, but in some ways, he wished tonight would never end, because he knew nights like tonight were about to be a thing of the past. />
  9

  From Dying Lips

  My worst fears have been realized. My people are being killed and I am powerless to stop it. Fluid builds up in the chest, like pneumonia, but it inflames the throat as well. The swelling gets so bad that the sick cannot even expel the fluid. They essentially cough until their airway is blocked off, then they suffocate. It is a truly a sinister thing.

  It has been given a name. The people think I don’t know it, but I hear the name they have given to their affliction. I hear them whisper Duroc’s Bane. It is a name that brings shame. I have to find a way to protect them, I must stop this.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  THE EMBERS ONLY GAVE off the faintest orange glow when Nal’drin woke. The night’s fire had long since faded and had taken its heat with it. The sunless expanse of the underground gave no hint to the time of day, but it was morning, he knew. Perhaps it was a trait passed on to him from his father, perhaps it was simply a habit that was established from all those years spent at his father’s side. He didn’t really know, but the morning was his favorite time. It wasn’t quite the same down here. There was no fresh morning breeze and there would be no sunrise to witness, but there was the stillness and there was the promise.

  The stillness had accompanied him almost all of his life, even when his early mornings were spent with his father, the king. Nal’drin thought of his father a lot lately. His father was very quiet and contemplative. He was a soft-spoken man with a gentle disposition. The father wasn’t much like the son; he wasn’t what most imagined when they thought of a king either. Perhaps that was their folly. The more that he thought about his father, the more he appreciated him—and missed him.

  It was in those early mornings that he tried to teach Nal’drin to enjoy the stillness that waited for men, upon the doorstep of each day. He taught his son that with each dawn came the promise of a new day, bringing new chances to live a life worth living—a life of meaning. And the king awoke in the darkness of the early morning, every day, to find stillness and promise.

  The king insisted that his son share the joy the mornings offered. Between being forced to leave the comfort of someone’s warm bed entirely too early and the hangovers, the young prince found no such joy. No, Nal’drin was not much like his father. He was impetuous and short-sighted at times, often making impulsive decisions, just like his mother. Nal’drin supposed that is why his father was able to be so patient with him. For years, Nal’drin struggled with the boredom that youth can find in solitude, but now he cherished those early mornings he’d spent with his father.

  Every day since the black dragon’s army killed his family, Nal’drin had risen early, before the dawn. There he sought solace in solitude, with the stillness and the promise. It was there that he hoped to honor his father, and perhaps one day, see him again.

  With his mind on these things, Nal’drin prepared for the day. He grabbed a few small pieces of wood from the pile that they had salvaged from the kitchen the night before. He used great care to place them upon the hot coals, without disturbing too much ash. He added a bit of kindling from his own travel pack, and soon the campfire was reborn.

  With the new found warmth slowly filling the room, the king quietly began making breakfast. He wasn’t much of a cook yet, which would change quickly if Dominar had his way. The meal he had always wished he could have slept through was now becoming his specialty, though. He pulled an iron pan and a bundle of food from Dom’s pack. Once he had unwrapped the food, he began to line the pan with the thick strips of salted pork. As the preserved meat began to sizzle in the skillet, Nal’drin found himself rummaging through his own pack. In no time he retrieved a small bundle of his own.

  As the contents of the bundle spilled out, it revealed rugamar buns, and not just any, but the deep crimson ones that only grow on the eastern edges of Nashia, his homeland. The dark red balls had a thick outer skin, similar to oranges, but this tasty treat offered up a soft starchy core. It wasn’t overly flavorful on its own, though it did offer a very smooth, almost creamy food that was quite filling. The rugamar buns were also great for travelling, because they were so easy to prepare. You simply flattened them down a bit and warmed them up. They didn’t really need to be cooked too much, because they were already so tender.

  It had only been a matter of minutes since he’d awoken, and the king had already gotten the fire going and had a lovely little breakfast cooking for the crew. The grease in the pan snapped and popped as the buns were filled with warmth. The enticing fragrance of pork and buns coerced even the deepest of sleepers into wakefulness, including ole Dominar.

  Kiriana stretched as she yawned. Sharka wiped the crust from her eyes, then scanned the room to make sure everyone was accounted for, then she smiled. Theros just grunted.

  Dominar, the last to rise, awoke with vigor, “Pork! What a lad, what a lad!”

  “Salted pork and—” started Nal’drin.

  “Rugamar buns! By Bafingbauld’s beard, where’d you get em?” demanded the excitable dwarf.

  Nal’drin smiled as he shared glances with Kiriana and Dominar. “Once the dragon’s war was over, some of my people resettled in and around Port Harlan. I made sure to get my request in early, so when they finally got the trade ships running, my buns were at the top of the list.”

  Kiriana burst out laughing at him, and a beat later Dom and Sharka joined in the laughter.

  Nal’drin’s face fell flat, “What’s so funny?”

  Theros looked at the young king and said, “Your buns, eh?” with a snort.

  Nal’drin’s face flushed. “Very funny. I didn’t know I was surrounded by children,” he said with a scowl. He couldn’t keep a straight face though and he chuckled at himself.

  As Nal’drin served up the nice hot breakfast he had prepared for his friends, he just smiled. He didn’t know all of them as well as he knew Dominar, but he liked them. They were good folks, and they were perhaps the closest thing to friends that he had known. Sure, as a prince and a king, he had many good relationships. Some intimate and others less so, but who could be trusted? They all had their motivations, so they told him what they thought he wanted to hear, in order to curry favor in some way. He was young, but he was not so naïve. His father had taught him better than that.

  Unfortunately, much to his own shame, his father’s lessons on character hadn’t all sunk in quite so early. Nal’drin was once a prideful young prince, who would one day become king of Nashia. It wasn’t much compared to the many kingdoms of the world, but it was to be his. He understood at an early age that even if Nashia was just a kingdom of agriculture and trade, it was still better to be a noble than a no one. The old Nal’drin used his position and his peoples’ duplicitous nature for his own purpose, often besting those that would manipulate him at their own game. The many late nights spared his body rest, but spared few ladies of any virtue they might have had. Nal’drin even recalled some narrow escapes where he was able to flee the coming wrath of angry husband or two. He was a scoundrel. His father had taught him better, but as many boys do, the prince had refused to be the man he was called to be. Now he was a king, without a kingdom, but his father’s teachings were finally taking root.

  The laughter faded as his friends savored every bit of the simple but tasty meal he had prepared for them. They smiled and thanked him, complimenting him on the dish but he just smiled. His eyes fell on the gentle face of his friend Dominar. As he contemplated his past and pondered his future, his mind went back to Dar Mar’Kren, to the first time he met the old dwarf. It was a day where he stood at the crossroads of the man he had been, and the man his father hoped he’d become. It was the day that changed his life. His mind drifted back to that day.

  With a smile on his face, Dominar said, “You said your name was Nal’drin, eh?”

  “That’s right. Have we met?” replied Nal’drin with a quizzical look on his face.

  “Only just now, my friend. The name’s Dominar. Call
me Dom if you like,” said the dwarf.

  “Nice to meet you,” answered the tall man.

  “Do you have charge over these people?” the scruffy dwarf asked with a kind voice.

  “Yes, yes, I do. They were my father’s people. He...they are my people now,” answered Nal’drin as he wrestled with his emotions.

  The dark hair that glanced across his eyes could not hide the tears that he was fighting back.

  “King Nal’drin,” he replied respectfully with a slight bow. “You and your people are under my care while you remain here.”

  “King? My father was a king. I have no crown and no kingdom. No, I am just a son who must bury his father’s dream,” said the young man through clenched teeth.

  “Crowns and kingdoms, a king does not make. Rather it is in the heart of a king that those other things are created and kept. You can bury a man’s bones, but you don’t have to bury his dreams with them. You will understand in time,” spoke Dominar in a calm voice.

  Nal’drin had thought about many things in the months since his father’s death, but his fateful meeting with Dom was one that he would never forget. Dominar’s gentle words rocked him harder than any he had ever heard spoken. That day, Nal’drin vowed to never bury his father’s dream. He didn’t even fully understand what that meant, but he knew it wasn’t in the life he had been living. He feared he would never live up to whatever his father’s expectations were, but he had to try.

  By the time his contemplations had ended, the group had cleaned up breakfast and had already packed up their things.

  It is a new day, a day of promise, a day to be the man I’m called to be. It’s a day to be like you, father.

  With that, the ruggedly handsome young king lifted Kiriana’s pack from the floor, and tossed it over his shoulder, and left their hidden sanctuary.

  Kiriana finished her conversation with Sharka and turned to pick up her pack, but was confused to see it missing. “What ha—”