“I’m in disbelief...I don’t…I don’t know what to make of all this; if anything, I guess, I know now I can take all of your words as truth,” gasped Erguile.
“Indeed I shall only speak truth to the followers of good, Erguile, but I am not a source of infinite knowledge—though you’ve yet to find that out,” Krem chuckled.
“Krem, often I’ve heard slave-rumor of a place called the Dark City, an evil city, said to exist far to the west. Have you heard of such a frightful place?” asked Adacon.
“The Dark City—hmm; let me dig into my memory some.” Krem smoked from his pipe and sat for a moment in silence. Erguile now sat at full attention, eagerly waiting for the next word to roll off Krem’s tongue. It was clear he now believed everything the man told them. “The Dark City! Ah, I should have recalled the name sooner. Odd slang the slaves now have for it. Its rightful name is Morimyr. Grelion does not reside in that demonic city, though it is controlled by his underlings, and they govern absolute within its walls. His underlings are evil by all accounts, and I have had the ill chance of encountering a few of them in my time.”
“You’ve seen this city?” Erguile said, breaking his silence. His tone had grown respectful.
“Indeed—I have been in it. But that was long ago, and I dare think much has changed since my last departure. How is it you came to know of Morimyr, Adacon?” asked Krem.
“It is the name we give to the home of our monitors, the huge, evil men who come each month to suppress any ideas of resistance,” Adacon said, quivering at the thought of them.
“Ah, I see. Grelion himself has been known to come through Morimyr from time to time, out in the west. It would be complete folly, however, to try and go there and wait for him,” said Krem.
“All of this feels like a load too great, I must say. I feel almost faint. So magic is by all accounts real? To think, all these years it was true. And Krem; you yourself are a wizard? For I have just seen you raise that pipe there into thin air,” spoke Erguile, trying to straighten out all the shocking truths that were being forced into his head.
“Indeed magic is real, though its true name is Vapoury when used for good. But it is more important that you remember it is Gaigas’s workings, not my own. Know also that I am no wizard; such as it is wizards are dangerous and ill-minded. The name of Vapour is given to those who justly wield Gaigas. I am merely a portal from which her power may flow, because I have harnessed it so. I suppose you can call me a Vapour—but I shall always prefer Krem to wizard. Wizards are named as the most evil of magic users in this age—and even though Grelion himself, along with some of his minions, dabble in dark magic, he despises its practice otherwise. It is true, sadly enough; the majority of those still able to manipulate Gaigas in this age do so for selfish purposes of gain. I am of a dying breed.”
“Will you teach us how to use magic then?” shouted Erguile excitedly.
“Hah—lad, I wouldn’t dare bestow upon you the powers of Gaigas, lest I wanted to be turned into a weed or some other wretched fungus. Alas, no one can learn magic anyhow, unfortunately, as it may have been possible in the days of old. You see, Gaigas is dying in this horrible age of darkness; only those whose Vapoury has existed since the time of the ancients can use it in this age.”
“So you really are of ancient times?” asked Adacon, realizing that the small man in front of him had been alive longer than anyone could rightly guess by appearance.
“Yes, I was born long ago. And my age still collects into greater numbers yet—how many more I cannot clearly foresee. I do think, however, that my years are finally catching up with me. I feel in my remaining time that I should help at least in what ways I can; I may be of some use to cleanse the demons once more from this land.” Krem sighed deeply, seeming to burden himself momentarily with the thought of his mortality.
“Perhaps you can tell us more about yourself, Krem—of your past?” asked Erguile.
“Now is not the time, and I don’t think we’d have enough time if it was appropriate anyway. I shall use my past and its lessons in our task, however, whenever they can be used to aid our journey; I assure you of that, at least.”
“So the quest I am undertaking with Erguile—we can count you as our third?” asked Adacon, fearing for a moment that Krem would let them loose toward the east unaided.
“I guess it comes to that, doesn’t it lads? I can’t sit around and let you have all the fun, now can I? Darkin, you see, has not always been this evil place that it is now. It was once wonderful and marvelous by most accounts; I plan to look upon that world once more before I die.”
“Excellent! I am heartened already at this news. I have one last question to burden your mind with… What lies east? Be it we’re going that way for our quest. . . I have always heard that there are natives, living under no man’s law save their own; I thought if it was true we could bring them to our cause,” asked Adacon.
“I have a great wisdom of this world, I can say without feeling boastful, and I have traveled all the way across the great Kalm Ocean. There are natives to the east, as your lore has told you. These natives, however, are not all friendly, and there are other, worse things, in the east—some I daresay more evil than Grelion himself, in their own way, be that possible even; for the east countries are home to the majority of the evil wizards left in Darkin, and there are dark castles where dark wizards sit upon dark thrones, governing their own countries. The East, same as the rest of the world, also houses demons of many different forms. There are trolls and golems, goblins, and demonic wolves and dwarves. There are many wretched things in all the land that do not like humans.”
“Why is it that the other creatures hate us so?” asked Erguile.
“Remember: it has not always been this way, and at one time every creature lived in harmony with Gaigas. We are all formed of the same root, the same love. This age of darkness can be blamed on several; but it is mostly Grelion’s fault, his lust for power. He is human himself, and despises all creatures who are not—he has defiled the valor of men. Grelion is responsible for the burning of the non-humans in this country, and for the intolerance of Vapoury, Gaigas, freedom, and any open knowledge of these things. However—we can take comfort in knowing he has not entirely destroyed these things, though he has dulled Gaigas’s presence in almost all hearts,” Krem spoke.
“How is it that you have lived safely for so long in this desert stronghold? Surely you must be the kind of man he hates most,” asked Adacon.
“Yes—I am of the mold that Grelion hates; he hates anything loving. But recall I am a Vapour, and in that right I still have the power to ask Gaigas to conceal me from all things with evil eyes. That is why I was overjoyed at your arrival, Adacon, for it had been nigh a century since anyone could see my home’s door and windows. Should you have had any evil in your spirit, even a mere drop, the whole place would have looked to you no different than any other sand dune.” Adacon sat absorbing all Krem had said, as did Erguile. There was more silence as the three puffed on their pipes.
“Alas it is time for a change in plans: I oppose the idea you suggested, dear Adacon. A journey east is not suitable for our company of three, such as it is. I know much of this fair country, especially the area surrounding the Solun Desert, and I hear many things. It is no coincidence that a most powerful rumor came to me from a winged friend the night before your arrival, Adacon. It is to go north, that I propose—out of this desert to reach the Vashnod Plains. It is on those plains that there lie two stone towers, prisons of Grelion. Rarely is there more than a handful of guards at each, I have noticed of late; and under cover of night I would have us assail one of the towers. Gaining that prison would strengthen our force a great deal, if the rumors hold true; an old friend of mine is being held there. His rightful name is Flaer Ironhand, and Grelion still knows not who he has captured—for if he did the tower would be guarded one hundred times stronger. If we can have this prisoner alone join us, we will be many times more powerful than as
three,” Krem said.
“Sounds like a plan to me, eh Addy ol’ lad?” joked Erguile, tipsy with wine.
“Alright. We’ll do that then, Krem. I trust you have a mind well enough for getting this rebellion off its feet anyhow. How do you think we should go about this attack?” asked Adacon.
And with that question, Krem began to lay out his plan, and it sounded well thought out to Adacon and Erguile, as if he had been contemplating the strike for some time. After a good while they finished outlining the plan, and Adacon and Erguile grew tired.
“The night grows old on us; it is now time to get some needed rest before our departure tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon I will fill your bags appropriately, with enough stores to last us a good few weeks. Come—let us turn now to our dreams for restoration. I’ll show you to your beds,” Krem ordered as he stood up and extinguished his pipe. He walked out of the room, beckoning them to follow. Adacon and Erguile extinguished their pipes and stood up to follow. Krem led them through several intertwining passages and they reached first a luxurious room for Erguile, who said good night to both of them and went to his bed. Krem continued on, leading Adacon a little way farther to his room. Adacon reached a room, just as fantastic as Erguile’s had been, and said good night to Krem, thanking him again for dinner. Krem turned and started to walk out, leaving Adacon to his peace.
“Wait, Krem…” whispered Adacon just before Krem was lost from sight. For a moment Krem disappeared into the hall before suddenly returning to the doorway. Something forgotten had suddenly flared into Adacon’s mind, and his voice was filled with fright.
“What is it lad?” Krem said, facing him.
“I didn’t want to speak of this in front of Erguile, partly because he doesn’t know the tale in full. As we camped last night, and I sat watch, I heard a creature howl twice—I searched at length each time, but in the black abyss of the desert I saw nothing. After a long while my fear was lost to weariness, and I didn’t hear it again. I went to sleep. When we awoke, we found that one of our swords was missing—one of Erguile’s. We traced odd tracks leading away into the desert, out into the direction we were not intending to travel. I don’t know what it was, but it scared me deeply; do you have any idea what it may have been?” asked Adacon, hoping Krem would have the words to dissolve his gnawing fears. Krem’s visage was overcome with a look of despair that lasted only a moment, and then it returned to calmness.
“No, lad. I cannot say I know what it was. Do not worry yourself tonight though, boy, for you are in Krem’s keep at least one night longer. Now get to sleep.” Krem left and closed Adacon’s door behind him.
IV: THE VASHNOD
Krem awoke first the next morning, uncannily early, and he made the others breakfast. Adacon and Erguile arose to the smell of freshly brewed tea and pastries, and the three ate in silence for a while.
“I have decided to make another slight change to our plans,” said Krem, breaking the silence. Adacon and Erguile were still groggy, but Krem was not; he had been up since sunrise.
“What do you intend to change?” asked Erguile. “Do you mean to say we’re not going to battle?” Erguile seemed upset.
“Hah, lad, don’t fret—you’ll have your fair share of battle; that I’m sure of. No, the change does not alter our chances of battle. Late last night, an unforeseen difficulty entered my mind. . .” Krem said. Adacon winced. “All that I wish to alter is our time of departure—I have decided we shall leave before noon, much earlier than we first decided. My reasoning lads, is that we shall reach the stone tower by nightfall, rather than in the middle of the night. We shall sack the tower under night’s cover still; I just do not wish to be upon the dunes after dark.”
“And why is that, old man?” asked Erguile gruffly. “Haven’t you magical powers at your disposal?”
“Yes I suppose one might say so, but what I fear does not heel to my Vapour,” Krem uttered.
“Eh? And whom is it you’re speaking of?” asked Erguile, growing quite baffled.
“Do not be troubled—it is nothing that concerns either of you: we are going north to cross the desert before night has fallen, and that is all I will speak of it,” Krem said. Never before had Krem seemed so stern in his wording, so sure in his resolve; Adacon still had not spoken yet, but he did not need to, for he felt he knew what Krem’s concern was—Krem must have changed his mind after hearing about the sword thief, and so he decided he would not query the topic, at least not yet.
They finished their breakfast and thanked Krem accordingly; even Erguile showed genuine courtesy. Krem and Erguile seemed to be forming quite the humorous relationship, Adacon observed. It was both like and dislike together in one, but thankfully it appeared that neither of them took matters to heart.
To the slaves’ surprise, Krem had already packed their sacks, having made time to do so early in the morn. Each one was filled to the brim, containing much food and water, along with some extra rations that might come in handy along the journey. There was also plenty of pipe-fill inside the sacks, Erguile soon found, as he prodded through his. Krem was attired in his usual garb—a dark purple robe and the emerald-encrusted hat—and he clutched his oaken staff in hand. Erguile fastened his armor in place and sheathed his sword. Adacon slung his quiver over his shoulder once again, and tucked his bow in place at his side. Time passed quickly as they made their last preparations, and then Krem held a prayer to Gaigas, asking for a safe journey. Soon it was mid-morning and the party was set to move out—Adacon, Erguile, and the little Vapour Krem made their way out into the desert.
The sun was hot, already beginning to scorch Adacon’s arms as they made their way northward in a direct line. Krem used a softly glowing blue sphere-shaped device he called a Relic to align their course toward the northern sky; when Erguile asked how the thing worked, Krem had only laughed and said: “It is my magical powers, lad.” The three marched on under the rising sun, and soon Molto’s Keep was far from sight.
“And what of the bright purple robe you wear? Odd as it is fashioned, more pressing on my mind is the notice it gives to those that might seek us,” questioned Erguile, fearing the Vapour’s stark appearance against the yellow dunes.
“Don’t pay it any mind; you’ve forgotten my Vapoury, lad. Know we are concealed by my power,” Krem answered.
“I will take your word then. So, you’ve a good knowledge of this world’s map, is that right Krem?” asked Erguile as they pressed on, himself beginning to grow beads of sweat on his forehead from the overbearing sun.
“I expect I know most of what’s out there, though I cannot account for all changes of recent, most of which I reckon are a product of Grelion’s rule,” said Krem.
“Well what might you call this desert we walk, if you were to call it something other than hell,” Erguile returned.
“This forbidding place is known to all who have crossed it as the Solun Desert—the Solun, plainly put.”
“Solun eh? And what of our farm? Adacon and I have known it by nothing other than the farm; I’m sure it must have another name.”
“Indeed you have known it by no other name because it has no other name. All of the slave farms, numerous and scattered as they may be, are given numbers—nothing more. I believe the one you and Adacon escaped from is Felwith farm, number seventy-seven.”
“Felwith? I’ve never heard that before, what does it mean?” joined Adacon.
“Felwith is the name given to those who most directly serve Grelion himself—they are his greatest minions. Morimyr is their home, though they extend themselves much farther than its cold steps.”
“And what name do we give this tower we are now headed for?” asked Adacon.
“It is the tower of Ceptical, dear Adacon, and it is there that I hope we shall recover the greatest swordsman in all the land,” Krem spoke.
“Hah! It is I you speak of, old man. I’ve been fighting with swords since I was a child. All through my slavery did I and some others form our own secret spa
rring titles. Hah, and it was always I who held the highest most rank,” Erguile said arrogantly. “But not an easy thing, what we did. A good number of the men who came to fight with us were caught with their weapons, the dumb fools. Friends they may have been, but pity them I do not. It was their mistake to be not overly concerned with their going about here and there in proper stealth.”
“I never had any idea such clans existed on the farm,” exclaimed Adacon. “Surely I would have joined had any of you spoke of it.”
“Yes, it was a very cautious thing, and I always spoke with the slaves whom I thought would fancy such a thing—you, young Adacon, never caught my eye as one to fight.”
“I did practice as much as possible in my hut, with the space that allowed. I became quite good I think, over time. It was only after I slashed my walls a good dozen times that I stopped. Still, I retained the fighting arts in my mind, as I had learned from the different books I acquired.”
“I’m more surprised that you can read, Adacon, for I was the only other on the farm able to do so. How was it you learned?”
“I’m not sure—odd as it may sound—I suppose I was taught somehow, by someone, in my earliest years. As far back as I can remember I could already read fairly well, though I learned more over time as I found ways of getting books on the farm.”
“Ah! You too learned to steal from the wagons! I thought I was the only one who knew it possible. Their dumbfounded faces must have looked funny upon seeing the empty wagons.” Erguile laughed.
“Well I never spoiled an entire wagon, but I surely confiscated my share to read.”
“Ah, I see. Well I guess you missed out on the fine tobacco that sometimes rolled through.”
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