by JA Andrews
Alaric read and reread the paragraph, his heart pounding. The map really was to Kordan’s Wellstone. The new Stronghold the dwarves had found must have been built by the old Keeper as well. What had he done? Left the real Stronghold and tried to continue as a Keeper by himself?
Alaric flipped the leather over. Time had faded the ink, and there were blotches where the leather had been soiled, but most of the map was decipherable. Several sets of runes, meticulously drawn dotted the page.
Alaric let his eyes wander over the runes. There was no doubt that this was written by a Keeper. The precision and clarity of the writing made him surprisingly nostalgic. Whatever their other faults, the Keepers could write.
The map showed a valley at the base of the Wolfsbane Mountains containing some buildings. Two rock formations were labeled. In the center of the map was a tree with a gem drawn beneath it.
“And the town is Kordan’s Blight?” asked Alaric.
“Judging from the rock formations, yes,” answered the dwarf. “But whenever this map was drawn, the town was much smaller than it is today. And Kordan’s Blight is full of trees. How on earth do we know which one the map refers to?”
“These are the runes that Gustav translated?”
“If you can call it translation. Either Gustav is an idiot, or whoever wrote this was a lunatic. Everything is gibberish.” Douglon’s finger stabbed at a point on the map where a cluster of runes stood. “This says: The falling stars cool the turtle’s back.” Douglon glared at the wizard walking ahead of them on the road. “I’m willing to believe he’s an idiot.”
Alaric took the moment to study the runes. He could see what Gustav had translated, but the writing was off slightly. An extra tail here, an odd dot there.
These weren’t modern runes at all. They were ancient.
The Keepers had some books old enough to use them, and each Keeper was schooled in how to read them, but they were too nuanced and open to interpretation to be of use for most things today. The fascinating thing about the runes on the map was that even though they were ancient, each was similar to a modern rune with a different meaning. Sometimes radically different.
“Falling stars” was a decent modern translation, but in the ancient language, it read: damned soul. “Turtle’s back” should roughly translate to: a place of sanctuary. The word “cool” was a complicated rune that indicated vengeance and justice. That rune also had the sense of turning the entire phrase into a question. The amount of nuance that was drawn into the runes was impressive. After piecing it together, Alaric decided that what the cluster really said was, Shall the soul that has been damned seek vengeance or discover a place of sanctuary?
Alaric tried hard to hide the smile that kept creeping onto his face. First of all, the writing wasn’t part of the map. It was just Kordan’s musings. Secondly, almost no one besides a Keeper would be able to read the ancient runes. Barely anyone in Queensland read even modern runes. Gustav must be well educated to be able to translate the modern runes he had, but he would have them chasing after nonsense. Alaric marveled at the complexity of the writing.
Douglon reached over for the map, and Alaric forced himself to hand it back. He’d been so focused on that one set of runes, he’d barely looked at the map itself.
“So you ended up with the map,” Alaric said, watching Douglon roll it up and tuck it into his pocket. “Did you give Patlon the rest of the treasure?”
Douglon looking uncomfortable. “Patlon thought we should take all the wizardy things home before following the map. But since the stone sounded more valuable than everything else we’d found, I wanted to go get the treasure.”
Douglon’s voice trailed off. He shook his head and continued in an offhanded way. “In the end, we split up. He took all the stuff we had found, and I took the map.”
Alaric looked at the dwarf in disbelief. “He agreed to that?”
Douglon shifted. “‘Agreed’ might be the wrong word for it.”
“Smoke!” Gustav shouted from a turn in the road ahead.
A dark plume of smoke was visible over the hill to their left, roiling up into the blue sky.
Ayda and Douglon began to run. Ayda outpaced him quickly, racing down the road.
“Kordan’s Blight?” asked Alaric. The look on Brandson’s face as he urged the slow carthorse forward was his answer.
“Take Beast,” Alaric said tossing Brandson the reins. The blacksmith leapt into the saddle and galloped toward the smoke. Alaric climbed onto the lumbering cart and followed.
Once the carthorse plodded around the turn, the entire town was visible. A crowd was gathered before the nearest building, milling around under the sign with an anvil standing untouched at the road. The acrid smell of smoke cut through the air, and as Alaric drew the carthorse closer, he could feel the lingering heat from the fire. Nothing was still burning. What had been the smithy was now a smoldering pile of charred wood.
Brandson sat on Beast, staring at what was left of his home. There was nothing to be done.
Chapter Ten
Ayda walked up to Brandson and put her arm around his shoulder. Gustav ran through the crowd, grabbing leftover buckets and throwing water toward the already doused building.
“It’s a little late for him to decide to do something useful,” Douglon said to Ayda.
Gustav tossed a large bucket full of water that splashed into a puddle near the front of the structure, not remotely close to any of the parts that were still smoking.
“Well, not useful exactly,” Douglon said.
Gustav glared at the two of them. Throwing the bucket down, he stalked away.
“I’m sorry, son,” a man said to Brandson. “‘Twas burning good by the time anyone saw it. ‘Twas naught to do but keep th’ other buildings safe.”
Brandson slid down from Beast and stood staring at the husk of his home. The roof was gone, and the walls were sagging. Behind the smithy, the remains of Brandson’s living quarters let out swirls of smoke. The smith began to walk toward them, his arm raised against the heat, but he couldn’t even reach what was left of the walls. Even from back where Alaric stood, waves of heat rolled off the building.
Alaric doubted there was anything salvageable, but something white caught his eye. He stepped up next to Brandson and found a light-colored rock leaning against the base of a burned wall. Chiseled into the stone was a symbol, or two symbols, one over the other.
“What’s that?” he asked Brandson.
The blacksmith looked at the rock blankly.
“That wasn’t there when we left,” Ayda said, squinting down at it. “The top symbol looks like an axe. I can’t tell what the bottom part is.”
Alaric crept toward the rock, the heat burning against the exposed skin of his face. He knelt and wiped wet ashes off of it, using the bunched corner of his robe. Then he stepped back quickly, and the three of them peered at the rock, trying to decipher the shape.
“What did you find?” Gustav demanded. “Move over. Let me see.”
“It’s a dwarf,” Douglon said from behind them.
“It doesn’t look like a dwarf,” said Ayda. “It looks like a lizard.”
“It is a dwarf, lying dead, smited by the axe,” Douglon said dully.
“How do you know?” Alaric asked. Ayda’s description was more accurate.
Douglon stepped up beside them, glowering at the white rock. “Because it’s Patlon’s symbol.”
Brandson stared into the bottom of his empty ale tankard. He hadn’t moved since collapsing into a chair in the tavern. His expression had gone from depressed to bleary. Alaric, returning from making sure that Beast and the carthorse were stabled behind the tavern, joined the rest of them at a table in the corner of the empty dining hall. The entire building was stuffy and smelled of onions.
“Are you sure that was Patlon’s symbol?” Alaric asked Douglon.
The dwarf nodded. “We invented it as children. He claimed that he needed a warning to scare his enemies. I
never thought that would mean me.”
“It might not,” Ayda said. “Patlon didn’t hurt anything of yours. But he did destroy every single thing Brandson owned. Even though Brandson is guilty of nothing but generosity and goodness.”
Douglon looked stricken. “I’ll rebuild the entire smithy,” he said to Brandson. “Twice as big. With diamonds for windows.”
Brandson grunted and everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“So…”Alaric said to Douglon, “Patlon just let you have the map?”
“I told him I was taking it, and he said nothing.” The dwarf shifted in his chair. “Course he was passed out at the time.”
Brandson dropped his tankard to the table with a thunk and turned to the dwarf. “You didn’t think to tell us that you’d stolen the map and a fire-wielding dwarf was going to come burn down my home?”
“I didn’t think he’d find me! It took me months to figure out that the mountains and rock formations the map was talking about were here. I have no idea how he found me.”
“He has a point,” Ayda said, and Douglon looked at her gratefully. “Who would have expected a dwarf to be that clever?”
Douglon’s smile turned to a glare.
She brightened. “I know! His purple elf helped him!”
Alaric let out a laugh at that, and even Brandson allowed a small smile before dropping his face into his hands. Ayda wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
“If Patlon found the smithy, why isn’t he still here?” asked Alaric.
“I’m sure he is, somewhere,” said Douglon. “He prides himself on his hunting ability. Claims he can wait for a week without food or water or sleep if he’s tracking his prey.”
“I doubt he can go that long,” Alaric said, “but if that fire was just set this morning, I’m sure he saw us come into town.”
Brandson groaned. “What are we going to do?”
“There are five of us and only one of him. He’s not much of a threat if we stick together,” Alaric answered. “We need to find a way to talk to him.”
“Brandson might need to sleep off all the ale before we plan anything,” Ayda said.
“Where are we going to sleep? If we stay here, he’ll probably just burn the tavern down on us,” Brandson said, raising his head enough to glare at Douglon with one eye.
The tavern door swung open letting in a swirl of fresh air. They all tensed. Douglon stood, his hand going to his axe. Gustav hunched over, glaring at the door and raising his hands as though he meant to shoot lightning at whoever entered. Alaric turned as well, but it was only a milkmaid carrying an enormous jug.
She stopped when she saw everyone looking at her.
Ayda gave her a friendly wave. Douglon nodded to her, dropping back into his chair.
The milkmaid gave a self-conscious smile and carried her jug into the kitchen. She returned a minute later. Catching sight of Brandson, she paused. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to Ayda’s arm draped over the smith’s shoulder, but she pushed one of her long, brown braids behind her shoulder, smoothed the front of her dress, and approached the table.
“Brandson, I’m so sorry,” she said.
Brandson squinted at her. A foolish smile crept across his face. “Milly?” He tried to sit up a little straighter, but kept listing to the side. Douglon gave the smith a small shove to push him back up.
“I saw the smithy,” Milly said. “That’s terrible. Truly terrible.” Her voice trailed off, and she stood uncomfortably next to their table.
Douglon pushed an empty chair out toward her, and she dropped into it. When Ayda introduced Alaric, Milly nodded politely.
“You can all come out to the farm,” she said. “There’s more than enough room. You can stay as long as you need to.”
“We can pay you, Milly,” Brandson said.
“Pay me? For taking in my homeless neighbor? You had better not say that again, blacksmith.”
Brandson shrank back in his chair a bit.
Ayda clapped. “We’d love to! Can I milk another cow?”
“That’s not a good idea,” Gustav interrupted.
“Why not?” Milly asked.
“I did a good job last time,” Ayda said.
Gustav ignored the elf and leaned toward Milly, his dramatic whisper barely lower than a shout. “The fire wasn’t an accident.”
Milly’s eyes widened. “Someone tried to hurt Brandson?”
“Someone tried to hurt someone,” Gustav said, looking at Douglon.
The dwarf shifted uncomfortably.
“Do they know you’re here?” Milly asked.
“Probably,” Ayda said. “It’s the dwarf’s cousin. He dragged his family feud all the way here, and now Brandson’s life is ruined.”
Douglon grimaced, and Brandson let out a groan and dropped his head back into his hands.
“Well if he knows you’re here, you’re stuck. There’s no way out of the tavern without being seen.”
“We’ll wait until dark,” Douglon said.
“Or you could come with me,” Milly said. “My wagon is parked against the stable. You could hide in the back, and I can drive you out of town.”
“We’re not going to endanger you, Milly,” Brandson said.
“Then you’re stuck here until nightfall,” she said. “And with the full moon tonight, good luck sneaking anywhere.”
The table was quiet for a long moment. Douglon glanced at Brandson, but the smith’s expression was vacant. The dwarf turned to Alaric with a questioning look.
Milly seemed like a competent sort of girl. She was right about being stuck here. There wasn’t another easy way out of the tavern that he could see.
“I don’t know,” Alaric began.
“Oh, stop dallying and go,” Milly said. “You can each take turns guarding my house tonight if it makes you feel better. There’s a window in the stable, and the wagon’s just outside of it. There should be plenty of room.”
Brandson looked worried, but Milly shooed him toward the back door.
“Thank you so much, Milly,” Ayda said.
“Go on. I’ll wait a couple of minutes before I come out.”
The rest of the group went quickly into the kitchen. Alaric glanced after them for a moment. It wasn’t really necessary for him to hide from Patlon, but he was unwilling to let Douglon and his map out of his sight. Alaric paid the tavern keeper for a loaf of bread and a generous cut of ham. Then he set an extra gold coin on the counter.
“If a dwarf comes in looking for us, it would be helpful if you couldn’t remember where we’ve gone,” he said.
The woman picked up the gold coin and tucked it into her apron. “Where who’s gone?”
Alaric smiled at her and followed the others out the back door of the tavern. When he slipped into the back of Milly’s wagon, it smelled reliable, like hay and hard work. Like the stables at the Stronghold.
He pulled his legs up close, trying not to bump into the others. This was hardly the most dignified way he’d ever traveled. But he’d cram into a wagon half this size if it meant he got to see Douglon’s map.
Chapter Eleven
“We can’t leave Kordan’s Blight,” roared Douglon. “Not without my treasure!”
“Your treasure?” Gustav demanded.
“We can’t stay here waiting for your cousin to murder us,” Brandson tossed over his shoulder from where he sat adjusting the door on Milly’s wood stove.
They’d arrived at her farm a couple of hours earlier. Milly, who already knew about the group’s treasure hunting, had demanded that they explain about the smithy. She had taken it all in with surprising level-headedness. Once everyone had eaten and Brandson’s ale had worn off, the conversation deteriorated into an argument.
The kitchen was dotted with cups and pitchers of fresh wild flowers, making the room smell and feel like a serene mountain glen. Except for the smell of half-eaten ham. And all the yelling.
Alaric sat at one end of the table, letting the g
roup holler at each other. Douglon’s map was spread out on the other end, too far away to read.
“If only we could understand the runes,” Brandson said, gesturing at the map. “Then we could find the treasure and be done with it.”
“Maybe we need to find someone who can translate them,” muttered Douglon.
“Translate them!” huffed Gustav in outrage. “I have translated them. It is not my fault that you’re too stupid to understand them.”
“You don’t understand them, either,” Ayda said. “Which might make people wonder if you’re a fraud.”
“I don’t have to wonder,” Douglon said.
“There’ll be no talk like that around my table,” Milly said. “Gustav is as much my guest as you two are, and I’m sure he’s doing his best.”
“Sorry,” Douglon muttered, crossing his arms and settling back in his seat.
Gustav snorted and rose from the table, turning his back to them and staring into the fire.
“May I?” asked Alaric, pointing to the map. He tried to keep his voice level.
Gustav shot him a suspicious look.
“Sure,” said Douglon, handing it to him. “Maybe you can see something we’ve missed.”
“I doubt that,” Alaric said, “but I’ve had a pretty thorough education.”
“Of course,” Brandson said, peering over the stove door. “I can’t believe we haven’t asked you yet.”
“I’m sure I won’t find anything the worthy wizard didn’t.” Alaric took the map and ran his fingers over the runes.
There wasn’t much written on the map and none of it involved directions, but the structure was mesmerizing. Each cluster of runes, its own sentence, ran into others complementing and subtly altering their meanings. There in the center of the map was the gem sitting beneath a tree.
“Do you see anything?” Brandson asked, his voice polite.
“There is something here,” Alaric said pointing to large runes at the top of the map. “What do you make of this, Gustav?”
The wizard glanced where Alaric was pointing and snorted. “The valley of Kordan. That’s one we understand.”
