There were clear signs of the dark army’s passage. The ground was trampled and muddy. In several places the grass had withered and died from the presence of a Forsworn One. Golaron did not know what they would find when they returned to Belierumar. Would the city even be standing?
That night, they camped in the Southern Passage. Although Linwyn appointed numerous sentries to keep watch, the night passed without incident. The next morning dawned cool and clear. Winter was coming early to the midlands. Golaron suspected it was linked to Saviadro’s invasion. He chafed his chilled arms and swung back into the saddle. When he noticed Silvaranwyn shivering, he gave her his spare cloak. She smiled at him and suddenly he felt warm.
They finally cleared the mountains and Belierumar loomed in the distance. The Lower Daran Nunadan was empty. A growing tension spread through the army. Golaron felt a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach. Every time a shadow fell overhead, elf and dwarf alike would flinch only to discover it was a passing bird or cloud.
As the tower drew near, it became clear the dark army was not present. The stretch of grassland surrounding the city was churned and muddy. Closer to the city, they came across the cold ashes of a large fire. It had been a funeral pyre. Only some bits of armor and scorched bones remained.
Linwyn hesitated before leading the army within bowshot of the city. Was it held by friend or foe? Perhaps it had been abandoned altogether. She held up a hand, calling for a halt. After a few moments of tense silence, she nudged her horse forward to approach the gates alone. Golaron looked at Silvaranwyn, who gave a nod of understanding. Not wasting any more time, he made his way through the army to ride at his sister’s side. Linwyn smiled in thanks. Together, they rode up to the gate.
Nothing happened. No arrows came from the walls, no challenges, nothing. Linwyn banged her fist against the gate.
“The Heirs of Belierumar have returned,” she called out in a clear voice. “Who holds the city?” Several long moments of silence followed.
Golaron heard the loud, familiar scraping sound of the bar being raised on the inside. The huge wooden doors swung open.
– Chapter Forty-Two –
Dwarf Code
The morning Barlo, Iarion, and Sinstari set out from the Forest of the Sea dawned cool and damp. Heavy rain clouds loomed on the western horizon. As Riltelari led them through the forest, Barlo could sense they were being watched from the shadows of the trees. He and Iarion still wore their cloaks with their hoods drawn to avoid any unfriendly eyes.
They soon reached the outskirts of the Sea Elves’ domain. As they emerged from the trees, the Rilnimril lay before them. The river that was the natural border of the forest churned as it rushed past. It was dotted with several jagged rocks. Barlo could see no obvious way across.
“The rocks,” Riltelari said. “You must step on them to cross.”
“You can’t be serious.” Barlo turned, looking from one elf to the other. “That’s fine for you perhaps, but do I look like an elf to you?” Some of the gaps between the rocks were only just short enough for Barlo’s dwarven legs.
“It is the only way,” Riltelari said with a shrug.
Iarion frowned at Barlo as he considered. “You should be able to make it. You just need something for balance.”
He knelt beside Sinstari and spoke in Elvish, looking deep into the cat’s green eyes. At first, Sinstari pawed at the ground and made a rumbling sound of dissent, but Iarion continued speaking, and eventually the cat butted its head against the elf’s shoulder.
Iarion rubbed behind Sinstari’s tufted ears and stood. “Sinstari will walk in the water alongside you so you can use him for support. He is heavy enough that the current won’t drag him away.”
Barlo looked over to see the cat give him a sniff of disdain. “Are you sure this is the only way?”
“Barlo, are you trying to tell me a cat and an elf will go where a dwarf will not?” Iarion raised an eyebrow.
“You know exactly what to say, don’t you?” Barlo grumbled. “All right, all right. Let’s get this over with.”
Iarion turned to Riltelari. “Thank you for your help.”
“Thanks are not needed,” the Sea Elf said. “I am only wishing I could do more. Perhaps my people, they will change their minds. Farewell and good luck.” Riltelari stepped back out of the way.
Iarion turned to the river and stepped onto the first rock. He sprang from one outcropping to the next until he was all the way on the opposite bank. It seemed to take only a matter of moments. Barlo rolled his eyes in disgust.
The large cat flattened his ears and gave the dwarf a look of dislike before stepping into the water. He turned back and looked at Barlo, waiting. The dwarf clambered onto the first rock, cursing to himself all the while. The surface was slippery and uneven. It took several moments for Barlo to find his balance, which required leaning on Sinstari.
“Come on,” Iarion called. “We haven’t got all day.”
Barlo muttered some choice words about elves, their mothers, and goats as he looked to the next rock. Using the cat to keep his balance, he stepped toward it. Sinstari stepped forward with him. Barlo breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it to the next rock. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He continued on to the next rock.
It wasn’t until he reached the middle of the river that Barlo ran into trouble. The water was raging around him. It was quite deep. Only Sinstari’s head and back were above the water.
Barlo stretched his foot out to the next rock and slightly overshot it. At first, he thought he would be able to maintain his balance and for a few precarious moments, he teetered on his perch while Iarion looked on helplessly from the opposite bank.
But the rock was too slippery and Barlo’s foot flew out from under him. As he fell toward the water, he pinwheeled his arms backward, desperately trying to remain upright. He knew if he did go under, he would be in trouble. He couldn’t swim. But the real problem was he was wearing chain mail armor.
All these thoughts went through Barlo’s head as the water rushed up to meet him. He mumbled a desperate plea for the First Father to save him.
It was Sinstari that answered. Just as Barlo was about to hit the water, the cat stepped forward and the dwarf landed on Sinstari’s back instead. He clung to the dark fur for a moment, frozen in disbelief. Once he realized he was still alive, he scrambled to position himself lengthwise on the wildcat’s back.
“All right,” he said into Sinstari’s ear. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I’m not going to be able to get back onto that rock. And let’s be honest. A dwarf has no business trying to hop across a river like some sort of crazed rabbit. So I’ll just stay here on your back while you walk the rest of the way across to Iarion.”
Barlo wasn’t sure the cat would understand him speaking the Common Tongue, but he knew Sinstari was intelligent. Barlo waited.
After letting out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, Sinstari began to move forward. It was still slow going. Barlo was a heavy burden, but their progress was steady and much more to the dwarf’s liking. Eventually, they reached the far bank. Barlo rolled off the cat’s back, landing in a heap at Iarion’s feet.
“Glad you could make it,” the elf said as he helped him to stand.
“I don’t know if I want to talk to you just yet.” Barlo gave his friend his fiercest scowl.
Sinstari walked a safe distance away before shaking himself dry. When he finished, he turned to face them, giving them both a disparaging look, his fur sticking out from his body in wet spikes.
“All right, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be so difficult for you.” Iarion waved to Riltelari before the other elf disappeared into the forest.
“Dwarves were meant to stay on land!” Barlo stamped his foot for emphasis.
“Well, the next part of the journey should please you then. Come on, let’s try to find that secret door.” Iarion led the way west into the Hills of Mist.
A heavy fog, thi
ckened by the rain clouds in the distance, already hung over the area. Barlo hoisted his pack and followed with Sinstari slinking behind him. An unnatural hush seemed to fall over the land as they walked.
Without the sun to burn off the mist, it was difficult to see. Barlo sensed more than saw the shadows of the hills rising around them. He couldn’t escape the feeling that something was hiding in the fog, lying in wait. He kept his hand close to his ax.
Barlo looked behind him and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a pair of large, glowing eyes staring back at him. He breathed a sigh when he realized it was only Sinstari. Other than his green eyes, the cat was nearly invisible in the mist. He looked forward once more only to find he had lost track of Iarion.
“Iarion,” he called the elf’s name in a harsh whisper, not wanting to raise his voice. “Iarion!”
“What?” The elf seemed to appear out of nowhere and Barlo had to stifle a yelp.
“I thought I had lost you,” he said. “It’s this blasted fog.”
“Pay attention and stay close,” Iarion said before turning around.
They walked for hours. Barlo’s legs began to feel like lead. As hard as he and Iarion looked, there was no sign of a hidden door. Barlo had begun to tap the ground in front of him with the butt of his ax as he walked, listening for an echo, but he heard nothing.
Nothing seemed familiar in the mist. He had no idea where they were, but he had the sneaking suspicion they were wandering in circles. Otherwise, they would have passed out of the hills by now. Barlo came to a sudden stop. Iarion turned to see what was the matter.
“It’s useless,” Barlo said. “We’re never going to find the door like this. We’ve been wandering around for hours!”
“Barlo, we have to keep looking. It’s our best chance to get south.”
“Do you even know where we are anymore?”
Iarion’s silence told Barlo all he needed to know.
“I know we need to find the door,” Barlo said, “but we’re not going to stumble across it wandering aimlessly in circles, especially not in this blasted fog!”
Iarion sighed. “I know.” Sinstari sat between them, his luminous green eyes curious. Iarion looked at the cat with interest. Suddenly, he smacked his own forehead. “I am an idiot.”
“You said it, not me,” Barlo mumbled. Iarion ignored him.
“Sinstari can lead us!”
“But Sinstari wasn’t with us when we were here the first time. The cat doesn’t know where the door is.”
“But Sinstari can find it for us,” Iarion said as he knelt. He spoke at length in Elvish. Sinstari lowered his head to the ground and began to sniff.
“But our scent will be long gone!” Barlo said. “There’s no way the cat can use it to find the door.”
“Ah, but the dwarves are still here, and they use the door for scouting in this region. Sinstari just has to find their scent.” Iarion watched, waiting for a sign that the cat had found the trail.
Sinstari paced in widening circles with his head swinging from left to right. Barlo had to admit, it was a good plan. The cat had proved himself to be more useful than he had thought. He and Iarion followed Sinstari through the mist.
Nearly an hour passed before the cat found something. He began to sniff a patch of ground much more intently than anything else they had passed so far. He stirred the damp grass with one huge, dark paw and looked around. Suddenly, he bounded off in a new direction. Iarion and Barlo jogged to keep up. This led to a new spot where Sinstari lowered his head to the ground once more, finding another marker. This happened several times before Sinstari came to a stop. He pawed at the ground, looking at Iarion and lay down.
“This is the place,” the elf said.
“Are you sure? It looks the same as every other place we’ve seen today.” Barlo was damp and weary from the hunt.
“Look for yourself.”
Barlo grunted and inspected the place Sinstari had indicated. It was a patch of grass in the side of a hill that matched its surroundings. No outline of a door could be seen. But that didn’t mean anything where dwarves were concerned.
Barlo prodded the area with the butt of his ax, listening. He inspected the surrounding area and prodded it again. The door was thick and Iarion probably wouldn’t be able to sense it, but Barlo could tell it was there. The ground had a slightly different feel and sound. Only a dwarf would sense such things.
“It’s here,” he said, turning to Iarion.
“I knew Sinstari would find it.” Iarion stroked the cat’s head. “Let’s open it.”
Barlo shook his head. “It’s a dwarven-made door. It wasn’t created to be opened from the outside. It was made as an escape should Dwarfhaven fall. It can only be opened from inside.”
“Well, if the dwarves come out to check the surrounding area, how do they get back in? Surely they don’t leave the door hanging open unguarded.” Iarion’s silver and sapphire eyes narrowed. “There has to be a way back in.”
“They must have a coded knock that tells the dwarves on the other side to open the door.” It was common dwarf procedure.
“Well, you’re a Chief of Clans,” Iarion said. “You must know a good deal about such things.”
“You don’t understand! They probably change it every hour in case one of them is captured and compromised. Besides, it’s not as if all dwarves use the same patterns. These dwarves have lived apart from the rest of us for generations!” Barlo threw his hands up in the air.
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for someone to come out and open the door for us. It could be days before they do another surface inspection!”
“Why don’t we just try the pass?” Barlo tried to make his tone reasonable.
“It’s too open. It is no doubt being watched, and we will be seen. Plus, it will add another two days to our journey. We don’t have that kind of time. We have to open this door!”
Iarion ran his hands over the grass, searching for edges. Barlo had never seen his friend in such a state. Iarion was almost frantic. His desperate need to be made complete was driving him beyond reason.
Barlo sighed, seeing there would be no appeasing him. “That won’t do you any good. Here, get out of the way. I want to try something.” He stood directly over the hidden door and took up his ax. Using the butt of it once more, he began a long series of heavy taps.
Iarion stood back, watching in interest. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I may not know their secret knock, but we dwarves do have a code. It’s been around since ancient times, so these dwarves should know it. We use it to communicate while mining if we get separated by a rockslide. I’m telling them who we are and what we want.” Barlo finished his tapping. “There. Now we wait for a response.”
Iarion stood over the hidden opening, waiting. Nothing happened.
“They probably won’t answer right away,” Barlo said as he sat. “They can’t know whether we’re who we say we are, although it’s unlikely any dark creatures know dwarf code. Still, they’re probably arguing whether they should open up for us. Their Chief of Clans will have the final say.”
“So we wait?” Iarion sat next to Barlo, tugging at one of his braids in frustration.
“We wait.”
The day passed slowly and the sky began to darken. Barlo repeated his tapped code every hour to let the dwarves know they were still there. There was no response. Iarion became listless. It was clear he was having doubts about their course of action.
“Do you think they will answer?” he asked.
Barlo shrugged. “I don’t know. I would, if it were Dwarvenhome. Then again, Dwarvenhome is in the heart of the midlands and these are dark times.”
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake. It’s just that each moment that passes while I am carrying the Stariquenya, I can feel Saviadro getting closer. He knows where we’re headed, Barlo. If I were going to claim the power of the Stariquenya for myself, I would have done it by now. The Fallen One must
know we are going to Melaquenya to bring his darkest fear to life. He will throw everything he has in our path to try to stop us.”
“I’m sorry I questioned your decision,” Barlo said. “I forget how much is at stake for you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Iarion smiled. “I need a practical dwarf to talk sense to me and force me to think about my choices.”
“Well as the practical dwarf, I say we wait here until dawn. We can take shifts repeating the code. You must know it by now. If they haven’t answered by the time the sun is rising, I don’t think they’re going to answer at all and we might as well make for the Southern Passage.”
Iarion sighed. “I suppose you’re ri—”
A sudden movement in the grass cut Iarion’s words short. He sprang to his feet, drawing his knife. Barlo planted himself beside him, baring his ax. Sinstari went down into a defensive crouch.
For a moment, Barlo thought he was seeing things in the growing dark. He blinked several times, but nothing changed. A dark hole yawned open before them. The door had opened.
– Chapter Forty-Three –
News from the South
Barlo held his ax ready. A young dwarf with a black beard and green eyes popped his head out of the opening.
“Lorugo!” Barlo cried out in surprise, lowering his ax. “By the First Father’s beard, you gave us a fright.”
Barlo greeted the dwarf who had led them to Dwarfhaven from Belierumar. He realized he had lapsed into Dwarvish. He didn’t bother to translate for Iarion. The elf knew enough of the language to follow along.
“Sorry,” Lorugo said. “Everyone was taking so long to decide whether we should open the door. I am the only one here who knows you, and I know how important your quest is, so I decided to come up and have a look for myself to see if it was really you. They are all so busy arguing, none of them noticed when I left.”
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