by David Adams
“An hour perhaps, no more than two,” Alexis answered. “I am hoping we might shelter there for the night. The farmer’s house is small, but there is a stable and a barn that might be of use.”
By the time they arrived they were weary to the bone. The farmer and his wife looked at the group in slack-jawed wonder, no doubt marveling at the sudden changes in Alexis’ company. The farmer appeared to be on the verge of flight, nervously offering his house as shelter while he fought to keep from gawking at Lucien.
Alexis placed a comforting hand on his arm. “If we could have a bit of food and drink, and be allowed to use the barn, we would be extremely grateful. We would not have you yield your own bed to us.”
The farmer gulped and assented to the request. He didn’t react to the gold coin Alexis pressed into his palm as payment, but rather mumbled about getting a lamp to show them the way. He returned and led them to the barn, keeping his eyes forward at all times, and once they were inside he left the lamp and backed out as quickly as he could.
They each found a place to rest, arranging hay and cloaks into beds of a sort. The farm’s mistress brought food and drink, busying herself laying it out and chattering away about how they “didn’t see many traveling folk here…makes my husband a tad nervous…lots of strange tales about what’s happening in Arkania…” Her eyes remained steadfastly on her work, avoiding even the smallest glance at her guests. She left and pulled the door shut behind her, still talking to herself as she did so.
“You have an interesting effect on the locals,” Corson said to Lucien. “But it seems to get us well fed.” He tore into a piece of meat and grabbed some cheese.
Lucien grunted. “Some day feast at my table. Then well fed.”
Their conversation was limited, the food and drink satisfying their needs and the beds of hay calling to aching bodies. They turned in early and slept well.
Lucien was the first to rise and was sitting on his flattened pile of hay, contemplating what might lie ahead, when the farmer’s wife returned with breakfast. She stepped lightly, trying not to disturb them. When she saw Lucien watching her she let out a gasp and nearly dropped the tray.
“Breakfast,” she said, in a voice that was little more than a squeak.
“Thank you,” he replied.
Her eyes grew large at hearing him speak, and abandoning all decorum, she turned and fled.
Lucien shook his head and laughed his guttural laugh, then woke the others.
They were on their way just after dawn, riding atop strong, white steeds that Alexis and her party had left in the farmer’s care. The farmer and his wife watched them away through a front door that was open only a sliver, and after the travelers had reached the edge of the property the door was closed and bolted against further intrusion.
The sun blazed brightly and the morning was crisp rather than cold, the frost on the grass melting away quickly. They rode over cart paths and fields of tall, thick, green grass, their spirits lifted by this unspoiled terrain.
Demetrius commented on the speed and endurance of the horses, for regardless of how hard Alexis pushed them, they did not seem to weary.
“I hear of Lorgras horses,” Lucien said. “Stories true.”
“We ask much of them,” said Alexis, “but treat them as family. They are much loved in my land.”
A day of fresh, clean air filling their lungs while they passed over healthy fields was enough to revive them further, and for a time they forgot their worries past and present. They slept under stars that shone brilliant in the autumn sky.
“I wonder if I should remain out of the city proper as well,” Tala said to Alexis as they set out the next day. “Dwarves are not known to be overly fond of elves.”
“Or goblins,” Lucien added.
“Nor men,” said Rowan. “They are a private people who do not care for outsiders much. But we must all go, except for Alexis for the reasons she has already stated. We are what we are, and we need to pass into Meldros’ realm—with his approval if it can be gained, without it if we must.”
“And if he takes offense to any or all of us?” Demetrius asked.
“You would be escorted out of the hall,” said Alexis, “and put under the king’s doom, but not harmed unless you dared to return. The dwarves are hospitable in their own way, to a point.”
“They would make powerful allies,” Demetrius pointed out.
“They would, but I do not think Meldros will be swayed to act. He will remain where he is, confident that his walls and towers will protect him from the Dark One’s forces.”
“From what I have seen,” said Demetrius, “there can be no refuge from Solek’s evil.”
They pondered that in silence for a time, and then Tala asked, “Should we show Meldros the Sphere, or tell him of our quest?”
“I fear we must,” said Rowan. “It is well to keep this secret from most that we encounter, but Meldros can greatly aid our cause if he so chooses.”
“And if you were found out in a lie,” Alexis said, “you would have insulted the king in his own hall. Not a wise thing to do under any circumstances.”
Just before the sun reached its zenith, Arna’s Forge came into view. A small collection of buildings stood inside a solid wall of stone built thirty feet high. These buildings were mainly for guests and the dwarven merchants with whom they came to do business. The true majesty of Arna’s Forge was behind the smaller city. Carved directly into the face of the mountain was the King’s Hall. It rose well over two hundred feet, with ornate statues and faces of dwarven heroes and kings of the past decorating much of the façade. Ramparts built for defense were placed strategically in a dozen positions, making any assault against the city a hazardous venture. No army had ever tried to take the city for as far back as memory or historical records could recall.
“It is even more spectacular than the stories tell,” said Corson.
Alexis studied it anew. “The dwarves do have a way with stone,” she admitted. “The interior is even more impressive. It is where most of the dwarves make their homes.”
“So you have been here before,” Demetrius said.
“I have, and I would not be welcome again. See that small grove of trees up ahead? I can wait there with the horses until you return.”
They dismounted and left the horses in Alexis’ care, then proceeded by foot to Arna’s Forge. As they neared the heavy wrought-iron gates of the outer wall, the city took on an even more stunning aspect, rising directly above them so that they needed to tilt their heads well back to see the heights looming above.
The gates were guarded but open. At first the gatekeepers seemed almost casual in their duty, used to the coming and going of men each day to barter with their dwarven counterparts. But once Tala and Lucien were noticed, the dwarves stood at firmer attention, and their captain stepped forward, battle axe at the ready.
“State your business,” the dwarf demanded. Even though he stood just slightly more than half the height of many of those he challenged, his posture and expression were stern and confident. In hand-to-hand combat, dwarves feared few who walked in Arkania.
“We have come to ask leave of King Meldros to pass safely in your land,” answered Rowan.
“For what purpose?”
“That is only for the king’s ears, I’m afraid.”
The dwarf let out a low growl. “I decide who enters and who does not.”
“And we ask your permission to pass,” said Rowan, his tone remaining calm. “But the news we have, and the quest we have undertaken, we are bound to discuss only with King Meldros.”
The dwarf turned to one of his lieutenants. “Gollos, bring a detail.” Eyeing Rowan once again, he said, “You’ll be escorted to the king under guard. Those given free access in the city are those willing to share why they are here.”
“I understand.”
“Your weapons will remain here. No outsider enters the king’s presence armed.”
Now it was Lucien’s tur
n to emit a growl. Demetrius put a warning hand on the goblin’s massive forearm. Rowan unbuckled his sword without comment, and the others followed his lead, even Lucien.
Gollos and seven other dwarves led them through the open section of the city. They drew stares, led as they were like prisoners, but were allowed to pass quickly through the massive stone doors that led into the mountain itself with no more than a wave from Gollos to the guards posted there.
The main hall was dimly lit by torches set against the four rows of columns that rose toward the darkened ceiling, meeting it somewhere beyond their ability to see. A wide, red and gold carpet made its way straight across the hall to another door, this one of heavy wood framed in a stone arch. The side walls were decorated with huge, colorful banners that hung between smaller stone doors leading to other rooms and passageways. Four large stairways of stone wound upward against the outer walls, giving access to higher levels and to the ramparts overlooking the outer city.
The dwarves marched forward without pause or comment, directly across the carpet to the door opposite, which swing open at their approach.
“The king welcomes you,” said a red-haired dwarf in a voice that held no warmth and little welcome. He did not spare so much as a glance at Tala or Lucien. Apparently the king and his servants were already aware of the group that had come calling.
As they entered the king’s throne room, the guards took up positions against the rear wall while the red-haired dwarf led the visitors forward.
The throne room had the same high ceiling as the outer hall, and the red and gold carpet continued on through the room and up the three steps to a stone throne. Upon the throne sat Meldros, whose aged face and head were covered with a luxurious mustache, beard, and mane of hair that had begun to turn from coal black to silver at the fringes. He leaned back as if tired, his forearms resting motionless on the hard arms of the throne, but his keen brown eyes were sharp and quick.
“Welcome to my hall,” said the king with an amiable wave of his hand. “My hospitality is extended to you.”
“Thank you, King Meldros. I am Rowan, of Delving. I travel with Demetrius and Corson of Corindor, Tala, of the Eastern Forest, and Lucien of the Kabrinda Pack.”
“I have never seen such a group in all my long years,” said the king in a neutral way. “Surely you must have an interesting tale to tell about how you came to be together.”
“We seek the same goal, and fate has brought us together—”
“Fate? I see you wear the sign of the Savior. I thought those such as you did not believe in fate.”
“Regardless of what it is called, be it chance or a guiding hand, something beyond our own plans has brought us together. ‘Fate’ is one term that can be used. There are others, as you know.”
“Very well,” said the king with a dismissive wave. “I am told you wish safe passage through my lands. For what purpose?”
“We battle Solek.”
“As do most in the world. But that is not the reason for your request. You can battle Solek’s forces in your own lands.”
“Might we speak in private, your majesty?”
The king stared at Rowan for a moment, studying him, then said, “Guards, wait outside.”
“But, your highness—” the red-haired dwarf protested. He was stopped cold by a simple raised finger from the king.
“You may stay, Beldring. But the guards will now obey my command.” The guards took this cue and filed out quickly.
“We are as alone as I will allow us to be,” the king said to Rowan.
Rowan cleared his throat and went on. “We are attempting to gather the pieces of the Soul Sphere.”
The king barked out a short, harsh laugh. “The stuff of legend. Is that your only hope to defeat Solek? If so, you may as well yield to him now. Strong arms and heavy blades are the answer to his army, not magic and myth.”
“We have seen the results of Solek’s magic,” said Tala, “or should I say the Dark One’s. It is real and far more powerful than any weapon.”
“It has not given him the courage to assault this fortress,” the king scoffed.
“With time it will.”
“Solek is well-trained in the skills of war. He would not be so foolish as to attack this stronghold, and we have ways to withstand a siege.”
“Your majesty,” said Demetrius, “I am a military man myself, and I served under King Rodaan for more than twenty years. I could not take Arna’s Forge even if I was given five thousand men. But I have faced Solek’s magic and his army, and if he turns his eye to your hall, it will fall.”
The king blew out a breath, making the hairs of his mustache flutter. He saw the earnest look on Demetrius’ face—on all their faces—and calmed himself before he responded. “I sense you intended no insult, so I will take no offense at what you have said. No one wishes for war, and even though I think he would break himself in the attempt, I will not wish for Solek and his forces to throw themselves against this rock. But you did not come here to debate the safety of these walls. Why do you think this Soul Sphere really exists, and why in my lands?”
Tala stepped forward and showed the piece of the Sphere she possessed. “We have fought for two shards already, and they were indeed guarded by the Dark One’s servants. These shards mended themselves when placed together, just as legend foretells. The Sphere is real, and it retains at least some of its magic—we hope all. Solek feared it enough to hide and guard the shards. That alone makes it worth pursuing.”
“And do you expect me to help in this foolish game? To send dwarves on a merry chase outside these walls?”
“No, your majesty,” said Rowan, “though your help would be welcome. This is a task for a small group that might hope to move unnoticed, not an army. We ask only that we be allowed to travel unhindered through your lands as we continue our search.”
“Unhindered it will be, and unaided as well. I will do nothing to aid either side in a war I am no part of. Beldring will bring you a letter with my seal, guaranteeing your safety as long as you do not threaten dwarves or their homes.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” said Rowan with a bow. “We came seeking nothing else.”
“And that is what you will have. Trouble me no more.”
Beldring led them from the throne room, the king’s withering stare never leaving them until the door closed behind them. The guards resumed their duties keeping watch over the visitors, while Beldring went back into the throne room. When he returned, he bore a letter bearing the king’s mark.
“Thank you,” Rowan said as Beldring handed him the scroll.
Beldring nodded. “I wish you well on your journey. May your gods be with you.”
An hour later they were being greeted by Alexis. She studied the letter with a look of relief. “I feared he would not allow it.”
“He is overconfident in his stone walls,” said Demetrius, “and feels the fight is not his. He did give us his leave though, if grudgingly.”
“We should ride out of sight of the city. If the horses are recognized as being from Lorgras, he may change his mind.”
“The foothills to the west should provide enough cover for us. We can go north for a time before turning east.” He turned to Tala. “We are going east, aren’t we?”
She took a moment to use her magic, as always holding the piece of the Sphere. “I sense great distance. Alexis, let me hold your shard.”
Alexis dug it out and handed it over to Tala, who had placed the first piece back in her pouch, not wanting the two shards to come into contact. Again she cast her spell, taking a bit longer this time, concentration etched on her face. “It is to the east, in the Garden Valley. Near where the Aetos and Trawnor Mountains come together.” She gave the piece back to Alexis. “I still want to keep these apart. Demetrius has the other.”
The sun faded and night fell as they made their way carefully around Arna’s Forge and turned east. They traveled near the northern foot of the Aetos Mountains. Nort
h spread the Garden Valley, lush land that yielded bountiful crops, though the dwarves themselves did not tend the fields. Humans dwelled there and traded with the dwarves, just as they did with their own kind dwelling west in the Westerland and north in Lorgras. The great Wandering River split the Valley, its source the y-shaped intersection where the Trawnor Mountains met the Aetos.
“A beautiful land,” remarked Corson. “It seems even greener than it might, considering the blight elsewhere. I wonder, though, why Solek has not struck here.”
“There are no cities in the Valley,” said Alexis. “His focus is on population centers. Arna’s Forge will eventually be targeted, and I don’t doubt this land will be made to suffer as well.”
“Are these the lands in dispute?” Demetrius asked.
“The river divides Lorgras and the Westerland. Meldros claims Arna’s Forge and all the land of the Valley. Duke Fallo’s holdings in the Westerland are such that he pays little heed to Meldros’ claims. They have made a peace of convenience. Live and let live. Our Queen has long held that Meldros has no claim to the land north of the river, but since his dwelling is in the Westerland there has been little more exchanged than harsh words.”
“But those words have been said, one party to the other?”
“Enough that neither people are welcome in the homes of the other. It seems a petty thing now, considering what Solek has done. But old grudges die hard.”
They continued on well past dark, taking advantage of the clear sky and the light of the moon. Near midnight they decided that a nearby grove of dense trees would make a likely camping spot. Lighting a small fire to ward off the night chill, they set the watch and tried to get some rest.
Lucien had the night’s third watch. He circled slowly through the trees, his eyes always moving, always alert, his warblade drawn and ready. The night was still and quiet, only the gentle buzzing of insects and the soft crackle of the fire marring an otherwise perfect silence.
Suddenly he froze, thinking he saw a dark shape in the trees just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He turned slowly but saw nothing, the flickering light and rustling leaves playing tricks on him. He counted his companions and found them all safe by the fire, then did the same with the horses.