Bends were the most difficult to negotiate and twice Cringle bumped into walls when the cave changed direction. Eventually he realised that he could see just a little more than pitch black would allow and soon he could make out Vixen as she plodded along behind him. The light was coming from the walls where softly luminescent lichen grew.
It was the middle of the night for Cringle, although there was no way he could tell and they’d been walking for a couple of hours. He paused for a drink, doffing his hat to give Vixen a few mouthfuls followed by an encouraging pat on the neck. When he looked forward the Guilar were just returning toward him. One of them, Dorna he thought, gently took his sleeve and tugged, making a repetitive sound. Obviously she wanted him to keep going.
After another half hour or so he heard a distant roaring noise which gradually grew louder and louder. After turning a final bend, the source of the noise became obvious as they entered a cavern at the base of a waterfall. Beside the large catchment pool there was a raised ledge with a well defined, small permanent camp on it. The Guilar mimed sleeping and Cringle realised it was night for them too. He poured some of the barley into his hat and fed Vixen before turning her loose to have another drink and find a place where she was comfortable to stand and sleep. It amazed him that horses could sleep standing up, sometimes Cringle wished he could too. Spreading his blanket on the sandy ground near the cave wall he fell asleep with the noise of the waterfall in his ears.
Cringle must have been more tired than he thought because he had to be shaken lightly by small hands before he woke. The Guilar mimed eating and made a noise which Cringle tried copying. It brought smiles to their faces as they offered him what must be sustenance, although he didn’t have any idea what he was eating. It was mostly like a biscuit, hard and chewy and somewhat tasteless but it filled a gap. Cringle hoped their digestive systems were similar and the food wouldn’t poison him. He had to trust the Guilar. Arwhon did.
After the meal came the first difficult part of his travels under the mountain. The exit from the cave was quite narrow and followed the rushing water of the stream. Vixen would have none of it, baulking and rearing backward so Cringle was forced to blindfold her and murmur gently as he led her, step by hesitant, trusting step, alongside the noisy, rushing water for about fifty yards before their path turned away and became quieter. He then removed the blindfold, mentally thanking Shiri for her foresight. Soon the sound of the water was far behind them.
The spell Vehrin’del had blessed Cringle with in the Darkwood had not only removed his habit of cringing but had also made him a quick learner. Throughout the next part of their walk, Cringle asked both Dorna and Fuark many questions by miming and pointing. In a short time he had quite a few Guilar words at his disposal.
Later, after a few more bends in the tunnel, they arrived at a large dry cavern where many Guilar poured from holes in the walls. There were all shapes and sizes, both young and old and they crowded around Cringle and Vixen, talking in low tones and pointing. Vixen, who normally kicked anyone who happened to be near, surprisingly allowed herself to be gently touched by these strange people. Cringle discovered the reason for the two Guilar being out on the mountain at night when Dorna handed him the small sack of barley she had been carrying before both Guilar tipped their bags out onto a flat rock which looked like a tabletop. Green leaves spread out in abundance. Cringle saw dandelion among them. So, the trip outside was for fresh greens.
It must be around lunch time Cringle thought to himself and as if in answer, a small fire was kindled from lichen stalks and dried waste and a thin flat rock quickly heated. Onto this was poured a gooey mixture which quickly turned into flatbread. The flatbread was wrapped around what looked like cottage cheese and handed to Cringle. He thanked the Guilar who served him in her own language, which drew a smile and as he looked at the cheese, wondering as to its source, he heard the faint bleating of a goat in the distance.
Cringle found he was hungry.
After he had eaten, Cringle once more gave Vixen a goodly handful of barley to chew on. He had no idea how long they were going to be down here under the mountain so it was wise to be careful with her feed. Soon Dorna came to him and led Cringle to meet another Guilar who appeared to be quite aged, his fur balding in patches. This Guilar was introduced as Purna and through limited common language and mime, indicated he was to be the guide for the next part of the journey. After they’d finished eating, Cringle said farewell to Dorna and Fuark and set out after Purna, who despite his aged appearance travelled at a rapid pace.
It was a long, eye opening day for Cringle, up and down through the bowels of the mountain. The tunnels appeared to be water worn and varied in size throughout their travels. In places there were large echoing caverns, some with darker ores banding their sides while in others the walls closed in to very narrow ways, barely admitting Vixen whose sides became dusty from rubbing against them. The air was cool and very dry which made places where streams crossed their path extremely welcome when they came upon them. Once, Purna indicated they rest and produced flatbread and solid cheese for both of them, followed by a few strips of dried meat. It was very chewy but welcome, as Cringle found he was hungry again. Reminded, he fed Vixen another handful or two of the precious barley. Purna indicated the glowing lichen on the walls and pointed to Vixen before making hand to mouth gestures signifying she could eat it. Cringle thought about it and decided the Guilar had not had much to do with horses so the option of lichen as a foodstuff for Vixen would be a last resort for when the barley ran out. The short break over, it was back to more walking.
Hour after hour, up down and around, the pace never varied and Cringle found himself almost dozing as he walked. Finally, they came to another inhabited cavern and Cringle sat down gratefully when the walking stopped. His legs were very tired. Guilar came from everywhere to study him and Vixen. Cringle was starting to realise Arwhon’s joy at finding an unspoilt people. That evening, well Cringle supposed it was evening, after he was fed, there was music and singing with various members of the group taking turns with the songs. As his understanding of their language grew, Cringle realised those songs led back a long way into times passed. He fell asleep thinking about them.
When he woke sometime later, warm and snug, Cringle found he had been covered by a soft blanket, probably woven from the undercoat of the goats he had heard bleating before. He had no idea how long he’d slept but Guilar were moving around him so quietly that even with Merdon’s training he hadn’t heard them. Seeing he was awake, they started chattering and soon another meal was prepared. Within the hour, he was on the move again following yet another guide, Crend. It seemed he was being passed from group to group as he and Vixen travelled beneath Mehgrin’s Wall. He wondered just how many Guilar there were. If they inhabited the whole length of Mehgrin’s Wall, their population could be quite sizeable.
Cringle lost track of time in the sameness of the passages under the mountain. By now he’d learned enough of the Guilar language to be able to understand quite a bit of what he heard and to ask simple questions. He was worried because Vixen’s food had run out but he saw her snatching a bite of the ever present lichen as they travelled and was relieved. It seemed to have done her no harm yet. Crend had set a quick pace that day and although they seemed to have travelled a long way, there was just no way for Cringle to tell, apart from the weariness in his legs. At last the walls fell away from them as they entered yet another huge cave. There was a large group of Guilar in this one and they crowded around him, their actions far different from the Guilar in previous caverns who were far more cautious. As usual, Vixen was a point of interest and Cringle wondered what it was like for the Guilar, who were seeing a horse for the first time.
Two larger Guilar strode through the press of bodies and one thrust out his hand in the style of Man. Cringle smiled and took the hand offered to him. The Guilar, in the common tongue, gave his name as Dobar and Cringle remembered Arwhon referring to a Guilar of the same n
ame. This must be he. Cringle was invited to sit and a repast was laid out for him as he tried to talk with his hosts in the Guilar tongue. It was explained to him that after the sleep time he was to be introduced to the dwarves but before the sleep time there would be gifts, as Cringle was only the second Man to have been in Guilar territory.
When the stone bowls were cleared, Guilar came to him with gifts. A lightweight, soft, warm blanket of his own, much like the one which was placed over him previously as well as a delicately carved jewel and a little bone flute. Cringle was embarrassed, as he had nothing to give in return but after rummaging around in his pack he pulled out the now empty feed bag and offered it sheepishly. Dobar seemed very grateful as he accepted the gift. Soon there was flute music and Cringle was encouraged to blow into his own. Although he had never played a musical instrument before, he found he had a knack for the flute. Soon Guilar were dancing and having a great time to the music that spilled from Cringle. It must have been late when they eventually went to sleep.
There was only one problem in getting to meet the dwarves. Vixen wouldn’t fit through the opening Dobar showed him so they had to make a detour and ended up at the top of a steep scree slope which disappeared down into the darkness below. Vixen stood at the top, trembling, as Dobar reassured Cringle the bottom was just out of sight and level for some way. At that Cringle took off his belt, stepped back and cracked Vixen across the backside with it. The poor pony was so surprised it jumped forward and ended up sliding down the scree with its rump lowered and its forelimbs extended. Cringle and Dobar followed, sliding in giant steps until they reached the bottom where Cringle had to apologise to Vixen and stroke her gently until she stopped trembling and glaring at him.
It took another ten minutes walking until they came to branching tunnels and Dobar pointed up one, indicating Cringle should go that way. He then offered his hand in a farewell gesture. Cringle understood and shook the proffered hand warmly before turning away with Vixen and walking slowly up the tunnel indicated to him, unsure of what was to come.
“Halt! Who goes there?” Was the cry a few moments later as Cringle came upon some diminutive, bearded men in red leather tunics.
“Cringle. Servant to Arwhon, friend of Ironfist,” replied Cringle as Arwhon had taught him.
The guards grinned as they examined him and Vixen in the dim light.
“So where did you come from?” one asked him.
“Myseline,” replied Cringle.
The dwarves’ bushy eyebrows shot up in astonishment.
“So why not use Durhain’s Pass? Asked one of them.
“Because it’s closed,” returned Cringle. “Myseline is cut off from the rest of the lands and a force is attacking from the north. I need to speak with King Ironfist as soon as possible and I would appreciate a bit of feed for my horse.”
The guards looked at one another, as they assessed the stranger and his news. There was no precedent for this situation. Eventually, after a short discussion, one stepped away from the group.
“Follow me,” was all the guard grunted as he set off up the passageway. Cringle nodded to the others as he passed them, following after the dwarf ahead.
It was a short trip through the passageway which opened out to give Cringle his first view of the massive cavern Arwhon had described to him. Dwarfholme. It was everything Arwhon had said and more but at the present moment work crews were moving debris from various areas on the floor of the cavern and the air was dusty. The streets were noisy, thronged with little people, although some not so little. They passed markets where dwarves stopped to stare then smiled shyly at him. His Cheshwon face must be the first they’d seen but the memory of Arwhon had left these folk positive, as it had the Guilar. Soon Vixen was taken from him with the promise of her return and Cringle was admitted to the King’s presence.
Bowing low, Cringle greeted Ironfist as Arwhon had coached him. Ironfist laughed openly.
“Speak with your own voice lad. Arwhon can speak with his own when he comes back here. Don’t fret, I’m not going to clap you in irons or have you executed. Now tell me why you’re here.”
Cringle did. Explaining about Durhain’s Pass being blocked and enemies in Myseline and the need to warn the Crossroad Militia Garrison in case the Grand Valley was also in line to be attacked. Ironfist sat back.
“So that was what happened. The jolt from the Pass closing caused large pieces of rock to fall from the ceiling of Dwarfholme. We lost seventeen dwarves when those lumps of stone came down. Crushed to death. Do you think Arwhon will be able to handle the invaders?”
Cringle answered in the affirmative and went on to tell of the obelisk at Dome Rock. How Arwhon had inserted his Dagger into it and red magic runes had poured down the black rock spire and into Arwhon, filling him with Firemagic before the column disintegrated. Cringle then told of the episode at Encarill when King Jerome showed his true colours and Arwhon’s Ring killed a Q’Herindam Mage. Part way through the accounting wine and a supper appeared and went. Eventually, after describing his trip through the mountain, Cringle’s voice wound down and he started yawning.
“Right lad. As much as I enjoy your storytelling, you’d better get to bed because you’ll be on the surface tomorrow on your way to Crossroads. Can’t have you falling off your horse from lack of sleep now. Arwhon would never forgive me.”
Cringle snuggled under his new soft blanket on a comfortable lichen-filled mattress and dreamed of sunlight, dropping off to sleep in an instant.
How anyone knew it was morning was beyond Cringle. Everything looked the same as it had before he went to sleep except the food he was offered was different from the previous lot which must have been the evening food. The light levels were a constant dim which gave no clue to the time but the pull of the moons must be strong enough to be felt by some.
Anyway, ‘morning’ was here and he had to get himself ready for the next stage of his journey. The dwarf who brought his breakfast offered him some packages of food which Cringle put away in the saddle bags he carried. Vixen had been cared for the previous night and was offered some dried goat’s feed to eat. She was hungry enough to try it and found it to be entirely to her satisfaction, eating most everything she was offered.
After breaking his fast, Cringle found himself once more in front of Ironfist.
“Well lad, its time for you to go. If you weren’t Arwhon’s servant, you’d be dead by now. We have a law about Man coming to Dwarfholme, it’s not permitted. However, you are being trusted never to show anyone the entrance to our lands.”
Cringle bowed to the King.
“You can trust me Sire, no one shall ever hear it from me.”
The King’s stern look softened into a natural smile.
“Right, now the formal stuff is out of the way, I have something for you.” He gestured to one of the servants who brought forth a wrapped object and placed it into the King’s hands. “This is a gift for you, to remind you of your visit here and to help you in the days to come.”
Ironfist handed Cringle the object and watched while he unwrapped it. Inside the cloth wrapping was a finely worked knife sheath, tooled silver at mouth and chape, with the dark wooden handle of a silver pommeled knife just asking to be drawn. Cringle did and the watered steel blade shone as he drew it. Both sides of the ten inch blade were sharpened and the balance was perfect in his hands. He turned it over and over in awe, never in his life had he hoped to own such a fine weapon.
“Do you like it?” The King asked.
Cringle’s shining eyes shot up to meet the King’s.
“Like it? It’s wonderful. The balance is perfect and it’s just so… right. Thank you Sire. From the bottom of my heart.” He undid his belt and, moving the dagger he’d chosen at Merdon’s house from the left side over to the right, Cringle fastened his gift on the left where he could cross draw it. The knife slid easily out of the sheath but when he replaced it there was a slight click as the knife bonded to the sheath. Magic?
> Ironfist waited until Cringle was finished before speaking again.
“The blade is known as ‘Wolnir’. It’s been in my family for generations. There is magic in it and it will never cut its owner. Look after it well and it will look after you.”
Cringle went down on one knee before the King but Ironfist laughed.
“Get up, we don’t go in for all that topside bowing and scraping. We know what things are worth and wouldn’t give a gift unless we meant it. You my lad have earned that knife, not only for being Arwhon’s faithful messenger but for being the first to travel under Mehgrin’s Wall from Myseline to Dwarfholme.”
The King and Cringle clasped arms and Cringle left in the company of another servant to meet the soldiers who would escort him to the surface. By mid morning, Cringle and Vixen were shown the final cave leading to the outside and following the increasing brightness up around a bend, soon found themselves back in warm sunlight. After their sojourn underground it took a while for their eyes to stop watering and adjust to the brightness of the day. Cringle found it pleasant to stand basking in the warmth of those golden rays but duty called and soon horse and rider were speeding downhill threading through the trees, riding toward the Great South Road.
Crossroads beckoned.
It took a week of hard riding, bareback, for Cringle to arrive at Crossroads. His old home town was no different to how it had always been, except it seemed smaller somehow. Being out in the world and seeing cities like Belvedere and Encarill made Cringle acutely aware of the rural and frontier nature of the city he had grown up in. He made a decision to ride directly to the Militia Headquarters. For most of his life it had been a place he’d avoided but now he carried major news and had a message to deliver.
The courtyard in front of the Headquarter building soon came into view, its pointed iron railings securely enclosing the space and with a sinking feeling, Cringle saw the gate was shut and guarded. Still, he was Servant to Arwhon nasi Tsalk, the Man who had freed the lands from Dominion.
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