by Pete Prown
* * *
The following morning was quite different.
Dorro and Cheeryup were awakened early by their porters and given a quick breakfast of hardboiled eggs, cheese, and fruit before being led off by porters for a tour. The two Thimble Downers were awed by the immense caverns, arches, and bridges that spanned the inner halls of the city. They asked about the pale blue-and-green lights that illuminated everything underground, but found it difficult to understand the earthly power behind these luminescent rocks. It seemed magic.
Similarly, the entire heating of Gildenhall was controlled from deep within the planet, where miners manipulated hot flumes to allow just the right amount of warmth to pervade the caverns where Dwarves worked and lived. It was an amazing feat of natural engineering.
“Ahoy, Mr. Dorro!” They heard Crumble hollering down a long stone hallway. “Over here!”
Dorro thanked the Dwarf porters and tried to tip them with a few silver pieces, but they snorted at the gesture and departed in friendship. (Dorro had yet to comprehend the immense wealth of Gildenhall. A few silver pieces were nothing for folk who found precious stones and metals under every other rock.)
“There you are, Mr. Dorro and Miss Cheeryup,” said Crumble, jogging up with Aramina and some other Dwarves. “We’ve had a bit of a surprise this morning, and in fact, a good one! You may know these hale young fellows.”
From behind the Dwarf stepped Wyll and Orli. A blur of yellow hair streaked by Dorro as Cheeryup threw her arms around Wyll’s neck and hugged the life out of him. Momentarily shocked, the bookmaster joined the throng and joyously embraced his nephew, while clapping Orli on the back.
“I don’t know what to say!” Dorro was both flustered and thrilled to find the boy. “One part of me wants to scold you, Wyll Underfoot, while the other wants to hold onto you forever.”
“You won’t run off again, Wyll, will you?” begged Cheeryup, tears brimming in her eyes. “Do you know how much I missed you?”
“Errr, I’m sorry,” said Wyll. “I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
“You’re not, boy, and believe me, I know I’m to blame. I’m a bit hard on you, but that’s only because I don’t want to let your dear departed mother down. She wanted you raised right, and indeed sometimes I take it too far.” Dorro looked the youngling straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Wyll. Can you forgive a foolish uncle?”
Wyll smiled shyly and embraced the elder Halfling.
“They’re both scamps, I tell ya!” laughed Crumble. “But I knew they’d be alright. Dwarf lads are forever running off into the wild for a lark. I did it half a dozen times and even took a few whippings from my Pa. But he knew it was good for me, and I think these boys did well—they crossed nearly a hundred miles of open country and survived the worst goblin attack in years.”
“Goblin attack?” shrieked Dorro and Cheeryup in tandem, prompting Orli to relay the story of the battle and Wyll’s injury.
“I thought I noticed you limping, Wyll. I shall never forgive myself. Will it mend?”
Wyll nodded while Orli continued, “Thankfully it weren’t no poisoned goblin arrow. Otherwise, he’d-a been a croaker, but he’s dandy now, right mate?”
Dorro thought he would faint upon hearing this, but retained his composure. He also noticed Cheeryup hadn’t let go of Wyll’s hand. She was white as a ghost at the news of the attack.
“Enough of this banter, Mr. Dorro. We got work to do!” chimed in Crumble. “First off, we received an audience with the Seer, which is good. She’s never met Halflings and is intrigued by your kind. Second, there’s word of mysterious goblin movements in the North country, and we have scouts returning today. There might be action sooner than we think.”
“Aye, and a good thing, too,” leered Aramina. “I’m getting a little rusty—it’s time for Malachite Molly to get back on the trail and hunt some goblin necks. I haven’t had a good fight in months!”
For dramatic effect, she pulled a huge knife out of her belt and admired its deadly glimmer in the light.
The Seer
“Crumble, just who exactly is the Seer?”
Dorro, Wyll, Cheeryup, and the Dwarves were walking down a long, softly lit hallway carved out of solid rock and radiating blue and green hues. They were off to meet this revered Dwarf personage, but for the life of him, Dorro had no idea why.
“The Seer is ...” Even Crumble seemed to be at a loss for words. “She is a very ancient one and has always been with us. Even if the Seer’s natural body dies, a new one is appointed and carries the tradition forward.”
“But what does she do?” pressed Dorro.
“Do? The Seer guides us and imparts her wisdom unto all. She tells us if it’s right to go to war, or time to bring in harvest food for the Winter. The Seer can tell a Dwarf mother if her child will be a boy or a girl—she’s never wrong—or who our next king should be. She is a fixed star, she is, and we all revolve around her.”
“How old is she?” asked Cheeryup. “More than a hundred years?”
“Hard to know, lassie. I’m one hundred and forty-seven, and she’s been around since ’ere I was born. But make no mistake—the Seer is artful and crafty. She will not give us anything without getting something in return. That is her nature.”
“But I don’t have anything, Crumble.”
Dorro was already nervous, and this only made him more so. “I have money, but that would only make her laugh.” He recalled the reaction he received from the porters.
“She will tell us, but there’s no more time to discuss the matter,” said Crumble with absolute seriousness.
“We are here.”