“Why so glum, my friends?” Maelich inquired with a soft, caring quality in his voice.
Aarvin spun, brandishing his axe. “Who goes there?” he demanded.
“Easy now, easy,” Maelich continued with his soft tone as he stepped into the warm glow of the torches, “I am a friend. I wish only to help. It seems as though you have yourselves in a predicament none of you are happy with.”
“That be our business,” Laarvel answered as he turned to face the intruder. “Why not go ahead and state your business.”
Maelich advanced with his arms outstretched, showing no signs of aggression. He could slaughter all of them in an instant if he saw fit, but he had no quarrel with them. Still, he hadn’t much experience with dwarves, and the one with the axe looked as if he were ready for war.
“My name is Maelich,” he began, “and I’ve come to relieve your king of his head.” His smile beamed wide and friendly. He was ready to dodge that big axe if its blade sliced toward him, but something in his gut had him near certain these guards were at least slightly less than happy servants of Ahm.
Aarvin laughed out loud. “Aw piss off! Ye’re nothing but a wee lad. Aye, ye might’n be taller than me, but ye’re no man. That’s for sure.”
As Maelich’s eyes became accustomed to the glow of the torches, he noticed what poor shape Bindaar was in. Pushing past Laarvel and Aarvin, he ran to the broken dwarf. Lips cracked to the point of bleeding served as the focal point of a face dry and pale from dehydration. Eyes wildly rolling about in their sockets assured Maelich the poor bloke was firmly planted on death’s doorstep. The heat radiating off Bindaar’s forehead nearly burned Maelich’s lips as he gently pressed them against it. Time was no friend to either of them. Maelich quickly fumbled around in his cloak until he found his canteen. First, he splashed some water on Bindaar’s face. Then he put the canteen to the poor dwarf’s lips and coaxed him to drink slowly.
“That’s it,” Maelich coached, “nice and easy. You’re going to be just fine.” Then he turned to Doentaat, “Go. Fetch your friend more water. Hurry.”
Confused apprehension settled into Doentaat’s twisted expression, but he did as Maelich commanded. Maelich barely noticed Laarvel and Aarvin as they stood watching him work. He was too busy gathering a clear assessment of how much time he had left to keep the dwarf’s soul from making its final journey to the Lake. As his eyes quickly scanned over Bindaar’s beaten form, he noticed blood trickling from both the prisoner’s wrists where the cuffs that bound him mercilessly cut into his flesh. He must have been bleeding for a good long while as his sleeves were soaked up to his elbows in what looked to Maelich like thick, black tar in the torchlight.
Maelich had nearly finished his assessment by the time Doentaat had returned with more water, two big jugs this time. Maelich motioned to him, “Come. See to your friend while I free him from these chains.”
Doentaat didn’t respond but again did as Maelich commanded.
Maelich glanced back at Laarvel and Aarvin as he circled the tree. They both seemed a bit apprehensive, but neither moved to stop him. Hopefully, that meant he could count on them to help him steal into Ahm’s keep unscathed rather than attempt to stifle his efforts. He couldn’t worry about it just then. A dwarf’s life depended on him. Once he finally made it round to the opposite side of the tree, he released the brake on the spindle holding the chains, grabbed hold of the handles, and slowly lowered Bindaar into Doentaat’s waiting arms.
Maelich charged back around the tree and hurriedly removed the cuffs first from Bindaar’s wrists and then his ankles, which were in as bad of shape as his wrists. Then he tore off his cloak and quickly ripped it into strips.
He started firing off orders, first to Doentaat, “You. Run to your hut and fetch some food, bread if you have any,” then to Laarvel, “You. Head into the field and bring me some fairy weed,” and finally to Aarvin, “You. Just beyond the edge of the trees is some wild dragon blossom. Bring as much as you can carry.”
The three dwarves paused briefly, sharing confused glances. Finally, Doentaat shrugged his shoulders and darted off for his hut. Laarvel and Aarvin followed suit and got to their respective tasks as well. Once the dwarves left, Maelich began soaking some of the strips of his cloak and cleaning Bindaar’s wounds. The wounded dwarf’s condition finally seemed to be improving. At least his eyes weren’t so crazy anymore. His lips began moving as if he were trying to speak.
After some effort, soft and raspy sounds accompanied all the movement. “Thanks,” he began, barely a whisper.
Maelich cut him off, “Don’t speak. Save your energy. There is no need to thank me now. If you really want to thank me, save it for when your strength has returned.”
Aarvin was the first to return from his task, his arms full of dragon blossom. He dumped the flowers into a pile next to Maelich. Maelich smiled and nodded a thank you. Then he grabbed a handful of dragon blossom and began grinding it up on some of the soaked cloth strips he had made. Once he had a handful of the cloth strips saturated in dragon blossom, he used them as bandages to mend the wounds the cuffs had inflicted on Bindaar’s wrists and ankles.
He looked up at Aarvin, “The dragon blossom will help the wounds to heal and ease the burning.”
Aarvin nodded, “Aye. Do ye practice medicine, lad?”
“No,” Maelich shook his head and smiled, “but I was trained to survive in the wild by a great warrior. Your friend is in good hands.”
“Aye, I be seeing that. I be wishing I could be calling Bindaar friend. Alas I be one of the reasons he’d been hanging on that tree.” A tear trickled down his cheek as his head shook slowly back and forth.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Maelich reassured him. “Ahm is your king correct? Fear is a great motivator. It will make a man, or a dwarf for that matter, do things he wouldn’t normally do.”
Just then Laarvel came running up with a handful of fairy weed buds. Maelich took one bud, rolled it up and stuck it between Bindaar’s lower lip and his teeth. Then he gave him a bit more water. Bindaar looked as if he might try to get up off the ground, but Maelich put a hand out onto his chest. He looked in his eyes and shook his head.
Maelich kept his eyes focused on Bindaar’s as he continued speaking to the other two, “The fairy weed will ease his mind, relax him. We need him to be relaxed.”
It wasn’t long before Doentaat returned with a great horse sack full of food. There was much more than even all five of them could eat. Maelich stood to greet him, giving him a smirk and slight chuckle for all his extra effort. Doentaat returned Maelich’s smirk with a look of true concern. The poor fellow was really taking the blame squarely on his own shoulders. Maelich gave the dwarf’s shoulder a light pat as he took the horse sack from him.
“Now is time for healing, not regret,” he said.
Maelich sat Bindaar up against the sacred pine and began feeding him little bits at a time. It would be some time before the dwarf was back on his feet. Sadly, Maelich had already wasted too much. Judging by the stars, it had to have been close to midnight. He’d have to leave Bindaar with his friend and hope the other two would help him.
“You,” Maelich pointed at Doentaat, “what do they call you?”
“I be Doentaat, of the line of Alhouim,” Doentaat’s distraction was apparent in his tone.
“Ah, royal blood, splendid,” Maelich felt genuinely honored to be in the presence of one who might be king of Alhouim under different circumstances. “Do you suppose you can carry your friend on your own. I fear I’m running out of time, and I must tend to the business of lopping off your king’s head.”
“Aye. I can carry him,” Doentaat nodded. “Do ye suppose ye can really be killing that bastard Ahm?”
Maelich gave Doentaat a wide, confident smile, “There is no doubt in my mind. His mother will cry if she sees him when I’m through with him.”
“Good go ye then, lad!” Doentaat gave Maelich a stiff palm to the shoulder, “Bloody his arse!�
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With that Doentaat gathered up Bindaar, the horse sack, and what was left of the “medicines” and headed on back to his hut. The slightest glint of hope fraternized with the despair weighing down the dwarf’s brow. That little glimmer, that brief speck, moved Maelich more than anything he could remember, even more than the sight of Bindaar nearly dead and chained to that giant pine. Ahm’s head was more than just a prize. That monster’s head on a spike represented freedom for an entire city who had been oppressed by the giant for generations. Maelich’s desire to earn the coveted crest of Havenstahl suddenly paled against his desire to see true justice for these poor, beaten dwarves.
Once Doentaat had left with Bindaar, Maelich turned to Laarvel and Aarvin. “Well gentlemen, sorry, gentle-dwarves,” he began as he raised his eyebrows and put a mock look of royalty on his face, “will you be helping me find my way to Ahm? Or will I be on my own in my quest?”
Laarvel spoke first, “Aye, lad, I be terrified of that monster, but if ye think ye’ll be defeating him, I be showing ye the way. Don’t be taking no offense to this, but I won’t be taking ye all the way in. Just in case, ye know.”
Aarvin piped up in the same chord, “I be with ye too. I hope ye be killing that bastard. We been living in fear long enough.”
“Good then,” Maelich beamed, “take me as close as you are comfortable. I’ll see my way in from there.”
The streets of the city were dark and empty. Nevertheless, the group stuck to the shadows to avoid any peeping eyes that might have been aroused by Doentaat. He hadn’t been terribly quiet with the load he bore. Luckily, the trip was uneventful. Not a soul stirred on the dark streets of Alhouim.
Laarvel quietly stopped the group behind an empty barrel that sat in front of “Boonda’s Pub”. It was too dark to make out the wooden sign on the front of the building. That was a shame because it was a lovely sign. Boonda’s was painted in a fancy font above a humorous picture of a happy dwarf toting a pint of ale and clicking his heels. The word Pub was painted below the picture. It was fine work and considered one of the best signs in Maomnosett. It hearkened back to happier, carefree times.
Laarvel spoke quietly, “There it be, the south gate to the courtyard. We can’t be taking ye any further than this.”
Maelich nodded and whispered back, “What do they call you two fine, sturdy dwarves?”
“I be Laarvel,” Laarvel replied in the same quiet tone. “This fellow be Aarvin.”
Maelich gave them both another wide smile, “Well, Laarvel and Aarvin, I’ve a giant to slay and a head to collect. I expect to share a pint with you after my trial is complete.”
“Aye, lad,” Aarvin whispered, “a few pints we be sharing then.”
Maelich continued alone, remaining in shadows until he reached a spot just east of the south tower. The gate yawned, a deep blackness within. No guards were posted there. That was a bit unsettling. Bare streets could easily be justified given the late hour and early start necessary for every dwarf. A lack of guards at an open gate was not. Was it hubris on the part of their giant king or a trap? There was no way to be sure. At that moment, Maelich was only certain of one thing, it was too late to turn back. His path led into the ominous darkness of that massive, unguarded gate. He quietly drew in a deep breath, gathered himself, and stepped as confidently as he could into the orange light. Nothing.
Unsettling quiet surrounded him as he remained completely still holding his breath and listening until his lungs burned. All he could hear was the faint squeaking from the chains of shop signs hanging in front of their respective shops and motivated by the lightest of breezes gently pushing them about as they gave sway to the soft caresses. He lost himself in their rhythm for a moment. Then he shook his head. Forward or back, he decided, but he couldn’t stand there all night.
Adrenaline raced through his body as the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck raised up in anticipation of whatever might be lurking around the next corner. A desire to charge headlong through the gate died a quick death at the hands of a need for caution. He slipped quietly up to the edge of the gate, gathered himself, and then spun quickly around the corner. Nothing still. He found himself in the hall between the inner and outer walls of the courtyard. He stood for a few moments again, listening. Moving toward the inner wall and pressing closely to it, he peered into the courtyard. There was nothing but more darkness. He stared into it for a moment, long enough to give his eyes a chance to adjust. They quickly became accustomed to the dark, but he still saw nothing. ‘Now or never,’ he thought.
Fighting back the fear causing him second thoughts, Maelich sucked in another deep breath and strolled nonchalantly into the empty courtyard. Fifty steps in, the world around him blazed to life. The gates crashed down behind him as hundreds of torches lining the walls of the courtyard instantly blazed to life. It was like midday. Apparently, his visit was no surprise to the king. He spun in a circle, quickly surveying his surroundings. The courtyard was wide and open, no cover whatsoever. Hundreds of dwarves dressed in full battle armor charged from every direction. Their axes were sharp and ready. Maelich’s fingers brushed the leather grip of his sword handle before quickly retreating. He decided to let his attackers make the first move. There was still no sign of his giant, and he was still holding onto the hope that dwarves would rally behind him when he attacked. A few moments passed, and he was surrounded. The dwarves advanced no further.
Maelich’s voice was smooth and friendly as he played as calmly as he could, “Hello, my friends. I fear I’m a bit lost. I’m looking for a large fellow who goes by the name of Maomnosett Ahm.”
No dwarf spoke, but Maelich did get a response. “You are lost like a lourng among amatilazo, my miniscule friend,” Ahm’s voice boomed, disturbing the silence and sending a chill down Maelich’s spine.
Maelich wasn’t completely sure of the reference, but he believed the lourng to be an animal of the pasture bred for food and clothing. On the other hand, he was quite certain what amatilazo were and more certain he wasn’t at all fond of the reference, “This lourng is unimpressed by a hunter who hides behind dwarves. If you fancy yourself the amatilazo who would feast upon this lourng, come claim your prize. That is…unless you’re a coward and would have your army attack me in your stead.”
Ahm grunted something that might have been a chuckle, before replying with a deep growl, “Perhaps I’ll feast upon your loose tongue first. I have never entertained disrespect in my court and don’t intend to accept it from an unseasoned, false warrior such as you. When Yfregeof told of the sacrifice he would be sending, he never mentioned the extra spice that would be included in my meal.”
Maelich’s jaw fell slack as his attempt to suppress the surprise on his face miserably failed. Yfregeof had warned Ahm of his coming. He had no intention of letting Maelich take the trials. He had merely intended him as a sacrifice to Ahm. Why? The question burned in him. Why would the king of the mightiest clan of men offer sacrifice to the likes of Maomnosett Ahm?
Despite his shock at the betrayal, he did his best to sound undaunted, “Then you know why I have come.”
“I know why you are here, and I know why you think you are here,” Ahm continued, adding a note of condescension to his voice. “You believe you have snuck into my city and breached my stronghold in order to slay me and have my head as your prize. This in an effort to obtain the mark of a warrior from the…” he paused and chuckled slightly, “great city of Havenstahl. The true reason you have been guided into my presence is to serve as a sacrifice from my loyal servant, Yfregeof. You see, Maelich…” the giant paused, “What’s that? I sense surprise in you. Of course, I know your name. I know all about you, hero. As I was saying, Yfregeof became my servant when he decided he was ready to take the throne of Havenstahl away from his father. I was quite displeased with Yfrahnu anyway. He was always trying to renegotiate new trade agreements and other such nonsense, terribly boring. When Yfregeof came before me and laid out his plan, I was intrigued.
It was delightfully wicked. I raised the price of prang for Havenstahl twice what it had been. This sent Yfrahnu into a wild rage. He came unannounced, just as I expected him to, and demanded I submit to negotiations or face a war with Havenstahl. He brought with him his only brother, Ymantyl, which perfectly completed my plan because he would be Yfregeof’s only challenger to the throne of Havenstahl. I feasted on them both.”
Ahm made a slurping sound and some other grunts, feigning pleasure, and continued, “Have you ever had occasion to try the flesh of men? Of course not, my young slayer of giants. I assure you it is quite succulent. In any event, I now had control of the throne of Havenstahl, and it’s been that way ever since.”
Maelich stood dumbfounded as he absorbed Ahm’s words. This treachery would enrage Ymitoth. As he digested Ahm’s pompous proclamation, his own rage grew. Perhaps the story was some kind of trickery to dissuade him or take him off his guard, but it all fit too perfectly. A sudden sense of urgency manifested deep in his gut. Ymitoth was the only heir to the throne, and the only man alive who knew of his cousin’s treachery was safely out of the way, a gift for a giant. If Yfregeof would send his own father to be slaughtered, he wouldn’t have a second thought about having his cousin slain. As thoughts raced through Maelich’s head, his control slowly began slipping away. He had to hold on. Rage alone would not be enough to defeat Ahm.
He did his best to match Ahm’s condescending tone, “I see you’re as boring and long-winded as you are tall and worthless. Enough of your venom, viper, kneel before me and I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.”
Maelich’s words drew a great bit of laughter from the solida’s surrounding him. Ahm appeared less amused. As Maelich hoped, the proud giant wouldn’t stand for too many pokes at his ego, especially jabs fired by a mere boy.
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 10