Sparky stared at the hourglass with wonder. “If I fell from the height of your pocket, I might die. That is a big drop for someone my size.”
“What if you hung on my boot?” asked the elf. “You would either move with me or fall to the floor, but that would not be such a great distance to fall.”
“I could get stepped on,” frowned the fairy.
“No one but me will be moving,” promised Morro. “Will you try it?”
Sparky looked down at the elf’s boots and then the floor. “Will I get to see time stop?”
“We won’t know until we try it.”
After a moment of hesitation, the fairy nodded his tiny head. “I will try it,” he declared bravely. “Wait for me to get into position.”
The fairy shot out of the elf’s pocket and landed on Morro’s boot. He gripped the boot with both hands and told Morro to try it. Morro triggered the device. The sounds of the dwarves working immediately stopped. He looked down at his boot and saw the fairy clinging to it, but the fairy appeared to be frozen. He carefully took a step. Sparky moved along with the boot. Walking carefully so as to not dislodge his passenger, Morro moved out of the main corridor of the mine and into a smaller tunnel. He bent over, picked up the fairy and carefully slid him into his pocket.
When the sands ran out, Sparky was in darkness. The little man panicked and started shouting. Morro quickly opened the pocket and the fairy’s head popped out.
“What happened?” Sparky asked anxiously.
“You moved along with me,” answered the elf. “After determining that you would be safe moving with me, I put you in my pocket so you wouldn’t fall off when I ran.”
The fairy gazed around and noticed that they were in a different section of Tarashin. It was a fairly far distance from where he had grabbed the elf’s boot.
“It happened all in the blink of an eye,” the fairy said in amazement. “One moment I was gripping your boot, and the next I was in your pocket. I didn’t get to see time stopped.”
“I am sorry,” said the elf, “but at least we now know that you will stay with me. That is far better than leaving you behind.”
“I suppose,” the fairy said with obvious disappointment.
* * * *
The seven strangers entered Valdo through the southern gates. The leader of the group led his party on a wide looping tour of the city. They rode along the fabulously wealthy coast road and past the Royal Palace of Queen Samir. They passed through the fashionable market district, and the neat blocks of homes of the lesser bureaucrats. As they neared the western gates, the leader halted the group at a public stable. The group dismounted and gave their mounts to the stable hands. The leader spoke softly to the Stablemaster and then addressed the group.
“Bring all of your packs with you,” advised Fakir Aziz. “We will be staying in the city for a while.”
The mages nodded silently and gathered their packs. When they were ready, Fakir Aziz led them on foot through the streets of the city. Once they crossed the main east-west road, the nature of the city began to change. The well-kept homes of the bureaucrats gave way to dilapidated structures in need of repair. The farther they walked, the worse the structures became. The class of citizenry also changed. At first, the clothing of the people went from clean, tidy clothes, to worn and patched garments, but as they proceeded deeper into the slums, the people wore little more than filthy rags.
Refuse littered the streets, and beggars were rampant. The heart of the slums consisted of the sick, the lame, and the dying. Bodies littered the streets and alleyways; some were already dead; others would soon join them. As the Mage led the group through the disease-ridden area, he kept watch on the reactions of his group.
Kalmar’s face was stricken with horror. His eyes were filled with sorrow, and he often turned away from the lame and crippled, as if he could not bear to look at them for fear his heart would break in two. Zynor pretty much ignored the people of the slums, but his eyes followed every mangy dog that crossed their path. He often shook his head in silence. Theos checked every cross street so he would be the first to recognize the exit when they got close to it. Valera looked at everything dispassionately as if she were reading a book, and what she was looking at was what was supposed to be in the story. Eulena carried the look of a healer who examined each of the sick and lame and was trying to decide who needed healing the most. Crystil showed no emotion at all. Her old, cold eyes mechanically observed everything, recording it for future use.
When they reached the very center of the slum, Fakir Aziz called a halt. Everyone looked around to find the inn they would be staying at, but there were no structures nearby that even resembled an inn. The group stood in the center of a narrow street. A narrower alley ran between the buildings to both their left and their right, and an intersection of another narrow street stood a score of paces away.
“Where is the inn?” asked Theos.
“We have no need of an inn,” answered the Mage. “This street is seldom traveled. We will camp here.”
All of the mages looked at Fakir as if he were crazy, but only Theos grumbled under his breath.
“There are some rules to our encampment,” Fakir said. “There will be no use of battle magic for any reason. The Federation does not take the use of such magic lightly. As for other magics, it would be wise to use only spells that do not broadcast our existence here. While it is not illegal to use magic within the Federation, it will draw attention to us, and I would prefer not to be noticed.”
“Do we just sleep in the street?” asked Kalmar.
“There is a broad walk on each side of the street,” shrugged the Mage, “but as I said, the street is seldom used. Whichever you prefer, I would avoid blocking it off completely. These people still need to use this street to go wherever it is they go.”
The street was filthy and the mages glanced around for a place to put down their packs. Theos scowled and called forth a spell of wind. The tiny whirlwind picked up the debris from a small section of the sidewalk and blew it down the alley. He deposited his packs in the clean area and sat down with his back to a dilapidated building. Crystil walked around and gathered up stray bits of straw. Her old bony fingers moved rapidly over the collection of straw, and she soon had a primitive broom. She started sweeping the sidewalk.
“You did that quickly,” smiled Eulena. “If you can make another, I will start sweeping with this one.”
Crystil smiled at the elf and handed her the broom. She moved off to gather more straw. Zynor befriended a passing dog. He sat down on the dirty street and rummaged through his pack for food. The dog snatched the first piece of dried meat from Zynor’s hand as if he were stealing it, but the Zaroccan mage soon had the dog sitting beside him. Valera stood watching Kalmar. The healer from Korocca held a handful of coins, and he gave one to each cripple who happened past. The reactions of the recipients varied greatly. Some were suspicious of the Occan mage, while others were so grateful they could not stop bowing to him. A blind man walked by with a tin cup, and Kalmar dropped the last of his coins in it. The blind man halted at the sound of the coin hitting the bottom of his empty cup.
“Bless you, stranger. May your life never know misery.”
“I wish I could do more,” Kalmar said softly. “That is the last of my coins.”
The blind man turned towards the sound of Kalmar’s voice, and he extended the cup towards the mage.
“I have been so long without,” he said, “that I can survive another day or two without it. Take it back so you will not be without a coin. No man should be without a coin.”
“No, friend,” smiled Kalmar. “I have had far too many coins in my life already. Take it and find food to eat.”
The blind man’s lips spread in a toothless grin, and he bowed in Kalmar’s direction. “May the gods shower their blessings upon you.”
The old man hobbled off, his unsteady feet carefully testing the pavement before him. Valera walked across the street and si
lently stood next to Kalmar. When he looked at her, he saw her holding a small pouch out to him.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Some coins,” smiled the Vinaforan mage. “I have no use for them, and you seem to enjoy handing them out. Take them.”
“You could hand them out yourself,” objected Kalmar.
“I have no sense of people.” Valera shook her head. “I would probably give them all to someone who has no need other than greed. You see people in a way that I cannot understand. What little good these coins can do, you are the one to decide who should have them.”
Kalmar sighed and took the pouch. “The truth is, these coins will not do much for these people. They are more than hungry and sick. They have lost their spirit and their will to live. They are like living corpses waiting for the proper moment to lie down and die. It is sickening.”
“You are a healer,” stated Valera. “Why don’t you heal them?”
“I have been thinking about that,” answered Kalmar as he turned around and looked for the Mage. “I wanted to ask Fakir how long we will be camped here, but he has disappeared again.”
“Does it matter?” asked Valera.
“It does.” Kalmar nodded. “If we will be here for even a few days, these coins would be put to better use buying supplies for a healing shop. I could make up some potions and ointments that might lessen the incidence of disease here.”
“Well,” mused Valera, “it is rather late in the day. Hold onto the coins until you speak to Fakir Aziz. I have given you all that I have and I doubt that many of the others have any coins. Eulena and Crystil come from places where coins have no value.”
“And Zynor has lived in the woods for so long that I think he has forgotten what a coin is,” chuckled Kalmar. “In fact, when he first came to my shop in Herinak, he had no gold at all. I kicked him out of my shop.”
“That is hard for me to believe,” smiled Valera. “You do not seem capable of turning anyone away.”
“I was a different person then,” Kalmar said with regret in his voice. “Gold meant everything to me. Its luster was so bright in my mind that it blinded me to the real values in life. I have Fakir Aziz to thank for saving me from the false path I was heading down.”
“Too bad he has not been able to do as much for Theos,” Valera said softly as she glanced at the Tyronian mage. “There is something inside of him that is eating his soul.”
“I would have thought that his brush with death at Smirka would have changed him, but he is as bitter as ever. There is a great anger inside him.”
Eulena approached Kalmar and smiled at him when he noticed her.
“I would like to start a healing clinic in the morning,” she said. “Would you care to help me?”
“We were just talking about that,” Kalmar replied. “If we are staying a few days, I would like to start making some potions and ointments. Do you know what Fakir has in mind for us?”
“There is no fathoming the mind of the Mage,” answered the elven healer. “I suspect that we will be here for some time, although that is just a feeling. Fakir Aziz has said nothing to me. Potions and ointments would be a great addition to my healing. They give off no magical vibrations, and they can help scores of people at the same time. Plan on getting an early start in the morning.”
“Then I should get some sleep,” Kalmar replied as he looked up at the darkening sky. “It will be a long walk back to an area of the city where I can buy supplies.”
One by one, the mages settled in for a night of rest. The local people looked at them curiously, but no one bothered them. Sometime during the night, the blind man passed by once again, his unsteady gait causing him to zigzag along the sidewalk. In an unfortunate move, the blind man tripped over the sleeping form of Theos. Theos awoke with a start and leaped to his feet, sending the blind man sprawling into the street. The loud cursing coming from Theos woke everyone up. Eulena raced to the groaning figure sprawled in the street. The blind man’s face was badly scraped, and his foot was twisted at an odd angle. The elven healer decided to tend to his foot first. Kalmar arrived at her side, and he twisted the foot into the proper position. The patient screamed in pain, but not for long. Eulena immediately cast a healing spell on the man’s ankle.
“That should do it,” Eulena eventually said with an air of confidence. “Carry him to the intersection, Kalmar. I need more light to tend to his face.”
Kalmar gently lifted the man and carried him towards the intersection where the moonlight was not blocked by the buildings. He gently sat the man down on the street and Eulena knelt next to him.
“I am really sorry,” apologized the blind man. “I didn’t mean to start no trouble.”
“It is not your fault,” soothed Kalmar as Eulena began healing the scrapes on the man’s face. “I guess we are sort of camped in areas where you are not expecting people to be.”
“Still,” the man continued apologetically, “I usually am good about testing the way before me. I am sorry for waking you all up.”
“Be still,” Eulena said softly. “Try not to move your face.”
By the time Eulena was finished, everyone was back asleep except Kalmar. She stretched as she stood and then looked down at the blind man.
“Your face and ankle are healed,” Eulena said softly. “You might want to just rest a bit before moving. Sometimes the healing takes away the feeling for a while. As soon as your foot feels normal, you can walk on it again.”
“Thank you so much,” the blind man said. “You are all very kind to me.”
Kalmar and Eulena returned to their sleeping spots and went back to sleep. A short time later, everyone was awoken again by a cry of pain. Eulena sat up and stared towards the intersection. The blind man was cowering beside the wall of a building with his hands covering his head. Eulena blinked in confusion, wondering if her healing had gone astray. That was when she heard the noise of a stone hitting the pavement. She whirled towards Theos and saw the Tyronian mage preparing to throw another stone at the blind man.
“What are you doing?” the elven healer shouted at Theos.
“I am keeping him away,” snapped Theos. “I will not be woken up again by that blind fool.”
“Maybe you should move your sleeping spot,” suggested Kalmar. “That man has probably been walking this street for years.”
“That is not the point,” snarled Theos. “The fool woke me up once, and he is trying to do it again. He didn’t even apologize for the last time.”
“He did so,” scowled Eulena. “He was very sorry for the accident. He told me so himself.”
“He didn’t apologize to me,” snapped Theos, “and until he does, I will not allow him near me.”
Fakir Aziz appeared out of the narrow alley. He placed himself between Theos and the blind man and glared down at the Tyronian mage.
“One can never demand an apology,” stated the Mage. “An apology is something given by one’s own free will to another. Now that you have demanded an apology, you can never truly have one.”
”What are you babbling about?” scowled Theos. “I can and do demand an apology. He is surely capable of giving one.”
“To give you an apology now would not be apologizing,” clarified the Mage. “It would be acceding to the demands of a tyrant. Your selfish demands have stripped that man of his dignity. I will not allow that to continue.”
“You will not allow?” raged Theos. “I am not your slave, Fakir Aziz. I shall behave as I want. There is nothing you can do about it.”
Fakir Aziz glared down at the Tyronian mage. Theos glared back defiantly. The Tyronian mage’s hand suddenly started to turn against his will. The fingers of the hand uncurled, and the stones that had been held in his fist slowly tumbled to the pavement. Theos looked up at the Mage in terror as he tried to control his own hand. Finally, the Mage released his spell.
“Do not try me, Theos of Tyronia. If you wish to leave this group, you may, but you will leave with what you
started with. It is a long walk back to Ur.”
Chapter 18
Breakthrough
Morro woke to the sounds of running boots slapping hard in the corridor outside the sleeping chamber he shared with Karicon. He sat up and stared towards the doorway. Karicon was lit by the torchlight in the corridor as the dwarf stared at the other dwarves running by.
“What is going on?” Morro asked groggily.
“They have ceased tunneling in the north,” Karicon replied. “King Drakarik is sending people to defend the tunnels should something go wrong.”
“I don’t understand,” Morro said as he got to his feet. “Why send soldiers if they have stopped digging?”
“Because they are going to puncture the wall of the valley,” answered Karicon.
“I thought they were supposed to stop short of cutting through?”
“They are not cutting an opening for the door,” explained the dwarf. “They will just drill a small hole to peer through. This procedure normally requires no defensive stance, but there is a fear this time because there is a possibility of the valley being magically warded. The king will take no chances. We will prepare for an invasion before they drill.”
“Can we watch?” asked the elf.
Karicon turned and frowned at Morro. “Not now. The tunnels will be very crowded, and things will be rather tense. It is best if we remain here for now.”
Morro walked to the door and stood watching the dwarves racing by. Each of the dwarves was dressed for battle. They carried battle axes instead of picks and shovels, and their bodies were covered in mail and armor. Morro’s eyes widened as the steady stream of dwarven warriors continued unabated.
“How many men is the king sending?” asked the elf.
“Over a thousand will form the first line of defense,” answered Karicon. “Most of those will probably be unneeded even if we are attacked, but magic could sway the battle against us. We do not know the kinds of magic the humans might use. It is better to be safe with too many warriors.”
“It doesn’t seem wise to fill the corridor with warriors,” frowned the elf. “They will get in the way of each other.”
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