The Q'Herindam

by B Cameron Lee

  Cristal looked concerned but Shiri had a huge smile on her face.

  “What are you smiling about Shiri,” Cristal asked. “This is serious, he could be a plant.”

  Shiri burst out laughing at the consternation evident on both their faces.

  “Mother! I knew she was up to something. The spell she sang to make Cringe stop cringing was far more complicated than I thought was necessary. She’s helping us without helping us. She hasn’t really ignored the Pact with the Q’Herindam; she was just healing a broken boy.”

  Cristal got up and poured herself a drink from the decanter in front of Merdon, raised her glass and toasted.

  “To Vehrin’del, the years have indeed given her wisdom and foresight.”

  Merdon sat with a puzzled expression on his face throughout this interchange and Cristal, knowing the depth of the man and trusting to his tight lips, gave him a brief explanation.

  “The boy has been in the Darkwood with Arwhon and Shiri where he was cured of his nasty habit of cringing all the time. Apparently he was ‘changed’ by the M’Herindar who healed him of the cringing, to let him learn quickly and be of more use to the Ring bearer. He’s not a plant but a vessel into which we can pour much knowledge. None of us know his limits, only the person who wove the spell. Work him Merdon. Work him hard. We still haven’t heard from Arwhon and I’m beginning to worry. We may yet have need of Arwhon’s Servant.”

  The Head of the Thieves’ Guild relaxed in his chair and took a sip of his drink. Magic. Not something he’d had a lot to do with but he knew Cristal could work a bit. Stories of her green fire and burning enemy soldiers had circulated Belvedere after the war and some still made the magic-averting hand sign when they passed her in the street. If she was happy with how quickly Cringle was soaking up his tuition everything was fine. Besides, she was paying him a fair fee for it, although he’d offered to train the lad for nothing.

  “How much longer?” Cristal suddenly asked Merdon.

  “You could have him back now but after what you’ve just told me I could give him a little finesse and boost his confidence.”

  “Do it Merdon. I want my Grandson to have the best Servant he can have and I trust you to deliver.”

  Merdon gave Cringle books to read on all sorts of subjects not commonly found in many libraries. Books on sleight of hand, magic tricks, disguises, make up, ventriloquism. The list was long. Cringle burned candles and read faster and faster, sometimes two books a night and he remembered everything. Not most of it but all of it. Meanwhile, in order to build Cringle’s confidence, Merdon introduced instructive praise, reflecting on Cringle’s potential for good works in aid of Arwhon. Another week or so and his work was finished. He could, in truth, do no more.

  The lad who stood before him was a lad no more but a strong young man who could hold his own or pass as a crippled beggar on the street if need be. Cringle had also learned to disguise his Cheshwon features if necessary but he was so good at acting a part, he didn’t really need to. Merdon felt a slight pang of regret at having to return Cringle to Cristal on the morrow. He’d come to like the lad and enjoy his company. Strange. He’d never thought he could grow attached to anyone again. That night Merdon stayed home with Cringle and talked with the young man, learning of his upbringing and life on the streets in Crossroads.

  When they arrived at Cristal’s mansion the following morning, they were announced by Mendle and as the pair strode into the drawing room both Cristal and Shiri’s eyes widened. Cringle had grown taller and filled out in such a short space of time. Merdon was not wrong, the hesitant but willing lad was no more. Before them stood a confident, relaxed young man with a big smile on his face.

  “Hello Cristal, Shiri. Cristal, thank you so much for placing me with Merdon. He’s a fine man and in his own way, very honourable. I’ve learned so much and I’m in debt to you both.”

  Cringle looked all around the room, his darting eyes searching all over the floor.

  “Where’s Krissi?”

  Cristal looked away, worried.

  “We don’t know. Soon after you were placed with Merdon, Krissi just vanished. We haven’t seen her since.”

  Cringle took it all in without a blink.

  “Krissi is wise in her own way. We’ve no need to worry on her account. Tell me Cristal, how may I serve you.”

  Cristal sat down. Her legs felt a little wobbly. Three weeks. How could this change to Cringle come about in three weeks? Vehrin’del was a clever old fox and Cristal would relish any chance to meet her. Maybe one day.

  “Cringle, you’re Arwhon’s Servant and we haven’t heard from him since he left. What do you think we should do?”

  A momentary look of alarm started to slide across Cringle’s face but he replaced it with a placid one as he thought. His eyes closed and he slowly rotated like a compass needle until he was facing toward west north west.

  “He’s still alive and over in that direction.” Cringle reported. “And he’s underground as the feeling of him is somewhat muffled.”

  Shiri’s clasped her hands to her lips with suppressed excitement.

  “How do you know?”

  “Remember Shiri, when Arwhon made me his Servant I told him I had marked him as mine. It’s my knack. If he’s still alive, anywhere, I can find him.”

  It was Shiri’s turn for wobbly legs, so she sat too.

  5. Trapped.

  There was no night and day underground, no sun to distinguish the passage of time but the rhythmic gravitational pull of the moons could not be denied, so the dwarves roughly followed the same hours of sleep and wakefulness as those in the world above.

  Arwhon stirred and woke from a deep refreshing night’s sleep just as Silverseam knocked on the door and entered the sleeping chamber, a broad smile creasing his hairy face.

  “Morning sleepyhead. Time for breakfast and then your trip to see the Mage. After I deliver you there I get to go home for a while.”

  Arwhon rose and dressed in his mail, strapping on his weapons while the dwarf waited. Finally he picked up his helm.

  “Lead on Silverseam.”

  They breakfasted well, slices of meat and bread washed down with cafke, before Silverseam bundled Arwhon out of the King’s residence and led off through Dwarfholme. Wanting to appear less threatening, Arwhon carried his helm under his arm. This time there was no guard accompanying them and Arwhon had time, from his lofty height, to observe dwarves going about their daily business. That is, before he was spotted, which generally resulted in the surprised dwarves shying back out of his way to clear a path.

  In this manner, Silverseam led Arwhon across the huge cavern of Dwarfholme, through markets and past many one-storied buildings occupied by shops and businesses before eventually choosing a narrow roadway on the far side which climbed steeply up the cavern’s wall. The road was little used and eventually led to a doorway set back into the stone. From this vantage point the whole of Dwarfholme could be viewed in the dim light.

  Silverseam knocked and they heard grumbling from inside, growing louder before the door was eventually opened by a dishevelled old dwarf of diminutive stature with long white hair and an equally long white beard. He looked them up and down, his beady eyes narrowing as he bent his head back to rake Arwhon head to toe with his piercing gaze.

  “What!”

  Arwhon was disconcerted by the Mage’s abrupt attitude but wisely held his tongue, noticing the slight tingling from the Ring while Silverseam addressed the Dwarf Mage.

  “This is the Man the King wants you to guide to Durhain’s Cave. He gave his permission for it.”

  “Did he now? Thinks he owns the place do he? I’m the one what says who goes there. Still, no denyin’ he’s King I s’pose. Come in, yer can wait while I eat my breakfast.”

  The Mage led them into a cave full of weird devices and stuffed animals, some of which were unknown to Arwhon. The irascible Mage pulled himself up onto a stool and bellowed toward an inner door.

  �
��Leadfoot. Where’s m’breakfast?”

  Noises could be heard from deeper within the cave and a few moments later an equally dishevelled younger dwarf appeared bearing food and drink on a platter.

  “Sorry Master, I couldn’t find the cheese.”

  The old Mage roared his disapproval.

  “Bumbling oaf. You don’t deserve to be my apprentice. Begone!”

  Turning back to Arwhon as though nothing untoward had occurred, the Dwarf Mage commented.

  “Arwhon eh. I’ve had my eye on you ever since the Fates-be-cursed Ring found yer.”

  Registering Arwhon’s startled expression he sniggered and spoke as he stuffed food into his mouth.

  “Little bit o’ Dwarf magic boy. I can make a ghostly avatar using my magic and straightaway send it anywhere to look through its eyes and hear through its ears. Yes twas me in the tavern at Cumbrisia’s End, and on the road, and at Crossroads when your Servant grabbed a bit of me. I bin following your doin’s throughout the lands. Right little peacemaker aren’t yer?”

  He turned to Silverseam and grunted.

  “Yer done yer bidding, now hop it.”

  Silverseam hid the distaste he was feeling, clasped arms with Arwhon and bade him farewell before leaving.

  Dismissed as if he was nobody, the King’s nephew no less.

  The Dwarf Mage turned to Arwhon, chewing his breakfast while he spoke.

  “So yer thinks yer just goin’ ta turn up here and learn how to do Firemagic do yer?”

  Arwhon was taken aback by the Mage’s attitude, not at all as he’d expected.

  “I came to ask for help in fighting the evil in the lands. The Dominion was only a part of it. The Ring is associated with Firemagic somehow but I cannot use it. To fight evil I need to learn that magic and how to wield it.”

  The Mage was still poking food into his mouth and didn’t bother to ask if Arwhon had eaten. Didn’t invite him to sit either.

  “I can’t show you Firemagic ‘cos I only know Dwarf magic, even though Dwarf magic has a little Fire in it. So’s yer wants to go to Durhain’s cave. Well, if ol’ Ironfist sez take yer. Take yer I will.”

  Finished eating, the Mage took a long draught of his beverage and thumped the mug back on the table before stiffly stepping down from his stool to pick up a curly wooden staff and tromp toward the door. Arwhon presumed he was meant to follow so fell in beside the dwarf Mage. As they headed back down the road to Dwarfholme, the Mage instructed Arwhon.

  “We’re goin’ deep under the mountain, Man. Down a long way. The tunnels are little used, as I closed a section off to keep the curious away. Hope yer sword’s sharp as there’s Drooguls down there.”

  “Drooguls?”

  “Hairy lookin’ things with two arms, two legs, huge eyes and fangs. They eat our goats when they can get ‘em and sometimes the odd slow dwarf. Fierce they is but a little Dwarf magic scares em off.”

  The Mage stopped talking for a while as he turned down a tunnel Arwhon had to stoop to enter. It was tiring, walking bent over but it had to be, this was Dwarfholme. Down and down they went, taking turn after turn until Arwhon lost count of the number of left and right turns they’d made on the way. Eventually, in the glow from the ever-present lichen on the walls, Arwhon saw they had entered a cavern and straightened up, easing his sore back.

  “Have a rest while I look ahead.” The Mage told him as he hurried off, singing tunelessly to himself. He was back shortly. “The way seems clear. We have about another hour’s walk before we reach a cavern with a stream runnin’ through it. Not much further to go after that.”

  They set off again, Arwhon following closely behind the Mage. Now and again he heard a blood curdling shriek echoing from the passageways ahead. He asked the Mage what it was and received a one word answer.

  “Drooguls.”

  Turn after turn, left, right, right, left. Again and again the passages split until Arwhon was truly glad he had a guide to show him the way and M’Herindar eyes to allow him to see in the light given off from the lichen. They rested in the cavern with the stream flowing through it until eventually the Mage prodded Arwhon with his staff and they resumed their journey. After a while the Mage stopped in an unremarkable passageway and pointed his staff at a blank wall.

  “There ‘tis. I puts a ward on it to keep folks out. Won’t be long.”

  He stood in front of the wall muttering and waving his staff. In a few moments the wall seemed to waver then dissolve and a dark opening appeared. Beyond was a cave.

  “That’s what yer ‘bin lookin’ fer. Durhain’s Cave. Don’t look much but go in and have a poke aroun’.”

  Arwhon entered the cavern and immediately he passed through the opening he heard maniacal laughter behind him. He swung around but the entrance had gone, sealed from the other side by the Dwarf Mage, leaving only stone to his touch.

  “Interferin’ Man with wrong eyes. I brought you here like I was told and I knew the Ring would feed yer the truth, so I never told yer a lie but the King said nothing about bringin’ yer back. The Q’Herindam was right. Man is a curse to be wiped from the lands. Rot yer bastard and when you have, I’ll take the Ring from yer corpse.”

  The maniacal laughter grew quieter as the Dwarf Mage travelled back up the tunnel leaving Arwhon sealed in the cave. Eventually there was only silence.

  Arwhon felt cold shock, it was pitch black inside Durhain’s Cave. No lichen grew on the walls to give off light as in the rest of the Dwarf tunnels. Even with his M’Herindar eyes he was unable to see anything. Arwhon felt in front of him again but all he found beneath his touch was rock, seemingly solid, although he had entered the cave through the space it now blocked. Whatever magic the Dwarf Mage had used had been totally effective. He was hesitant to move anywhere within the cave as there could be gaping holes in the floor or other traps unseen. Arwhon took a deep breath, stilling his rising panic and lowered himself to sit where he was for now. He would have to work on this problem. No food, no water and trapped in a place he knew no escape from and if he did escape, there was no way he could find his way back to Dwarfholme.

  What a predicament. Still, it might be worse. The Dwarf Mage could have killed him outright. Think. While Arwhon was thinking, he must have dozed. It was hard in pitch black to tell whether he was asleep or awake or dreaming. He felt thirsty and knew he needed some form of light, however dim. He drew Power and felt the peculiar feeling which went with it. Almost as if he’d had enough to eat and was now full but he drew still more Power until he felt uncomfortable.

  It was then he realised he could actually see and looking down found the Ring on his finger was glowing red from the Power he’d just taken in. Placing his helm on the ground to mark where the entry had been, Arwhon drew his sword. The blade glowed a rich, ruby red, giving off enough light to explore the cave.

  The space was almost square, in fact it was virtually a cube and due to its dimensions, the roof was quite high. To Arwhon’s relief he found a spot on the back wall where water slowly seeped through the rock and made a damp patch as it was absorbed by the dirt floor. He stuck his sword upright into the ground and by its dim light went to where he’d left his helm. Drawing his dagger, which also glowed, Arwhon scratched the wall there to mark the entrance he’d come through before retrieving his helm and placing it against the wall beneath the ooze to catch some water while he studied the cave more closely.

  The place was empty. Except for a small pile of ash in the middle of it, just enough to notice. Arwhon wondered if it was the remains of Durhain and Mehgrin, undisturbed for aeons. Who knew? Examining each of the walls of the cave by the light from his sword, Arwhon found them all to be smooth and bare, almost polished and came to the conclusion he could learn nothing here. Besides a resting place for the Ring and the Dagger, there must have been no other purpose to this cave. He went to his helm and found it had collected a couple of mouthfuls of water. At least he wasn’t going to die of thirst. He took stock of his situation and sheathed his
sword, the light from his Ring being sufficient for his needs at the moment. All he knew of Firemagic was a spell to heal. That was his total grasp of it. He had Power but couldn’t use it.

  Deciding to save his energy, Arwhon sat and leaned back against a wall to rest. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn’t cold down here, in fact it was pleasantly warm. He worried about the air but decided there was nothing he could do about it so closed his eyes for a while.

  Arwhon was uncertain if he was awake or asleep when the fire sprites appeared and danced for him. They took hold of his finger ends and pulled him in the direction of the door. They had no strength but their meaning was perfectly clear so Arwhon followed where they led, crawling along on hands and knees. Right beside where he’d marked the door, the little fire sprites pantomimed leaning against the wall with their hands, almost as if they were pushing it. Arwhon caught on. Perhaps there was a secret way out of the cave.

  He stood and placing his hands on the wall, pushed with all his might, mimicking their actions but nothing happened. Arwhon tried again, still with no result and stood back exasperated. He was sure the fire sprites meant him to push open a secret door but nothing was happening. It was no use becoming disheartened; the fire sprites had been helpful before so it was worth at least another try before looking elsewhere for a way out. This time, as he pushed, the Ring contacted the wall and suddenly letters were scrolling in cold fire, spreading outward from the place he had inadvertently touched with the Ring. Soon, every little portion of wall space in the cavern, reaching to an armspan above his head, was covered in fiery writing. It was the same writing as that on the metal plate he wore over his heart and completely indecipherable until, as Arwhon stared at it, the writing became readable to him. It appeared the fire sprites had led him to the beginning of the text, just inside the place where the doorway had been. That set Arwhon off to wondering just what the fire sprites were and how and why they appeared when they did. Was it possible to communicate with them?