Into the Wastelands: Book Four of the Restoration Series

by Williams, Christopher

  At the end of the story, silence hung in the air for several moments. Finally Clem spoke, “So some foreign lord wants to come here to hunt?” His tone was rather incredulous.

  “Possibly,” Aaron answered, “but only if there’s something interesting to hunt. What can you tell me about the wilds around Emtown?”

  Clem didn’t answer immediately, instead he stood there thinking. His eyes never left Aaron. Finally, he nodded at the bench again and then he moved over and sat down on an old wooden chair. He waited until Aaron sat down next to Eugene on the bench before he spoke. “Well, to the east of us is forest. The half nearest us is pretty tame. Nothing extraordinary that would interest a lord.”

  “And the second half?” Aaron asked. He asked the question to keep up appearances. They were not travelling that way and he really didn’t care about the forest but he needed to pretend that he did.

  “That gets a little more interesting. The forest goes all the way to the White Mountains, and there’s goblins and such in the mountains. They occasionally come into the forest to hunt. I have heard stories of trappers having to fight for their lives.”

  Trying to look interested, Aaron nodded. “Still, Lord Montgomery is not interested in hunting goblins. Is there anything of interest to the west?”

  Clem smiled, “Not unless his lordship wants to hunt farmers.”

  “Nothing but farms, huh?” Aaron asked.

  “Well, they are few and far between, but it’s mainly grasslands until you reach the Silver River. There are some farms that take advantage of the rich soil.” Clem paused briefly, “Honestly, I don’t travel west very much. The farmers tend to be quieter and handle their own problems.”

  “And to the north,” Aaron asked, trying to keep his voice steady. This was what he really wanted to know about.

  Clem shrugged, “Not much to say. To the north are hills covered with scattered trees. Same to the northeast, all the way to the mountains.”

  “So, just tree covered hills. No animals?”

  “I didn’t say that, but I doubt there would be anything that this lord of yours would find interesting.”

  The Mayor seemed to think his riches were sliding away. “What about in the mountains, up near where all those mines are located?”

  “The mines are to the east and northeast and they’re well-guarded. Have to be with all the mangy goblins running around.” He considered for a moment, “No, I don’t think there’s anything up there that would interest any lord.”

  Eugene was looking sick, but Aaron ignored him. “And what about farther north, maybe even north of the Silver River?”

  The question made Eugene look even more sick and he regarded Aaron with wide eyes.

  Clem also looked surprised, although he disguised it better than did Eugene. “North of the Silver River would put you into the old Faerum lands. No one goes there.” The constable leaned closer and put extra weight on his words, “No one.”

  “No one ever goes there?” Aaron asked, surprised. “Not even hunters or treasure seekers.” People were always drawn to ruins. Whether it was hoping to find gold, or just to explore. He found it hard to believe that everyone avoided the Faerum lands.

  Clem shook his head. “I’ve never heard of anyone going there and coming back anyway. I’ve tracked a couple of men accused of murder that went that way. Once they crossed the Silver River, they were on their own. Nobody ever saw them again.”

  “At least nobody in these parts,” Aaron said. If he was accused of murder, the last place he would want to return to was where the murder took place. “Perhaps those men crossed the river, travelled west, and then disappeared.”

  Shrugging, Clem leaned back in his chair. “Anything’s possible, but I’ve never heard of anyone entering those lands and then returning. I daresay your Lord won’t want to go there.”

  Aaron didn’t answer right away but considered how best to proceed. Eugene looked fearfully from one to the other and it was obvious he was afraid of Clem’s brutal honesty might cost him a lot of gold. “Actually, that sounds like just the thing to interest his lordship. He has grown rather bored as of late and the promise of exploring a place that no one has visited in millennia might be just the thing.”

  “Not if he values his life,” Clem said, shaking his head. “It would be foolish. The mountains are overrun with goblins, trolls, and things even nastier. Supposedly, the Faerum ruins are cursed. Only a fool would even consider it.”

  Cursed?, that had the sound of superstition. He doubted whether anyone had ever died from the “curse” of the Faerum lands. Probably the fear of some imaginary curse kept them away. “So there isn’t anything definitive that you can tell me about that area?”

  “No, but just think about how much enjoyment Lord Montgomery will get in being the first human to set eyes on the Faerum ruins,” Eugene said hopefully.

  Aaron grinned, unable to stop himself. The Mayor was like a bloodhound with the scent of blood in its nose. “Yes, indeed. However, I think I shall need to take a quick trip north and have a look for myself.”

  “You’re, you’re not going to go there. Are you?” Eugene asked, stammering.

  “Just a quick look,” Aaron answered. “Unless I’m mistaken, it’s due north. Is that correct?”

  There was silence for several moments and then Clem nodded.

  “Good,” Aaron said, starting to rise from the bench.

  “Wait!” Eugene called out.

  Surprised, Aaron stopped halfway out of his chair. “Yes?”

  Eugene took a moment and collected himself. “I was thinking that perhaps Clem might be induced to show you the way.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Aaron said quickly, shaking his head. “All I have to do is travel north and stop when I get to the river. How hard is that?” he asked. Neither man answered and he began to feel a little nervous. “Is there something else? Brigands along the way?”

  Clem shook his head, “No. Most of that sort are to the northeast, between here and the mines. Even they know to avoid the Wastes.”

  “Then what is the matter?” Aaron persisted.

  “Do you actually intend to enter the Wastes?” Clem asked. There was a worried tone in the man’s voice.

  “I do not,” Aaron lied. “I intend to travel north and stop just south of the river.” He motioned at Eugene, “As you already said, perhaps Lord Montgomery will appreciate being the first human to travel there in millennia.”

  “If he does decide to cross the river,” Clem said slowly, “don’t be foolish enough to go with him.”

  Chapter 12

  Flare awoke but did not move. It felt like his head had split right down the middle and the pain was constantly throbbing and made him want to sick up. Keeping his eyes closed, he swallowed several times and resisted the urge to gag. He continued to lie there for several moments and the only thing he could think about was his aching head.

  “Bout time you woke,” said a man. It was a deep and gruff voice, definitely not someone that Flare had heard before.

  Flare’s eyes popped open and the light nearly blinded him. It felt like two knives digging into his eyes even though it was just the flickering of several faint torches. He blinked and slowly the pain began to ease.

  He was in a dark room. The torches were the only source of light so he assumed that it was night.

  Groaning, Flare pushed up on his elbows. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the light, he realized the room was small, no more than eight feet or so square. He was lying on a bed that was rather too short for him and the rest of the room was in shadows. He was relieved that no medallions hung around his neck.

  “Where,” he started to say but nearly choked on the words. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

  There was a sigh from the darkness and then a man moved into view. It took Flare a moment to realize that it wasn’t in fact a man but rather a dwarf. He was short but heavily muscled. His black hair was a disheveled mess, wild and unruly.
His beard wasn’t much better and hung down nearly to his belt. He wore a simple leather tunic that would have fit him more like a dress, if not for his belt. He carried a cup in his hands and leaned in close, holding the cup for Flare to drink. He looked to be all eyebrows and nose.

  Pulling back, Flare tried to look inside the cup to see what he was being offered. He wasn’t used to accepting drinks from strangers.

  The dwarf sighed again. “It’s just water. You haven’t drunk much over the last several days.”

  The last several days? Flare thought, repeating the words in his head. The dwarf held the cup to Flare’s lips, but he still would have resisted, but strangely he didn’t have the energy.

  The cool water that flowed from the cup was simply the best thing that he had ever tasted. He hadn’t even realized how badly his throat felt until the water poured out. The dwarf started lowering the cup well before Flare was ready, and he reached out to pull the cup back closer.

  The dwarf chuckled. “Not so fast,” he said, but it was a friendly tone. “If you drink too much, then you’ll just vomit it back up.”

  Flare cleared his throat and studied the room again. Anxiety erupted within him when he realized his belongings were not in the room; that included Ossendar. “Where am I?” he asked.

  The dwarf retreated from Flare’s bedside and, for a moment, he suspected the dwarf would not answer him. The dwarf pulled a rickety wooden chair over next to Flare’s bed. He sat down and regarded Flare. “You are in the city of Az’ha’rill’hadell,” he said solemnly.

  Flare’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly. He slumped back into the bed. He knew of the dwarven kingdom at the southern end of the Az’ha’rill Mountains, but the dwarves had locked themselves away thousands of years ago. No one was allowed inside the city. “Why am I here?” he finally managed to ask. It probably was not the best question or even the best way of asking the question, but it was all he could manage.

  “My name is Belgil and I’ve been asked to watch you.” He paused for a moment before he continued, “I was assigned to watch you because it was my soldiers that found you.”

  Thinking back, Flare tried hard to remember what had happened. It was very disjointed. He remembered killing Jordan and then running from the other sorcerers, but not much else. After a moment, he remembered the old tree and the river. He looked up at the dwarf, “Was I floating in the river?”

  Nodding, Belgil leaned closer. “You were wedged onto an old tree, between a grouping of small branches.” He grinned, “If not for those branches, I’m sure you would have fallen off and drowned.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “We found you five days ago and you have been within the city for the last three.” He paused again before continuing in a calmer tone, “We didn’t expect you to survive, but the healers did what they could.”

  “My thanks to them,” Flare said, and he meant it. “Why was I brought here? I thought the dwarves would just as soon let a human or an elf die as to bring them within one of their cities.”

  Belgil nodded, “That’s true, but it’s not every day that we find a half-elf carrying one of the Divine Blades.”

  Ignoring the anxiety that threatened to well up within him, Flare sighed deeply. So they knew about the sword. He wondered what else they knew about.

  Grinning, Belgil leaned in close and nudged Flare’s shoulder with his hand. “You didn’t think we would miss something like that did you?”

  Flare shrugged. “Probably aren’t too many alive today who could recognize that sword.”

  “True, but the dwarves are special. We have an affinity with weapons and such.” Belgil leaned back in his chair and watched Flare with a half smile.

  Flare waited for several moments, but the dwarf didn’t volunteer anything else. “So what’s to be done with me?” he finally asked.

  The smile slipped from Belgil’s face. “I’m not sure. This isn’t something we could ever have planned for. Your fate lies in the hands of King Vognar.”

  That sounded ominous. “Well, I would say that you have two options,” Flare said after a moment of silence, “let me go or hold me against my will.”

  Belgil nodded, “Those are two options, but there are others.”

  “Such as?”

  “We could let you go, but claim ownership of Ossendar.”

  It took a moment for the words to register and then Flare pushed himself up to a sitting position. His face was an angry scowl as he spoke. “Not a chance! I’ll pull this mountain down around your ears before I let that happen.”

  Surprise flitted across the dwarf’s face; it was quickly followed by amusement. “Would you now? And how would you do that?” The grin had returned to his face.

  For just a moment, Flare considered using sorcery. At the very least he could wipe that silly smile off of Belgil’s face. He thought better of it though. His body was still in pretty bad shape. There might be a time when it would be required, but that time had not yet arrived. In a deadly serious voice, Flare said, “Withhold Ossendar from me and I will show you.”

  Belgil nodded but without any real conviction. “Doesn’t matter what you say to me. I have no power in what happens to you. That will be up to King Vognar.” He stood, pushing the chair farther away from the side of the bed. “Let me see about getting you something to eat. You need the food to restore your health.”

  The dwarf was gone for a long time and Flare studied his room. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see that the walls were hewn from solid rock. When he had first awoke, he had assumed the darkness was due to it being night. He now realized that it was the fact that he was in a dwarven city. A city that existed under an unknown number of tons of solid rock.

  Throwing his feet over the side of the bed, Flare pushed himself to a sitting position. He tried not to groan, but failed miserably. His body was sore and everything ached.

  After a while sitting on the edge of the bed, his bladder began to hurt more than everything else. Looking around, he noticed a small chamber pot off in the corner. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Another moment or two of hesitation and then he pushed himself to his feet.

  The room spun for several moments, due both to his poor physical shape and to the fact that he rapped his head against the low ceiling. He let out a low curse and then walked, stooping, to the corner where he had noticed the chamber pot. He found it necessary to lean against the wall as he did what nature required of him.

  He was still leaning against the wall and considering the long wall back to the bed, when the door opened and in stepped Belgil. This time, the dwarf was not alone.

  Belgil entered the room first and his face was set in a scowl.

  Belgil moved to the side and he was followed by a thinner younger dwarf, whom Flare assumed was a servant of some kind. Unlike Belgil, the servant wore a tunic of a coarse white material. This new dwarf carried a tray, upon which sat a small bowl of steaming soup and a hunk of bread. The new arrival set the tray down next to the bed and turned and hurriedly left the room.

  The new dwarf kept his, or her, head down and did not make eye contact and Flare couldn’t even tell if it was a male or female. Dwarven women tended to resemble the men a great deal. He didn’t dwell on this much though, as three more dwarves entered after the servant.

  The first two were thick muscular dwarves wearing armor. They each carried a two handed axe. Helmets covered their faces and their beards spilled out from under the edge of the helmet. Both dwarves had coarse black hair. They had the look of guards and they both too up position in the middle of the room. Their eyes never left Flare.

  A third dwarf entered the room. He was older than any of the others. His hair may have been black once, but now it was pure white. His skin hung loose on his face and he had the look of a person who had just lost a lot of weight. His cheeks and forehead were covered in age spots, but his eyes bore an intensity of a much younger man.

  The old dwarf stopped j
ust inside the door and regarded Flare. “So, you are the one who has brought us Ossendar?” His tone was oily and slightly slurred.

  Flare immediately found himself disliking this old dwarf, but he had to proceed carefully. “My name is Flaranthlas,” he said with a slight dip of his head. “And you would be?”

  The old dwarf’s mouth tightened and he raised his chin slightly. “I am Councilor Emlin. I am the King’s most trusted advisor.” There was a tone of pride in the words and something about this Emlin reminded Flare of Duke Angaria. There was some good news, though. Flare had been afraid that this was the King and that had been an unpleasant thought.

  Flare forced a smile. He had learned to smile at people he despised when he had been in the Telurian court and it came easy to him now. “It is a pleasure. May I ask when I will be allowed to meet the King?”

  Emlin tilted his head; a slight smile turned the corners of his lips upwards. “And why would you meet the King?”

  “Why I need to thank him for saving my life,” Flare said in a calm tone that he did not feel. This old bastard was going to be trouble. Having just retaken the sword, he damn sure did not mean to lose it again so quickly. Worry was beginning to grow in his stomach, but strangely it was not as bad as he might have thought. Perhaps all the trials he had been through were conditioning him to better handle the stress. “And I have to retrieve my sword.”

  Emlin smile broadened. “Well as to that, I have advised King Vognar that Ossendar is too valuable an heirloom to let just anyone carry. I’m personally urging him to keep the sword here,” he paused and made a show of searching for the right word, “for safekeeping.”

  “Oh, I see,” Flare said. Resignation settled down upon him. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation, but regardless, it had arrived. “I did not know that the dwarves were thieves as well as cowards.”

  Several things happened at once. Belgil’s eyes opened wide in surprise, the smile on Emlin’s face turned into a snarl, and the guard on Flare’s right stepped closer.