Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  They both slept restlessly, taking turns keeping watch. There were strange sounds in the forest and Zollin couldn’t help but think of the dryads that he and Mansel had fought, or the massive troll that they had seen. But they saw nothing out of the ordinary all night, and at first light they began their search of the nearby woods for Jute’s home under the mountain.

  It didn’t take long to find the large stones that seemed to be growing up out of the soil. The crack between the stones was so small and dark that it made Zollin doubt that he was in the right place, but the stump where Jute and Mansel had arm wrestled was there, and so he put his head down near the opening between the rocks and shouted:

  “Jute! Jute the dwarf. It is Zollin the wizard. Can you hear me? I have ale to trade.”

  He felt foolish and when he looked up at Brianna and saw that she was stifling a laugh, he felt even crazier. He sat back on his heels, wondering where he had lost his senses, but then he heard something that he had completely forgotten about. It sounded like chanting or singing in a very deep voice. He remembered that he had heard the strange music before when he had met Jute the first time.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked Brianna.

  “What? I don’t hear anything.”

  “Listen, it sounds like chanting. It’s very deep.”

  “I don’t hear it,” she said, disappointed.

  “Back up, highlander!” came a booming voice from the hole in the ground.

  Brianna and Zollin both jumped back in surprise and then Jute crawled out of the small space between the rocks. He was short, with a thick beard. He wore gray clothes and a hammer hung at his belt. He squinted in the daylight, even though the glade they were in was shaded from the sun.

  “Well, wizard,” said Jute. “You look well. I suppose the dragon hasn’t cooked you yet.”

  “You know of the dragon?” Zollin asked.

  “We dwarves keep our ears to the ground, so to speak. We hear a lot of things.”

  “What have you heard about the dragon?”

  Jute smacked his lips. “I’m afraid my throat is too dry for conversation at the moment,” he said.

  “Oh!” Zollin said excitedly. “I have ale. Stay here with Brianna and I’ll bring it over.”

  Zollin returned back through the woods to their wagon. He knew the wide vehicle would not fit through the trees, so he levitated the barrels so that they glided along, about a foot off the ground in front of him. All twelve barrels looked like they were marching through the woods in a parade. He was sweating by the time he got the barrels back to the glade and found Jute flirting with Brianna.

  “Ah...,” he was saying. “A dwarf is as strong as the mountain he calls home. Just ask the wizard, he saw me best his friend in a contest of strength and then drink him under the rock, as we say.”

  “You must be a king among your people,” Brianna said.

  “Well, not king. We dwarves are free people. We live in clans and there is no king, but I’m known among my people as a Headman.”

  “I thought your throat was too dry to talk?” Zollin said.

  “I was just entertaining your fair lady,” Jute said. “If she could grow a decent beard, she would make a good dwarf.”

  “The lady dwarves have beards?” Brianna asked.

  “Of course, all dwarves have beards. You highlanders should know that. Don’t you remember the song of Segma the Beauty?” Then he sang out in a deep voice:

  Underneath the mountain, where the sky is always gray

  Lived the greatest beauty, in all the earth they say;

  Her eyes as dark as onyx, and hair as bright as gold

  Her beard was soft as wool, they say, her skin was never cold

  “We dwarves don’t much care for cold. We’re people of the fire. Give us a roaring forge and good iron, that’s the life for a dwarf.”

  “Well, if you’re done wooing Brianna, I’d like to talk about a trade,” Zollin said.

  He was happy to see that his barrels of ale were bigger than Jute, although how the dwarf would manage to get the barrels down his little hole was a complete mystery to Zollin.

  “Well, at least you came prepared,” Jute said. “There’s very little we dwarves like better than forging steel, cutting rock, and feats of strength. But we do enjoy trading, when the mood strikes. I’ll be taking your barrels, highlander, you can rest assured of that.”

  “Good, all I want is steel and information.”

  “I suppose you want weapons,” Jute said.

  “No, I would prefer raw steel if you have it, at least two hundred pounds.”

  “Two hundred? For a dozen kegs of highlander ale? That’s robbery.”

  “Two hundred pounds and all you know about dragons,” Zollin said.

  “Let me sample your wares and see if I even want your ale. You know it doesn’t compare to what we make from potatoes.”

  “You make potato ale?” Brianna asked.

  “Not ale, beer!” Jute said as Zollin tapped the nearest barrel. “Some use sweet potatoes, others use regular spuds. As long as it grows underground we can use it.”

  “Here, try this and tell me what you think,” Zollin said, handing a small cup to Jute.

  The dwarf tasted the ale and then smacked his lips.

  “The one thing you highlanders do well is brew spirits, I’ll give you that. But it’s still not worth two hundred pounds of dwarvish steel. How about a hundred pounds?”

  “Give me ten pounds of steel for every barrel, and tell me all you know about dragons.”

  “Oh, alright. But only because it’s been well over a century since I’ve had highland ale. Give me just a moment.”

  Jute went back into the small space between the rocks, and Zollin moved over to where Brianna was sitting on the tree stump. They waited silently and then suddenly a dozen dwarves followed Jute out of the space between the boulders. They took hold of the large rocks and pulled them apart until the space between them was as wide as the wagon Zollin and Brianna brought the ale on. There were stairs carved from solid rock going down into a wide cavern that was bright with glittering crystals, and the sound of chanting grew louder, accented by the ringing of hammers pounding against hot metal in time to the strange music.

  “I have your steel,” Jute said, holding up two sacks of metal the size of pumpkins. He handled the weight easily and set the metal down in front of Zollin.

  Zollin nodded, not quite sure what to say. He watched as the dwarves lifted the barrels by wrapping a leather strap around each cask and then, with their backs to the barrels, they pulled the straps tight over their shoulders and lifted the barrels. Then they walked down the stairway that led down into the ground.

  “Very few highlanders have seen a dwarf village. Would you like to come down and take a peek?”

  “Yes,” Zollin and Brianna said at the same time.

  “Alright then, highlanders, watch your heads.”

  Jute led them down; the stone steps were small, but the cavern they went into was large. There were crystals that protruded from the tall ceiling and reflected the light from the fires so that a golden yellow light shone all around the cavern.

  “This is what you might call a common area. It’s a bit too open and airy for most dwarves. We prefer our homes and work places to be a little cozier.”

  The dwarves set the barrels down near a small tunnel that led off to one side of the cavern. There were dwarvish children playing near a large, dark pool of water. The children were so small they looked like dolls. Where the cavern ceiling came down closer to the walls, there were older dwarves with long beards that hung down to the ground. Most were smoking from long pipes and eyeing Brianna and Zollin suspiciously. There were small openings that looked like windows and a few other tunnels that led off into darkness.

  “Do the tunnels lead to houses?” Brianna asked.

  “Some,” Jute confirmed. “Some lead to other parts of our village, some to other villages altogether.”

  Th
ere were small vents in the rock above most of the fires. The vents were nothing more than cracks in the rock, but the smoke from the fires and forges was sucked up into these cracks so that the air in the cavern was clean and clear.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Brianna.

  “Aye, that it is,” said Jute. “I’ve lived here all my life. This mountain has deep veins of iron that make it ideal for our work.”

  “Do you mine other materials?”

  “Like gold?” Jute asked cynically. “No, missy, we just mine the iron. We’ve no fondness for the dragon rock.”

  “Why do you call it that?” said Zollin. “What do you know about dragons?”

  “Let’s settle down,” said Jute. “It’s uncivilized to stand around and talk; besides, this is a subject we wouldn’t want the kiddies hearing.”

  He led them over to a small space not far from the stairway. There was a ledge where Zollin and Brianna could sit. Jute went into a hole in the wall and came out onto a small balcony, where he sat down and was level with Zollin and Brianna. He had a cup of ale and took a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “So,” he said. “You want to know about dragons, eh? Well, they’re nasty creatures. They like to live high up in the mountains, where the stone is cold. They fill their lairs with gold, although I don’t know why. They don’t trade it the way you highlanders do. They just hoard it and they aren’t afraid to kill for it. It’s too soft to make tools from and we prefer dark stones, so we’ve never mined it, but dragons are obsessed with it.”

  “Are there a lot of dragons?” Zollin asked.

  “Not anymore. There was a time when they were plentiful and they joined in the wars with the highlanders. Some say the wizards controlled them, but I say that’s rubbish. The wizards I’ve known have all been peaceful sorts. Not that I’ve known a lot, but most don’t seem the type to keep company with such creatures.”

  “Is there a way to kill them?”

  “They can be killed just like anything else, only once they’re out in the sun long enough, their scales turn black and hard as any armor. Of course dwarvish steel can still penetrate, but only if it’s honed to a razor’s edge and shot at the softer underbelly. At least, that’s what I remember, and that was just rumors. I’ve never fought one myself. Not that I couldn’t, I’ve just never had the occasion, so to speak.”

  “So if we make arrowheads from the steel you gave us,” Brianna said, “would they penetrate the dragon’s hide?”

  “They should, but it would take a lot of arrows to kill a dragon. They’re big creatures, not that I’ve ever seen one, mind you. We dwarves don’t spend much time staring up at the sky, it’s a bit too high and bright for our taste, if you take my meaning.”

  “Do you know anything else?” Zollin asked.

  “They breathe fire as hot as a dwarvish forge, they say. They can sleep for years at a time, hibernating like bears. That’s about all I know. They’re supposed to be crafty creatures, with long memories, and they tend to hold grudges, but that last is just speculation.”

  “Do you know anything else about killing them?” Zollin asked.

  “You’re a violent fellow, aren’t you? You highlanders want to kill everything that isn’t human and then fight wars to kill each other. You’re a wizard, you’re supposed to nurture the balance, not kill things.”

  “What do you mean, nurture the balance?” Brianna asked.

  “Wizards are the link between the physical world and the magical world,” Jute said seriously. “Your destiny is to nurture both and help us all live in harmony together. You brought me ale and my people will enjoy it for a long time and it will help us trust the highlanders a little more. Do you see? You nurture the balance between the physical world that’s all about weather and crops and what you can make with your hands, and the magical world that you can’t explain or control, so that they are in harmony. It’s the magical world that reveals the divine and gives life wonder and majesty and a sense of belonging to something greater than yourself.”

  Zollin sat back as Jute took another long drink from his mug. He had never understood why he had been blessed with magical ability, he’d only sought to learn what he could do, not why he should do it.

  “Thank you, Jute. You’re a good friend.”

  “Aye, we dwarves know a thing or two about friendship,” he said. “Be careful in the highlands, wizard. I’d hate to lose you.”

  Zollin smiled. “I will be careful and, when I can, I’ll come back.”

  “With more ale, I hope,” Jute said merrily.

  “Do you know about this stone?” Brianna asked, holding up her ring; the White Alzerstone seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

  “No, we don’t care for bright stones. It looks like an Alzerstone, but ours are black. Wizards are always looking for them. But I haven’t seen one in years.”

  “Why do wizards want them?” she asked.

  “They conduct magical power or make regular objects magical.”

  “I see,” said Brianna. “Thank you very much for showing us your home. It’s lovely.”

  Jute beamed at her compliment and hurried back inside to escort them out. He had a small amulet when he came out of his home.

  “Would you wear this?” he asked Brianna. “It’s an onyx pendant. Your wizard can make you a fancy highland chain to wear it on. It’s not worth much to you highlanders, but to a dwarf it’s sacred. We call them friend stones. You’ll be welcome in any cavern if you’ve got one of these around your neck.”

  “I would be honored,” Brianna said, taking the small stone.

  Jute and several of his clansmen followed them up the stone staircase and into the glade. The dwarves pushed the rocks back together and Jute bade them farewell.

  “Until we meet again, highlander,” he said, holding out his small hand.

  “I feel I should do more for you, to return your many kindnesses,” Zollin said.

  “Just being here is thanks enough,” Jute said. “And the ale, of course.”

  Then he turned and went back into the dark space between the boulders. Zollin looked at Brianna, who was smiling at him.

  “Perhaps there will be a life after all of this,” he said.

  “You mean after the fighting?”

  “Yes, after the fighting and running and trying to make sense of everything.”

  “I would like that,” Brianna said.

  “Me, too,” Zollin said, taking her hand and leading her out of the glade. “Me, too.”

  Chapter 25

  It took Quinn a week to reach Brimington Bay. The winds had turned against them, forcing them to zag back and forth to make headway. It was slow and frustrating, but the sailors were skilled at their task, and when the Nightingale entered the sheltered bay, Quinn gathered his meager belongings and stood by the rail.

  “I will miss you, I think,” the captain said as he approached. “You helped save my ship. For that I shall always be grateful.”

  “Thank you for getting me to Osla so quickly,” Quinn said.

  He was angry at Mansel and had not been very amiable since they left Cape Sumbar. He mostly stayed in his little cabin, exercising his shoulder. The wound was healing nicely, but the muscles in his shoulder remained tight. His strength was slow to return, too. It made him nervous to think about fighting the Mezzlyn when he wasn’t at his full capabilities.

  “I know you are in a hurry, so I will have my men row you to shore in our jolly boat as soon as we make anchor.”

  Quinn nodded his thanks and then turned his attention back to the busy port. Brimington Bay was the largest seaport in the Five Kingdoms. The bay itself was sheltered by tall cliffs on either side, but large enough that hundreds of ships could lie at anchor at the same time. The bay flowed inland for miles. The port was three days’ hard ride from the Grand City, along a road paved with cobblestones. There was constant traffic between the port and the capital of Osla. Quinn hoped that he could blend in and tra
vel safely between the two cities.

  When the ship weighed anchor, Quinn gathered his belongings and climbed on board the jolly boat. The men rowed him swiftly to shore and he staggered along the quay, trying to get used to being on solid ground again. His first order of business was to buy supplies. He knew the livery stables would be on the outskirts of town, so he bought hard bread, a wheel of cheese, smoked fish, and dried beef. He also bought a small bottle of wine. He’d heard that some people had stomach issues drinking water in foreign countries. He felt that if he drank a little wine each day, it might help him stay healthy. Of course, the wine made him think of Mansel. He missed the young warrior. Mansel was like a son to him, but he knew that Mansel needed to find his own way in the world. He only hoped that his drinking issues didn’t destroy his chances for the kind of life he wanted to live.

  The first horse stable he found had a nice brown and white horse the breeder called a Paint. Quinn bought the horse, along with a new saddle and saddlebags. The only thing he needed now was more weapons. He still had his short sword, but he had lost both of his throwing knives in the battle with the pirates and his dagger had been badly nicked by the heavy cutlasses that he parried. He had left the dagger on board the Nightingale, and now he wanted to find an armorer who could sell him suitable replacement weapons.

  Finding the blacksmith shops was easy enough since their forges belched dark smoke from their chimneys, even in the summer heat, which Quinn found to be stifling on shore. The sea breeze didn’t reach as far inland as Brimington Bay, and the sun seemed to be so close Quinn felt his skin cooking. He noticed that most of the men wore wide brimmed hats to block the sun. Quinn thought he might pick one up as soon as he took care of his need for weapons.

  Of course, purchasing weapons from a merchant was the easiest way to get what he needed, but Quinn preferred to buy steel from the men who made it. With a merchant, he never knew what he was getting. Not every blacksmith made weapons; it was much more lucrative to make horseshoes, barrel rims, and tools. But in most towns of any size, at least one blacksmith would be an armorer. Quinn found a small man who had weapons hanging on the walls of his shop. He tied his horse to the rail outside and went into the dark interior of the smithy. It was hotter inside the shop than in the direct sunlight, but that was the drawback to being a metal worker.