by Troy Osgood
“She’s right,” Jemas said before Jaspers could utter another word.
“Jemas, is that you?,” Jaspers asked turning so his remaining good eye could focus on the Private near the door. “What’s going on?”
Madame Thurmanson glared at Jemas, giving him a look that said Jaspers was his problem now. She ignored the Sergeant and went to check on the other patients. Jemas could see Harland sitting up in his bed, head turned towards them but not looking directly at them. The Smith had yet to have his full vision return. The other two men in the room were sleeping still. Somehow. Or they were just good at faking it.
“You need to rest,” Jemas said moving towards Jaspers.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” the Sergeant muttered angrily waving Jemas away when the younger man reached out to help. “I need an update.”
“You’ve been hurt.”
“Chicol’s Breath boy,” Jaspers grunted. “Of course I know that.”
Jemas reached out again only to be batted away.
“How long have I been out?,” Jaspers asked. He finally stopped moving, standing at the end of the bed, looking around as he stood unsteadily.
“Two days,” Jemas answered stepping back and taking a position between the man and the door.
Jaspers stopped, focusing his good eye on Jemas. He seemed shocked, surprised and deflated a bit. He reached up, feeling the bandages around his head, rubbing them over where the eye was. He glanced down at his chest, looking at the mass of white that was stained red.
“How bad?,” he asked Jemas pointing at the bandages.
“Not good,” the Private answered. “Mostly just some deep cuts on your chest. Madame Thurmanson stitched you but too much activity and they can pull out. The cuts haven’t scarred over yet. The eye,” he started to say and stopped. Not sure how to proceed.
“I lost it,” Jaspers said for him. The usually boisterous and arrogant Sergeants voice had a new tone to it, the tone of a broken man.
Jemas could only nod.
Reaching around with his right hand, Jaspers felt for the bed behind him. He sat down on the edge and sighed.
“This will take some getting used to,” he muttered to himself.
“Would you like me to get you anything?,” Jemas asked into the silence that had fallen.
Jaspers was silent for awhile, staring down at the ground. Jemas was about to ask again when the man finally spoke.
“No.” It was spoken quietly. “Just tell me what is happening.”
Jemas started to protest but Jaspers held up a hand.
“I won’t leave and will lie down,” he said looking up at the younger man. “I just want to know where things stand.”
Nodding, Jemas told him.
Culann stepped out of the tavern, stretching and holding back a yawn.
He had spent the last couple hours preparing the required spells. He still wasn’t sure the idea would work as he intended or even work at all. But he had to try. Minoda could not keep going as it was. From the tavern’s porch he looked out over the square, watching as the villagers were organized. Sheren stood at the base of the stage issuing orders, directing men and the older boys.
The bag in his hand started swaying, the skeleton head contained inside moving it with the force of the clacking jaw.
“Ye be quiet now,” Culann said shaking the bag, which only made the skeletal head move the jaw more. The Far Rider smiled as he stepped off the porch. He wore his traveling cloak but had left the bow and quiver inside the small room. He wouldn’t be needing it where he was going. It wouldn’t be much use inside the Dvorkan Cradle.
He paused, watching Sheren Tobiason and the villagers. He looked around for Private Jemas but didn’t see the man. Which was good, the soldier would probably want to come along but would be of more use here.
There wasn’t much else Culann could do here. It was time.
He adjusted the sack with the equipment he would need and started walking towards the mines.
Sheren walked towards his wife and son, sledge hammer over his shoulder. He was smiling, trying to appear calmer then he felt. He could tell that Mary saw through him. She knew him so well. Villagers that were around them stepped back, giving the family privacy and going to find their own families. He stopped in front of them, leaning the sledge against the wall of a nearby building, and reached out a hand and placed it against her cheek. She leaned into it, staring up at him.
There was fear in her eyes. And love and pride. She forced a weak smile.
He bent down and kissed her forehead. Nothing else needed to be said.
“Da,” Davey started to say.
“I told you already,” Sheren responded sternly looking down at his son.
“No,” the boy said pointing towards the far end of the square.
Sheren turned to where Davey was indicating. He could make out the cloaked figure of Culann Hawkfall walking towards the road that led to the mine. Sheren looked up at the sun.
It was time.
He took a step back from his family and looked at them.
Beautiful Mary. Gray starting to show in her long brown hair, wrinkles and other marks of age, but she was still as beautiful as the day they had been married. And Davey. A strong lad with a decent head on his shoulders. Most of the time. He would make a fine man someday.
He picked up the sledge hammer, feeling the rune carved into the head.
“Davey,” he said looking down at his son. “You keep an eye on your Ma.”
“Yessir,” Davey replied with a nod, still looking disappointed.
With a last look at Mary, Sheren turned his back on them and walked back towards the square.
Jemas walked out of the house and into the square. The large crowd had dispersed; going to the assignments they had been given. He saw Sheren Tobiason and made his way towards the miner.
“Master Hawkfall is heading for the mines,” Sheren told him as they met at the stage in the middle of the square.
“Where do you need me?,” Jemas asked.
Sheren looked the young man over. When the soldier had first come to town, Sheren would have said he wanted the man as far from the actual fighting as possible. He had seemed weak, scared. But now? Now the young man was a true soldier.
He was also the only one in the village with armor and a shield.
The thought of taking Sergeant Jaspers armor and gear and putting on a villager was tempting but no one had ever trained to fight in armor or with a shield, except Donald Jaccob and with his limp he couldn’t fight. The idea was good, but in the end he had decided to not do it. The armor would have a negative impact with someone untrained and not used to the weight.
That left Private Jemas as the only armored man.
“The villagers, we’ll face any skeletons as a team. One in front and one in back, alternating hits to keep the thing off balance,” he said and Jemas nodded. “You,” he added tapping on Jemas’ chest armor. “are going to be the roamer. I’d like you to move around and help out where needed.”
Jemas looked off around the square, taking in the way the villagers were organizing and gathering. At first he was disappointed as it sounded like Sheren was trying to get him out of the way, not trusting him in the coming battle. But then he thought about it. No, Sheren was giving him an immense trust and faith. It would be his job to reinforce any of the groups, to fight solo if need be. It was an important task.
“I can do that,” he said proudly.
“Davey,” he heard his mother say.
She had released her grip on him and he had taken a couple steps away. He could see his father talking with the young soldier, Jemas.
He looked up at his mother, who was smiling at him.
“Go home and wait for me,” she said.
“Where are you going,” he asked. His father had just got done telling him to watch out for her and now she wanted him to leave?
“I’m going to help Mrs. Thurmanson and the other women,” she informed him, stil
l smiling. “I’ll be home soon.”
“But Da said,” he started but she held up a hand and gave him the look. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the look from Da or the one from Ma.
“Davey Tobiason,” she said using his full name which meant he better not argue.
“Yes Ma,” he answered moving past her and down the lane between houses.
Their house was midway down the lane and he stopped in front of their door. He looked behind him, back towards the square, and could no longer see his mother. He looked ahead, where the lane ended at a cliff overlooking the forest below. He moved quickly down to the end.
He looked down into the forest, seeing the tops of the trees almost level with the plateau that Minoda was built on. Looking towards the mountain, he could see the road leading to the mines and the mines further back. There was a man walking on the road, from this distance hard to tell who it was but it had to be Culann Hawkfall. He was the only one heading towards the mines. There were other men moving away from them and towards the village.
There was no one with him. Davey’s father and the soldier, Private Jemas, were staying in the square. What if Master Hawkfall needed help? Needed a runner? Someone to fetch and carry messages?
Davey glanced back towards the square. His mother was still busy.
He looked back towards the mines.
He badly wanted to help. He didn’t want to be sent home like a child.
But what could he do? His parents didn’t want his help. He couldn’t just cower in the house like a little child. He should be out in the square with the older boys, doing his part.
One last glance towards the square to see if anyone was coming. Still clear. Slowly he started making his way towards the mine road, keeping between the last houses and the edge of the land.
If he couldn’t help in the square then he would help in the mine.
Davey ran up the road as fast as he could. He knew he was visible to anyone looking from the edge of town, but there would be no one looking. He was surprised at first that there were no sentries posted, but it made sense as everyone knew what would be coming. It made it easier for him as there was no one to stop him and ask what he was doing there. He had an excuse ready but never needed to use it.
The thought that a skeleton could be between him and the mine never occurred to him.
He ran and ran. He was born in the mountains and had run this road and through the trees of the surrounding valleys many times. The mile or so to the mine was nothing.
Davey slowed down as he came towards the plateau. He paused, somewhat hiding behind the smithy and watched. Culann Hawkfall stood in front of the entrance to the new mine. The other two were still boarded up but the planking had been removed from the last.
Culann was just standing there looking the arch over. He held a bag in each hand and Davey could see the smaller one in his right hand moving with the motions of the skeleton’s skull. Glancing down at the bag, Culann gave it a shake. The man stood in the entrance for a couple more minutes, staring down into the shadowed depths. Finally he walked into the mine.
Davey waited a couple minutes and then moved. He ran across the plateau and stopped in front of the third mine. Hiding behind the side of the arch, he looked into the darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Culann stood in the middle of the Dvorkan room, what he was starting to think of as the entrance chamber. He had never been to a Cradle before but had heard from some that had. The dwarves were very protective of their homes and it took a lot of trust for an outsider to gain access. Most Cradles had buildings built on the mountain slopes, outside the city itself, for visitors and trade and those didn’t truly connect with the tunnels beyond. Very few did connect. He had a feeling this was one that did not have buildings for outsiders.
Cradles were also said to have multiple entrances to go along with the larger one that outsiders knew about. The mountain was said to be dotted with small, Dvorkan sized, entrances that were cleverly hidden. These were the ways that the Dvorkan themselves entered their halls, or escaped if need be.
“If this is the entrance,” Culann said to himself walking forward and running his hands over the back wall. “There has ta be a way ta enter.”
He moved back to the rough shaft where he had set the equipment down, the bag with the skull rolling as the magical creature’s jaw kept working. Pulling out the lanterns, he lit them and placed one at each of the four corners. These had all four sides open, allowing the light to spread out into the room. Adjusting the shutter so it only allowed light out one side, he lit the last and held it aloft. He started walking around the room, shining the focused light on the carvings in the walls and around the arch.
He tapped on the back wall, not noticing any difference in sound. He tried the side walls getting the same noise and echoes. He completed a circuit of the entire room, tapping all over and getting the same noise.
How to get in? There had to be a passage out of this room. Even if outsiders never got past it, the Dvorkan had to get be able to get into the space.
Somehow.
The dwarves were master craftsmen. There could be a door in the wall and he would never know it but it had to be here. There had to be an opening in the wall.
Stepping back, Culann looked the wall over. He moved the beam of the lantern, studying the different symbols. Nothing caught his eye. He wished he had a Librarian from GriffinStone here. One of those academics that had studied the Dvorkan language would come in handy right about now.
Sighing, he set down the lantern, adjusting the shutter so the widest possible beam of light was focused on the back wall. He didn’t want to do it this way. Culann had a feeling that he would need to cast more magic before the day was through, but it didn’t look like he had a choice.
He began whistling. A simple tune, very few notes, but it was long and repetitive. He had to concentrate to keep the pacing and pitch the same throughout the process. This would be so much easier with an instrument, he thought wishing he had been able to learn to play.
The lantern’s light, where the beams hit the wall, started to take shape. Brighter spots formed, outlining the different carvings in the wall. As Culann whistled, the lights moved away from the carvings. They came together, forming lines on the wall, and started dancing across the surface. That was the only way to describe it. The lights, now four long lines, moved up and down and side to side along the surface. As they moved, they grouped in twos, vertical and horizontal.
He watched as the two horizontal lines settled along the wall. One at the very bottom, where floor met wall; and the other about ten feet up. The lines, which were about five feet long stretched out and ended up around ten feet long. The vertical were still sliding along the walls surface, back and forth. One of the vertical stopped, catching on the ends of the horizontal. The other continued past and moved back towards the other side but caught on the other end of the horizontals.
Now a perfect square of light was on the back wall.
The hidden door.
Culann changed the pitch, quickly switching the notes and rhythm of the whistling. The lights brightened and disappeared with an audible click.
He fell silent as slowly the stone slid back on hidden rails. The door, one solid piece of stone, smoothly moved backwards. Dust fell from the edges and the joints, the sound of chains and gears echoing through the space. Culann watched as the door moved slowly back a couple feet and then rotated on the right side. Once parallel to the corridor beyond, the door moved back again and with a loud thud slid into place and completely out of the way of the now revealed ten foot wide by ten foot high opening in the wall.
“Ogmios’ Book,” Culann exclaimed as the last of the dust settled to the ground. “Now that’s nae something ye see every day.”
Picking up the lantern he stepped towards the opening. He stopped at the threshold, shining the light over every surface and as far into the corridor as the beam would reach. Beyond the opening was a long corrido
r with a downward angle. The walls were smooth, the ceiling and the floor worked. There were no carvings or markings, just the smooth walls. He could see the shadow of the door set into a niche in the wall, with metal rails built into and flush the floor.
He shined the light over all four surfaces of the opening looking for indications of carvings or runes, even tripwires. He was highly doubtful that the opening was trapped, or if it had been that it was still active, but his suspicions about what was causing the skeletons was making him wary of Dvorkan traps.
“Ye should nae be here,” he said as he heard a noise in the tunnel behind him.
Culann turned and shined the light on Davey Tobiason.
The boy was standing at the end of the miner’s tunnel under the arch. He had been looking around the room intently but was now staring straight at Culann, fear in his eyes that were partially covered by the arm he was using to block out the light. How much younger he looked at that moment. Shaking his head, trying to keep the anger out of his voice and face, Culann beckoned the boy in deeper.
“Come here lad,” he said gently. “What are ye doing?”
“I wanted to help,” the boy said as he walked into the room slowly, looking around wide eyed. The wonder and amazement was overriding any chagrin the boy had for being where he was not supposed to. “I thought I could be a runner for you.”
Culann was about to say something as Davey stopped in front of him when a misty like light started seeping up from the ground in the middle of the room. Both the Far Rider and boy looked at the spot, watching as more and more flowed up.
The light spiraled together, bright but cloudy, wispy. It swirled around the middle of the room forming a cylinder of bright cloud about a man’s height tall. It moved faster and faster, pulling in on itself.
Culann grabbed the mesmerized boy and pulled him close, pushing the boy behind him. He held the lantern in one hand, the other holding onto the boy.
The light grew brighter causing the two to shield their eyes. It lost the misty quality, solidifying. They watched as it contracted, taking on a man like shape. A hole formed in the ground, pieces of dirt and stone flowing up and into the shape formed by the light, filling in the space.