by A. R. Wilson
“Please grant us pardon in this matter.” Azredan hurried a few steps to come into the dwarf’s view. “Men from the north are not as renowned for their stamina.”
Looking over his shoulder, Dumarse snorted a sigh. “If a respite is what you require, then so be it.”
Kidelar slumped to the ground, bumping his head against the stone wall as he sat.
“How are you feeling?” Jurren knelt before the scholar.
“Just in need of a little refreshment.” Kidelar panted his words.
They had been walking for what felt like several hours. With the sun nearing the horizon when they entered, it must have been well into the night.
“We are all overdue for a meal.”
Jurren took out the ring given to him by the elves in Chlopahn. A silver band engraved with the image of intertwining trees and set with a blue-green stone. Lord Marvae presented it as a gift for rescuing Montanya, a girl the elves called a Child of Destiny (not that they gave any explanation to what that meant). The elven lord said they were bound of the Path of Destiny to give something in exchange for the girl’s safe return. The ring could produce any food or drink in any quantity.
Putting the ring on his index finger, Jurren willed a pitcher of water and a large loaf of bread into being.
Kidelar’s eyes widened. “How is this possible?”
“For rescuing Montanya. Lord Marvae gave me this as a token of his gratitude.” Jurren took off the ring and passed it over.
“This is most fortunate.” Azredan sat next to Kidelar. “Perhaps we should all partake in a meal. Allow me to provide the imagination?”
Jurren shrugged and nodded for Kidelar to hand over the ring. Azredan waved for Arkose to come sit. The man stood at a distance, hand rubbing the back of his shaved head, glancing at the dwarf who had retreated deeper into the passageway.
“Don’t mind him. Dwarves rarely eat with outsiders.” The elf beckoned Arkose again. “He will return when it suits him. Ham and eggs? Or beef and potatoes?”
The first syllable mentioning a food item caused Arkose’s eyes to perk. “Both.”
Azredan offered them both, plus a little more.
“How is Dumarse’s torch able to shed so much light in these depths?” Kidelar reached to take a bite the moment he finished speaking the question.
“It is these caverns.” Azredan gestured to the walls surrounding them. “Long ago, the dwarves discovered sunstone. A unique element with a connection to the sunlight above. It glows during daylight hours then dims with the fading of sunset. Tiny pockets of sunstone are placed all over these caverns. Great deposits rest in the walls of the city Tarkay Aizad. It is a most glorious sight.”
“How long until we find this Hall of Lords?” Jurren leaned onto his side as he ate.
“Three days, possibly four depending on the path Dumarse takes.”
Jurren looked sideways at Azredan. “Four days?”
“Were you expecting an easy alternative to facing the chaukah?”
“I just wasn’t expecting so long a journey to get permission to take a straight line.”
Arkose rubbed the back of his neck. “How far until we reach the swamps?”
“Another two to four days after our meeting. Again, the time fully depends upon the path of the dwarves’ choosing.” Azredan shoved a whole egg into his mouth.
Kidelar touched the tips of his fingers to his thumb as though counting in his head. When he paused, his eyes widened. “It will take us over two months to journey to Einiko’s castle.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Azredan finished chewing and twisted the ring off his finger to hand it back. “That is correct.”
Jurren’s view darkened into a single pinpoint. The smell of burning sulfur filled his nose as another wave of vision washed through him.
Wet, green, dark, and foul.
He closed his eyes, choosing this time to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose. The stench of rot and sulfur gave him the mental image of a decaying, burning corpse and he gagged. Focusing for the truth behind the sensations, the random images became a clearer picture. Jurren saw the overlapping layers of a dense swamp rolling out around him. Trees, vines, mosses, and pools of stagnant water filled his mind. Something massed in the distance. A hulking form blurred into the misty air. Instinctively, Jurren knew it to be one of Einiko’s creations. And that its defeat would come at a price.
“No.” Kidelar’s whimpering plea snapped Jurren’s eyes open.
Looking over at the scholar, he saw eyes squeezing through tears. “Kid!” Jurren pushed up and moved closer. “Kidelar, it’s alright.”
“No.” He tugged his hands through his sandy blond hair, clenching them to a fist above his forehead. “I have not the strength to endure another battle.”
“The battle is mine, not yours.”
Arkose came closer, as well. He tapped a finger to his temple then to his eyes, asking if they had seen another wave of vision. Jurren nodded.
“Kidelar, listen to me. When we rode the dragons out of Chlopahn we both had a vision. All you saw was sand, but I saw sand and a face. Do you remember this?”
Nodding, the scholar refused to open his eyes.
“When the wave comes you must learn to see beyond the emotion. Sense beyond the feelings. Look for truth beneath the images. Ellesha Shan Shair gave us the vision to guide us. It is information. Feelings never provide information.”
Kidelar’s brow smoothed. “You sound like a wizard teaching an apprentice.”
“Given your current state, I choose not to be offended by that.”
Grinning, Kidelar finally gazed up at him. “You have mastered this? This seeking for truth?”
“Master is a strong word. How about, I have learned it to be helpful.”
“In my vision I—.” Kidelar snapped his gaze to Arkose then Azredan. Straightening into a more formal, seated position he continued. “I saw a wet, green mass trying to smother me. Its smell was so potent. Far worse than any goblin smell we’ve encountered.”
Jurren nodded. “I saw something very similar. When I pushed for truth the green and wet cleared into a view within a dense swamp. A creature lurks in there. We will defeat him, but it will come at a cost to me.”
“I am sorry.”
“I’m not.” Jurren sat back, grateful the intensity of the moment had passed. “My daughter is worth any price.”
The snapping voice of Dumarse echoed from somewhere up ahead in the tunnel. “Go to sleep. We leave at first light.”
* * *
For the next two days they traveled in the same fashion. Walking until Kidelar could no longer keep up, then breaking for a meal. By the third day, they were able to travel from the first glow of the sunstones to the last.
Morning of the fourth day brought a drastic change to the normal tunnels and crossroads. An arch stood before them, with a stone carving of a bird’s claw wrapped around an emerald the size of an apple. Beyond the arch came a brighter light than in the tunnels, along with the faint hum of voices.
“This is Llevent.” Dumarse released his axe and used it to point to the immense area beyond the arch. “It is one of the places we grow our food. You do not touch anything. You do not make eye contact with anyone. Any breach of these terms and I will cut off your hand as an example.”
He stepped inside and indicated something to his right with the tip of his axe. Following him in, Jurren saw a rack with six hands suspended by ropes in various stages of drying and decaying. One hung depleted down to the bone. Kidelar gasped then gagged and had to shift away. Azredan put a fist to his chest and nodded to the display.
“Have I made myself understood?” Dumarse choked up the grip of the handle.
“Absolutely. Thank you for your gracious warning. We would hate to incur any disapproval from the dwarf lords.” The elf bowed deeply.
Jurren wondered how many exchanges Azredan had had with these people to be able to treat each offensive act as a cordial invitation.
Followi
ng their guide, Jurren took a sweeping gaze of the place Dumarse called Llevent. It looked as lush and thriving as any farm in Bondurant. Rows of trees ran in perfect lines up a gentle slope to their right. On the left stood a partially harvested field of grain. Dozens of tied bunches stood waiting to be cut.
The road followed a gradual decline as they passed through. Many dwarves stopped their work to stare at the group of strangers. Each time, Jurren made it a point to look in the opposition direction to avoid any suspicion from Dumarse.
At the far side they came to another arch leading to another farm. Jurren marveled at the amount of green the dwarves were able to produce with only sunstone to aid in their growth. Through each of the next four emerald arches, he could not help but respect what they were able to accomplish down here. The fifth arch held a clear stone. Dumarse stopped beneath it and again used his axe to gesture as he spoke.
“We have come to the great city of Tarkay Aizad. From here forward, you are my prisoners. Only the dwarf lords may grant you the freedom to go where you wish.”
Azredan clasped his hands together. “I am honored to be in your custody.” Pulling the gesture up to eye level, he indicated the rest of them to do the same.
Dumarse loosened a bundle of rope from a tether at his waist.
Jurren tensed. Why hadn’t Azredan warned them at any time during the past four days that this was part of meeting the dwarf lords? Watching the gleeful look of contempt in the dwarf’s eyes as he tied the rope added to Jurren’s uneasiness.
Once the four of them were tied together in a line, Dumarse led them forward like captives of war. A wide tunnel stretched away from the arch, then opened into a cavern. Something like an immense city turned inside out spread in all directions. Row after row of windows, doors, and walkways stood carved into the bowels of the earth.
As they approached a railing to turn left, Jurren craned his neck to look over the edge. Layer after layer of homes, shops, and more paths descended far into the depths. To his left and right the rows stretched on until they curved out of sight. Great, wide stone bridges ran back and forth connecting the two sides. Hundreds upon thousands of Dwarves were going about their day. Some pushed carts, some carrying heavy loads.
“Watch it!” Dumarse shouted at someone pulling a handcart.
“Try watching your own feet!” came the sharp reply.
“I’m delivering prisoners.”
“I’m delivering sunstone for the Northeast Partition.”
“That hole has yet to produce anything of worth.”
“All rock has worth for those with eyes to see!”
Dumarse barked a laugh, then stepped aside to give the man more room. With a sharp wave of the hand, he motioned for the rest of the men to do the same.
They walked down a series of steps for three levels, then turned right. Crossing a bridge to the far side of the chasm gave an even greater view of the city. So many rows of shops and homes. So many faces and families. So many stories. Were the fields near Tarkay Aizad really enough to provide for all these people?
After following Dumarse for several more twists and turns, they came to the grandest arch yet. Brilliant gems stood in geometric patterns along its face. At the top, a gaping hole indicated a missing stone the size of a large apple. Inside the arch ran another tunnel with faces carved into the stone. Symbols below each image suggested the dwarfs had written something about each person in their native language.
A wide room opened with a long stone table resting at the far end. Twelve dwarfs sat behind it. Their faces hardening beneath their thick beards as they saw the four men behind Dumarse entering.
One of the dwarfs behind the bench spoke so forcefully that spit came with his words. “What treason is this, Captain?”
“Azredan had brought a few guests.” Dumarse turned to spit at the elf’s feet for emphasis.
The elf didn’t seem to notice. He simply dropped to one knee as he had when greeting Dumarse the first time.
“Dwarf lords, I am humbled and grateful for any opportunity to be honored with an audience.”
“You are not honored here, elf.” Another of the dwarf’s voiced his disapproval by dragging out the word ‘elf’ as though it were a curse.
Each of the men behind the bench wore elaborate helmets with a red gem set at the forehead. Judging by the various shades of crimson, Jurren assumed it must be a way of displaying the hierarchy between them. The chainmail sticking out from under their tunics suggested they were soldiers, but the decorations along the hemlines hinted they were more.
A door opened and two more dwarfs filed in, both of them wearing helmets with a red stone. The one with white hair, who also boasted the darkest colored gem, walked to the front of the bench.
“Azredan.” The hoarseness of the white-haired dwarf’s voice spoke of his age.
“Kennehar Ironcloud.” Azredan prostrate himself with his forehead on the ground. “I would never dare to expect an audience with one such as you.”
“At least you know your place among us. Unlike your friends.”
The moment Jurren bent to lower to his knees, Kennehar Ironcloud snapped out a hand. “Do not patronize me with false respect.”
Dropping his face, Jurren put both hands to the ground. “I have witnessed the skill of your people. Forgive my awe at being unable to move until I heard the strength of your speech.”
A growling breath heaved a few times. “Explain yourself. Why have you returned Azredan? Why torment us with this flaunting of your freedom?”
“It is never my desire to harm. Only to help.”
Jurren kept his head bowed as Azredan spoke, waiting for the right signal before looking up.
“These men who travel with me, they have crossed the Great Barrier and seek to regain what the horsk dragon has stolen from them.”
Kennehar Ironcloud again made a spitting sound. “Men from the north? What business would a horsk dragon have with your kind?”
Nope, not yet. Keep your head down until he asks to see your face. “It has taken my daughter. My only child.”
“Then she’s as good as dead. Food for the belly of a demon pawn of the everlasting fire.”
“Not a daughter born of my line.” The words felt like decay against his tongue. But truth was truth, no matter how ugly the package.
Cold metal touched his forehead. Jurren looked up to see Kennehar extending his axe. “And which line might that be?”
Jurren took a deep breath in through his nose. “I am the eldest son, of an eldest son, traced back through the lineage of Adjh. We remained hidden on an island which caused our...” He hesitated only a moment. “Which caused our elven blood to weaken and age due to a toxin in the soil. Though I appear as any son of man, I am an elf of full blood. My heritage grants me the right to wield the Sword of Einiko.”
Kennehar Ironcloud took a step back, his axe scraping on the stone floor.
“I possess the birthright to separate him from the sword and end his reign.”
Dropping his axe, the dwarf took another step back. Gasps and murmurs came from the bench behind him, and Kennehar snapped out a hand to silence them.
“On your feet, elf.” The dwarf did not give the emphasis of a curse word when referencing Azredan’s race. “How did you find this man from the north?”
Azredan rose to one knee. “It has been my quest since Einiko received the sword to find one who could take it from him.”
“Are you certain he is worthy of your trust? Of my trust?”
“He despised me the moment he saw my ears.”
“But he is of your kind.”
“He has been raised as any other son of man. Look at him. Nothing in his appearance suggests the true nature of his blood. He refused to believe me until I showed him the fields of the Predator’s Den.”
“Did he despise you before or after he learned the truth of his past?”
“Before. And then double so after.”
Kennehar Ironcloud’s face
broke into a full smile. “A shrewd man!” He turned to Jurren. “On your feet, elf! You honor me with your coming. What service may I grant you?”
Jurren almost glanced at Azredan first, but thought better of it. If Kennehar’s change of heart relied on a dislike for elves then Jurren needed to speak for himself.
“My friend here lost his sword battling a horsk dragon.” Jurren extended his arm to indicate Arkose. “He needs a new blade.”
Dumarse took a step forward. “And what of that scabbard on your back? Are you going to ask for a blade as well?”
Putting a hand behind his shoulder, Jurren patted the handle of the single sword resting in the dual scabbard tucked under his cloak. “With all due respect, there is only one blade worthy of the empty sheath I carry.”
Kennehar gave a stiff gesture indicating he wanted Jurren to turn around. “Give me a look at that.”
Jurren undid the clasp for his cloak, folded it over his arms, then knelt farther down. The straps holding the scabbard in place tugged at his shoulder and against his ribs as the dwarf made his inspection.
“Where did you acquire such a thing?” Kennehar moved to the front of Jurren.
“The elves of Chlopahn gave it to me.”
“One elf.” Azredan folded his arms. “Montanya has become a valuable asset to the Roan Order.”
White hair bristled over Kennehar’s eyes. “A spy can easily become a spy for those whom they live among.”
“The elders of Chlopahn do not wish for Jurren to acquire the sword. If her loyalties were divided, she never would have given him the scabbard.”
Several dwarves now leaned towards each other to whisper.
“If you fail.” Kennehar pointed a gnarled finger at Jurren then shifted towards Azredan. “Or if you fail and the hand of Einiko descends all the more on my people, I will never again grant you or any from the Roan Order access through these halls.”
“That is a fair judgment.” Azredan lowered to both knees as he bowed his head.
Kennehar swiped a hand at Arkose. “I suppose we ought to find you a blade worthy of your size so you can help these fools on their damned quest.”
Timidly raising one of his hands, Kidelar stepped next to Jurren. “I suppose now would be an appropriate time to venture we also require passage beyond your city to the swamp.”