Now with the sun’s light he saw the awe-inspiring monument which was the Ky’Dren Pass. At some spots along the thirty-mile pass, the walls looked like castles. Towers grew out of the walls along the pass, and arching bridges connecting railway systems there were both high and low. Pillars were carved below great buildings both large and small, and monolithic monuments towered over travelers, statues of gods, heroes, and kings alike adorning both walls for miles.
One statue in particular caused Dirk to insist on stopping and taking pause. The statue of Ky’Dren loomed five hundred feet above the pass, said to have been made for him by his son, who, like his father and his descendants, could move stone with but a thought. The statue depicted Ky’Dren, the first dwarven king, standing tall and strong with one foot on each side of the pass, connecting the northern and southern mountains. He stood with an axe in one hand and his pick in the other. Atop his head sat his crown and his armor was covered in silver.
Dirk was awestruck by the statue and thought on it for hours. To be held in such esteem as to be commemorated so laboriously and venerated for thousands of years after you were gone was an incredible feat. But Dirk knew also that nothing lasted forever, and as the stars saw one day to the next, so too would they see Ky’Dren’s statue fall and be forgotten. The stars turned, as did the wheels of time, and only the gods bore witness to all things, and only the dead remembered.
Dirk needed sleep, as did Frostmore, but he had no time for such pleasantries. He knew that the horse could not take much more of this. Already Frostmore was thrashing randomly and chomping impatiently at his bridle. Dirk needed a fresh horse, loath as he was to depart with Frostmore. The horse had proven to be a good one.
An hour more they rode and finally came to the dwarven outpost on the Eldalonian side of the pass.
“’Ere then,” said Dar’Kwar. “Here we will find food and drink. You and your horse be lookin’ like rest wouldn’t hurt ye, neither.”
Dirk dismounted with a grimace and took a moment to steady his legs. He had been riding for days and felt every bump in the road. He knuckled his back and stretched before following the dwarf to the nearby outpost.
The dwarven outpost was more like a town than anything else. Here trade between the dwarves and the people of Eldalon thrived still. It was early morning and already the markets were crowded with dwarves and humans alike. Here were human tailors, farmers, medicine men, and other peddlers. Long caravans filled with vegetables and livestock meandered up the many mountain trails, and likewise, dwarven wagons came down, likely filled with kingly treasures.
There were also Eldalonian soldiers within the pass marketplace. They, however, were more interested in armor and arms than jewels and the like. Dirk followed Dar’Kwar to a group of his kin and accepted a steaming pot of porridge gratefully. As he ate, he eyed the Eldalonian soldiers, looking for the highest-ranking man among them. He found what he sought as a tent flap opened and out strode an armored soldier adorned with the telltale golden sash of a general. Dirk handed off his bowl with a thank you to the dwarves and headed toward the man. Dar’Kwar followed.
The man stood facing the morning sun with closed eyes. “Excuse me,” Dirk said to the man’s back, and he turned and regarded Dirk curiously.
“What is it?” He turned his face to take in the day’s warmth once again.
“I have information that may mean life and death to the royal family. I seek your audience,” said Dirk in a low voice as to not attract attention.
The general looked Dirk over with renewed interest and then at Dar’Kwar behind him. “Please,” he said, gesturing toward his large tent. “We shall speak inside.”
Dirk entered the tent, followed by Dar’Kwar. The general closed the flaps behind them. “Please, sit.” He indicated to the chairs opposite his long desk. “Care for a drink?” he asked as he poured himself a dark amber whiskey.
“Please,” said Dirk.
“Mind dwarven whiskey, or is it too early?” the general asked them both.
“Bah, be it ever too early for dwarven whiskey?” asked Dar’Kwar with all seriousness.
“Whiskey is fine,” answered Dirk.
The general set the drinks on the desk and squared on the two. “I like to know who I am drinking with.” He took a moment looking at the dwarf. “Dar’Kwar, I believe, from near Uthen-Arden side?”
“Aye, Dar’Kwar I be.”
“You, however, I do not know,” he said to Dirk. “If I had to guess, I would say sword for hire.”
Dirk only nodded. “Blackthorn, Dirk. Well met…?”
“General Harris Steely,” replied the general, offering his hand as he eyed Dirk.
Dirk shook it and General Steely took his seat. “Dirk Blackthorn. Where have I heard that name before?”
“I do not know, General,” Dirk replied. “I have not ventured often or for long within Eldalon. Any word of me would have likely come from Uthen-Arden. Just as likely those words are false, given the tongues of those speaking them.”
“Hmm.” The general still eyed Dirk with a hint of speculation. “Not a friend of Uthen-Arden, I take it.”
“Not as of late,” replied Dirk and took a swig of the whiskey.
Dar’Kwar laughed and drank also. “Not as of late, indeed. This one came charging through the Uthen-Arden ranks in a race for the border night last. Was challenged to a bare-arsed duel by one General Straun, he was. And won the fight, I should add.”
“General Straun. I know of him. He made it through the ranks under King Addakon—he’s just the kind of scum Addakon likes. Did you kill him?”
“He will live,” Dirk replied coolly.
General Steely nodded and shot back his drink. “I assume you were racing for the border to warn Eldalon of this danger you speak of. What do you know?”
“I have knowledge of a conspiracy to kill the entire Eldalonian royal family line. With your cooperation, I hope to make all haste to Kell-Torey to warn the king.”
General Steely mulled over Dirk’s words. “Who is behind this conspiracy?”
“The dark elf lord Eadon wishes it so. He wants to wipe out Whill’s entire line,” Dirk answered.
“This Whill you speak of, he is the one said to be the rightful king of Uthen-Arden?” the general asked, intrigued.
“They are one and the same, sir, yes.”
“And what is your stake in this, Dirk Blackthorn? By the looks of you I would say that you are a blade for hire. Surely you are not a soldier. Why should I believe you? Suppose you are trying to get close to the king for the very reason you warn of?”
“I wish to see Eadon’s every plot and aspiration fail. I wish to see him dead. If I can be a thorn in his side, then I will do everything within my abilities to do so.”
“Why?” the general asked.
Dirk ground his teeth as he thought of Krentz. “I have my reasons.”
The general stood from his desk and poured refills for them all. He drank from his glass as his eyes wandered in thought. Finally he returned to his seat and clasped his hands together upon his desk and met Dirk’s waiting eyes.
“I consider myself a good judge of character,” the general began, and Dirk fought to not roll his eyes. “And you, sir, I do not trust. There is much you have not told me.”
Dirk had the urge to stab the man in the neck. He didn’t have time for this. He was about to get up when the general’s demeanor changed.
“But there may be truth to your words. A claim such as this cannot be taken lightly. Is there anything more you wish to tell me?”
“Only that every minute we tarry may be detrimental to your good king’s health.”
“Well,” said Dar’Kwar. “Me work be done here. I thank ye for the whiskey, General. Now I return to me post.” He slammed a fist to his chest with a slight bow to the general, nodded at Dirk, and made for the door.
“I do not have to remind you that what you have heard is not to be repeated, do I, Dar’Kwar?” said the general t
o the dwarf’s back.
“No, Steely, you ain’t for remindin’ me o’ shyte,” Dar’Kwar retorted and left the tent.
“Now do you wish to tell me more?” General Steely asked.
Dirk did not answer but finished his whiskey instead. The general’s eyes never left his until Dirk’s glass was empty.
“Another?” the general asked.
“No,” answered Dirk flatly.
The general nodded, still taking a measure of the man. “Where did you say you came across this information?”
“I didn’t,” Dirk replied, annoyed.
“What are you hiding?”
Dirk didn’t like where this line of questioning was going. Beneath the desk Dirk’s hand came to rest upon his mind-control dagger, Krone. He had hoped to gain the support of the Eldalonian army, but it seemed that the curious general would not give it. He decided to try another angle before resorting to more drastic measures.
“I am an ally to the one known as Whill of Agora. He has sent me on this quest,” Dirk said as if finally coming clean. “As you may know, Whill has made powerful enemies. At his request I have been hunting the would-be assassin from Uthen-Arden and recently lost their trail outside of the Ky’Dren Pass, Uthen-Arden side. As you may also know, Whill is the son of your late princess and queen of Uthen-Arden. Your king is his grandfather. It is for this reason the dark elf Eadon wants the Eldalonian line wiped out.”
“Why then does this Eadon keep Whill’s uncle, King Addakon of Uthen-Arden, alive if the rumors of the alliance are true?” the general inquired.
“Addakon is dead by Whill’s own hand more than six months now. Eadon has since been impersonating the king.”
The general began to laugh but found no mirth in Dirk’s face.
“You know this to be true, or you should. Has not the king of Eldalon informed his generals of such things?” Dirk pressed.
The general scowled at the slight. “You say you lost ‘their’ trail. Why not him or her?”
“Because if I had been close enough to know if they were a he or a she, they would be dead.”
The general clenched his jaw and squared his chin. “And you mean to tell me they slipped through the pass unnoticed?”
“No, they did not go through the pass, they went over it. Any reports of that?”
The general met Dirk’s eyes and looked upon him as he had not before. “Guard!”
A soldier tore into the tent with his sword half drawn. “Sir!” he yelled upon entering, searching for trouble.
“Search out the commander of the Third, Bloodrain. Bring him here immediately,” barked General Steely.
He sat back down and stroked his short beard. In his eyes and on his face Dirk saw that the man was now concerned. From a drawer he pulled a pipe and leaf bag.
“Do you smoke?” the general asked.
“Opium on rare occasion, but not the leaf. It leaves my lungs heavy,” replied Dirk.
When the general realized Dirk was not making a joke, he laughed. Dirk struck two of his rings together, and from one a small flame danced to life from the spark. He reached across the desk, offering to light the pipe. The general nearly went cross-eyed gazing at the magical flame as he bent and puffed the pipe to life.
“That is a fine elven trinket you have,” the general admitted through a cloud of smoke, with a hint of jealousy at such a prize.
Dirk nodded and blew out the fire from his ring. “It comes in handy.”
Heavy footsteps approached outside, and soon the tent flaps opened wide and in strode a tall soldier. He looked to be about thirty, and Dirk could tell by the way he carried himself that he was comfortable in his armor. He was a lifetime soldier.
“Sir!” he said smartly and saluted the general.
“Commander Bloodrain, please repeat to me your report of the northern wall from last night,” said General Steely with a glance at Dirk.
“One hour before sunrise from the northern tower watch, I received a report of a winged creature flying overhead.”
“What direction was it flying?” the general asked.
“Northwest, sir.”
“Was it bird, dragon, draquon…?”
“The lookout thinks it was a small dragon.”
“How did a small dragon fly across the Ky’Dren Mountains without being seen by the dwarven lookouts? They are stationed every mile.”
“Sir, the lookout said that he only saw the beast when it flew through the hovering smoke of the outpost campfires. Otherwise it was invisible.”
“Was the man drunk?” General Steely asked.
“No, sir, he is not the kind of man to drink while on duty,” said the commander with a darting glance at the whiskey glasses.
“Wait outside, please,” ordered the general.
When they were alone, Steely leaned once again toward Dirk, his pipe to lips. Dirk struck the rings once again and relit the pipe. The general smiled through teeth that clutched the pipe, admiring anew the fire ring.
“There are two possibilities now, it seems,” the general surmised as he leaned back and blew smoke forth. “One, you saw the very same creature and have worked its existence into your story.” He eyed Dirk suddenly and sat up. “Or two, what you say is true. In any case, this winged creature must be investigated. The commander says it was flying northwest, which fits your story. Twenty miles northwest of here is the home of the duke of Bristle, cousin to the king and possibly your assassin’s first target.”
“Then that is my destination,” said Dirk as he got up from his chair. “I could use a fresh horse, mine has been pushed to its limits, I am afraid.”
The general nodded. “I will provide you with a horse. Come. If this creature was seen last night, we may already be too late.”
Chapter 22
Secrets
The boat that Aurora had been gifted was a near replica of a barbarian fishing boat. The elves had accounted for her size when designing it; the stairs and archway to go below deck admitted her easily. Six long oars came out the sides, and these too had been crafted with barbarians in mind. The sails however were elven fin sails.
All of her many gifts had been loaded, along with the smoked boar. She was pleased to find the boat had already been stocked with provisions. There were barrels of water below deck, along with wine and ale, bread, smoked fish, cheese, and a variety of vegetables and fruit. It seemed as though there were enough provisions to last months of travel. She did not need months; it would take the elven ship little more than a week to traverse the waters to Volnoss, having to make a wide berth of the dark elf occupied Island of Fendora.
As the lines were thrown onto the dock and the boat began to pull away, a large flame-colored jungle bird flew over the ship. It circled twice and swooped down. Aurora was not surprised when the bird transformed as it landed, and soon Azzeal was grinning up at her.
"If you do not mind the company I would see you to Volnoss. The waters are dangerous these days, especially when traveling near to Fendora Island."
Aurora tried to hide her disappointment and suspicions. He knew something, she was sure of it. But why then would he let her live if he knew of her betrayal? She guarded herself from her thoughts and feelings and let a welcoming smile find her face.
"It would be an honor to have you, Azzeal. But does not your duty to your king command that you remain at his side through this? I feel my plight is but a trifling thing to one such as you."
"Quite on the contrary lady of the north. In these dark times allies are far from trifling things."
"Very well then, welcome, and thank you."
"My pleasure," he said with a bow."
The boat left harbor without the use of the oars. The small elven crew consisted of water weavers who steered the ship north through their magic. Aurora had not slept in the jungle, and she felt the affects of the long day in her tired muscles. She left Azzeal, Kreshna, and the others and went below deck. In her cabin she found the dragonlance among her things.
The weapon was smaller than she would have guessed it to be, no longer then her sword. She took it up and inspected it curiously. What material it was made of she could not tell. The shaft was rough and black like coal, with no pointed end. An assortment of gems the size of coins was the only thing to adorn the strange shaft. Aurora rubbed a thumb over one and suddenly the lance multiplied in length not once but twice with a reverberation of singing metal. The pointed end slammed through the wooden wall of her cabin and into the room beyond. Aurora was pleased. She thumbed the jewel once again and the lance retracted.
She undressed and got into a bed that had been made with her great height in mind. As her boat was steadily guided north Aurora tried to sleep. She tried to prepare herself mentally for the coming battle, but the thought of Azzeal left room for nothing else. The elf's presence loomed over her, suffocating her mind, confusing her thoughts. Why was he here? What did he know?
She lay there for hours unable to sleep. When she could take it no more she bolted out of bed and stormed out of her cabin tearing the sheets from the bed and wrapping them around her as she went. When she reached the stairs to the deck Azzeal was already coming down them. He reached the bottom and raised an eyebrow to Aurora. "Lady."
"Shove your lady up your arse Azzeal. What do you know?"
"I am not the one that need be answering for anything," said Azzeal. He looked up the stairs wearily and gestured to her quarters. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private."
"Private!" she fumed. "How can there be any privacy when you elves can read minds."
"Hear stray thoughts." he corrected her.
"One in the same!" she countered and turned annoyed to her quarters. Azzeal followed.
When the door was closed Aurora sat upon her bed and watched with trembling hands as Azzeal waved his hands at the walls and murmured to himself in Elvish. If the elf had learned her secrets she knew that she would die. She was not afraid of death. She was afraid of dying as a liar, with no honor. She had lost that when she attempted to kill Abram.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 89
