by Tom Liberman
Brogus followed him to the door, slid the bolt, and then turned to face his companions. “I didn’t really follow all of that but I did hear something about an easier journey. I don’t think I’d like sailing much.”
Milli sat back down on the sawdust that served as a mattress and blinked her eyes a few times, “I don’t agree with everything he said but I like the idea of it. We get a free ride to the southern continent faster than any other way and we’re not really obligated to learn more about this Black Rider fellow. We can always just find the five volcanoes, kill Gazadum, and then be on our way. If anyone asks we can just say we didn’t learn anything.”
“Kill who?” said Petra.
“Oh,” said Milli and covered her mouth.
“The first Fire Elemental,” said Dol. “I will slay him with the Hammer of Fire and gain eternal glory.”
“Ohhh,” said Petra, “that Gazadum. I thought you meant a friend of my father’s. Short fellow, round belly.”
At this the entire group broke into gales of laughter, even Dol.
A day later the four waited in the little ramshackle hut and everyone except Dol nervously looked back and forth at one another. The tall dwarf with the little greenish apples in his hair and beard stood quietly by the door with the Hammer of Fire hanging from his belt. They had rigged a little flange that pushed the hammer away from his leg when he walked so as to avoid scorching his clothes. During their trip north to Das’von and after a great deal of experimentation with the great weapon they determined that even Dol was incapable of wielding the thing for more than a minute before the intensity of the heat built up to a point that he was unable to hold it any longer. Thus he tended to keep it on the loop at his belt until it was immediately needed.
“What if he doesn’t come?” said Brogus with an anxious look at Milli. His eyes darted back and forth between the two woman and the furrows on his brow were deep. “We still have time to catch the ship.”
“He’ll come,” said Milli. “Did he strike you as the sort to renege on an agreement?”
“What on an agreement?” said Brogus.
“Renege, not follow through,” said Milli with a shake of her long hair. She apparently found fresh water in the shanty town, or possibly bathed in the freezing cold glacial runoff, because her gold hair shone brightly and curled in long, luxurious waves. She had a pair of green ribbons in it and wore a lighter-weight dress that showed off her trim but firm figure and even wore a pair of pinch-toed shoes with long heels that increased her height by several inches.
“You look pretty,” said Brogus as he came over to look at her. “And you smell nice too,” this last as he reached towards the ribbons in her hair.
“Don’t touch!” said Milli and took a step backwards while raising her hands toward the stout dwarf. “You’ll wreck it. And, it’s not a big thing. I just needed to clean up a bit if we’re going on a journey. It might be my last chance for a while.”
“Rap,” came a firm knock at the door.
Everyone in the shack stopped and looked at each other, “Here we go,” said Brogus with a broad smile as he went to the door and opened it.
A tall man, perhaps in his fifties, with a heavy black cloak, dark eyes, and a pock marked face stepped into the room and looked around. “I’m to facilitate your transportation to the southlands. Are you ready?”
“Who are you?” asked Milli with a long frown on her face.
“I am Robel,” said the man. “But it doesn’t make any difference really. I am to facilitate your transport. Are you ready?”
“Where’s the messenger?” asked Milli as she tried to peer around the tall man to the doorway behind.
“I’m not sure who you mean,” said Robel with a shrug of his shoulders and in a neutral tone. “Are you ready to go, or not?”
“The man we first spoke with,” said Milli with a little stamp of her foot. “We liked him.”
The man in black cocked his head at the Halfling girl, “It’s not my concern if you like me or not. I’ve been asked to transport you to the southern realm. Are you ready to leave or do you need more time to prepare? Our window of opportunity is short.”
“Fine,” said Milli and pursed her lips as she took one last, hopeful look around the man to the area outside the door. “We’re ready to go.”
“Follow me then,” said Robel turning to exit the little building.
“Do we have everything?” said Brogus taking one last frantic look around the little hut. The rotted wood, boarded up and broken windows, the sputtering stove, and all the other amenities of the last few weeks stared back at him in silence.
“Is there anything here we want to keep?” said Milli with a little curl of her upper lip. “The sooner the memory of this place is gone from my mind the better. Leave it all except your gear.”
“Fine by me,” said Brogus and he turned to follow the man outside. The wind howled through the little shanty village and the poorly built structures shuddered with the force of it. On more than one occasion a brick or heavy stone tumbled off a roof of one of the better built structure and injured passersbys. Over the last couple of weeks they learned to listen carefully for the sound of sliding masonry and duck under low eaves to avoid a braining.
The man strode off in the opposite direction of the great city and they followed him on foot for half an hour with no sign of their destination. They soon left the shanty-town village where the soldiers lived and passed onto the open plains where the ground was somewhat spongy with a soft grassy material.
“Where are we going?” Brogus finally asked as he moved up to stand next to Robel.
“Transportation circle,” replied the tall man with the dark robes.
“What’s that?” asked Brogus as he looked keenly ahead trying to spot anything that might be a transportation circle, whatever that might be.
“It’s a circle for transportation,” said Robel.
“Thanks,” said Brogus with a snort and looked back to his companions and spread his arms out with hands up while rolling his eyes.
The man laughed, “All right, all right. I suppose there isn’t a big need for all the mystery. Prepare yourself for you are about to witness first-hand in just a few minutes anyway. Corancil is in the process of building portals all over the northern realms that can send a person from one to the other almost instantaneously.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Brogus narrowing his eyes as he stopped walking and falling a few paces behind Robel.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” said the dark-cloaked man with a shrug of his shoulders. His pace did not diminish. “You will see soon enough, and, as I said, our window of opportunity is not wide. The link to the realms outside their immediate influence is somewhat … shaky.”
Soon enough they reached the low outskirts of even the small forts that marked the very edge of the military encampments and now tall pine trees and spongy ground cover made up most of the terrain. To their right the glistening blue of the bay was just visible between hills now and again while behind them the smoke of the city hung in a low haze. “It’s just a few more minutes to the site,” said Robel.
“I’m not sure I like the idea of being ported from one side of the continent to the other with magic,” said Petra to Milli, and the Halfling girl nodded her head. “I’m still trying to figure out how we are going to be sent to the south if these portals only work between one and the other and Corancil hasn’t built any down there yet.”
“That’s a good question!” chimed in Brogus who picked up the conversation.
“Here we are,” said Robel as they rounded a slight bend and suddenly the portal appeared.
Thirty or forty rectangular stones stood on a cleared patch of ground in a rough circle around a central rock. The stones shone unblemished white in the sunshine and almost blinded their vision even in the faded light of a winter morning in the northern realm. Each stone, except the central monolith, looked exactly like the other so much so that ther
e was a strange illusion of looking in some sort of mirror in a mirror.
“By Davim,” said Brogus and pulled up short as he stared at the circle.
“What sort of stone is that?” said Dol and immediately moved forward toward the nearest of the monoliths.
“White marble,” said Robel as he moved forward with the tall dwarf. “Is that an apple in your hair?”
“No,” said Dol and brushed away the hand that moved towards his head. Within a stride he stood at the first of the stones and ran his hand up and down its surface with gentle motions.
“It is an apple,” said the black cloaked man and started to reach towards Dol again but the tall dwarf turned and gazed at him with, not hatred or anger, but simply with such a look of unadulterated menace that Robel put his hand back down. “Not that it matters, just a curiosity.”
“What sort of masonry could produce this,” said Brogus coming up to Dol and likewise running his palm over the smooth surface of the white stone.
“Magic,” said Dol in a low voice. “Very, very powerful magic.”
“But how?” said Brogus. “We dwarves are the finest workers of stone and I’ve never see the like of this in … our home.”
Dol shook his head and leaned close to smell the stone, “I don’t know. But it’s this Corancil that’s doing it.” Milli joined the two dwarves at the stone while Petra slowly followed Robel towards the center of the circle. Dol continued, “If he’s got the power to make these then maybe he has the power to unite the northern realm. Power to conquer the world.”
“Power beyond anything I’ve ever seen,” said Brogus his hand still gently touching the white marble.
“Maybe we should find out as much about this Black Rider as possible,” said Milli as her eyes took a faraway look for a moment. “Just to play it safe in case we ever do get back to Corancil. Or his messenger.”
Brogus nodded his head and Dol did as well although both dwarves seemed loathe to remove their hands from the surface of the stone. They touched it as a mother might caress her newborn infant.
“It hasn’t even been fully ensorcelled,” said Robel with a tight smile as he watched them from his position at the center of the circle. “You have no idea the trouble it took to manufacturer those stones.”
“Yes, yes I do,” said Dol and finally turned away from the monolith and walked over to the center of the circle. The orange-gray rock in the middle of the white stones stood in stark contrast to those around it, for it was raw, unshaped, unpolished, with hematite veins thick across its surface. Energy seemed to crackle on its surface as they approached and everyone felt the hairs on their hands and necks stand on end.
“Put your hand on the rock,” said Robel, “time is short.”
The four looked at each other but then did as instructed. The mage raised his arms and smiled broadly:
Dark stone, white light
Bring forth the calls of night
Fly east, fly west, fly left, fly right
My mind’s eye your final flight
Go now, with speed, do not …
Suddenly the voice of the wizard stopped and a wall of heat and light engulfed them.
Chapter 10
Five horsemen guided their lean steeds over the scrub desert and bantered among themselves. The sun hung overhead like a massive lantern and the heat blasted down on the desert floor so that even the horses, with their heat toughened hooves, had to keep moving over the hot dirt.
“By the Sands of Time I hate these daytime patrols,” said the tallest of the warriors who wore a curved sword at his side and a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head.
“Why do we have to do it?” said the rider to his left who wore similar headgear and rode a well-muscled gray steed with steamy sweat evident on its flank. “Who did you anger in the tribal council, Sufeka?”
“I called the chieftain a son of a camel herder,” said the first man with a laugh as he mopped the sweat off his brow with a cloth already soaked so through that it was difficult to tell whether it helped or hurt the situation.
“The punishment for that is far worse than a noon patrol,” said the second man with a laugh. “But you’ve always had the balls of a stallion, Sufeka.”
The leader of the patrol nodded his head and turned his horse deeper towards a series of small hills to their right.
“Why are we out this far anyway?” said a third member of the group of riders.
“Those foul Blackriders are on the move of late,” said the leader and spat into the dirt and sand mixture. “Their darkling king hopes to unite the nomads into a single force. We of the Farrider clan are the natural leaders of the nomads, not those degenerate half-breeds.”
“The chieftain thinks they plan some sort of daylight raid? Their darkling king is only capable of moonlight attacks,” said the second nomad with a great guffaw. “As long as he cannot bear the light of Ras then we have nothing to fear from the Black Horsemen.”
“Let them bring the full force of their might against the Farriders. Our people have always defeated the Blackriders and we always shall. We control the biggest territory and we always shall. I welcome the chance to kill them,” he said this last as he pulled out his curved sword with a swift motion and leaned forward in the saddle. “Death to the Black Horsemen, death to Ming, death to the darklings!” he shouted and brandished his sword which reflected the blinding sunlight far onto the horizon. The others watched him with smiles on their faces as they entered the low hilly region and were taken by surprise by the weak voice that came from almost at their feet. It said something in a foreign language that none of the riders understood but that startled them none-the-less.
The leader’s horse reared high, but he pulled the reins so that it wheeled to face the voice which came from a low cave in the hillside. He shouted towards the sound, “Who dares invade the territories of the Farriders!”
Brogus stared up at the shadowy figure, silhouetted by the sun, blinked his eyes lazily, and reached forward with a hand, “We are travelers, lost, without water. Can you help us?”
Sufeka laughed, “Invaders from the northern realm,” he shouted to his companions although he did not understand the words of the dwarf. “Let us help them die quickly rather than of thirst.” He made a little motion with his hand which prompted the four other horsemen to pull out their weapons, dismount, and take up position around the little cave entrance.
Brogus pulled out his little hand axe and straightened to his full height, still far shorter than the rangy nomads. His face was badly sunburned and his lips were peeled into little flayed and scabby strands, “Do your worst then.”
The nomads looked at the sunburnt dwarf and smiled as they closed in, “The sun is intense in the desert,” said one of them, “you need to cover yourself properly. Have you not visited our lands before?”
“Die,” came the girlish voice of Milli followed directly by a dagger that plunged into the eye of the second nomad who collapsed to the ground in a silent heap.
The four remaining warriors darted forward at Brogus but the dwarf whipped his tall, steel shield in front of him and deflected two strikes as he backed into the little hidden cavern. The nomads followed into the darkness which left them blind for the moment, and Dol took this opportunity to come at them with the Hammer of Fire. One of the warriors raised his light wooden shield as he sensed the motion but the heavy steel head smashed through it as though it weren’t there at all and pulverized two ribs, pushing one of them into the nomad’s lung. The three remaining warriors spun towards Dol and lunged at the shape; Dol deflected one sword tip but the other got through the defenses only to be turned aside by his heavy dwarf-made chain shirt.
Brogus used the moment to neatly cleave the head off one of the remaining warriors and the leader, almost blind in the cave, called out, “Retreat, back to the horses,” and dashed backwards out of the cave. His surviving companion tried to follow but Milli darted out, dashed under his feet, and his heel hit her side as he b
acked away and sent him tumbling. She spun around and neatly slid her dagger through his ribs and into his heart. He died without making a further sound.
Dol walked carefully to the edge of the cave, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light, and then emerged in time to see Sufeka, the last of the warriors, mounting his horse and wheeling it to charge. “Death to invaders, for the Farrider clan, for the nomads, death!” and then he charged at Dol his horse almost leaping forward to close the gap between them instantly. His scimitar came down in a slashing blow but Dol ducked underneath it and brought the hammer through in a rising strike against the horse’s stomach as it rushed past.
Sufeka wheeled the beast but it screamed and spun against his movement which sent him spinning out of the saddle and onto the ground where his head hit the hardpan with a stunning crack.
By the time the nomad regained his equilibrium, Dol stood over him with the hammer poised in both hands ready to deliver a killing blow. “Take us to the Black Rider.”
The nomad glared up from the sand and spat out a wad of blood, “I do not understand your foul northern tongue, but I assume you want me to do something for you in order to ensure that I survive.”
Dol stared at him in total incomprehension and his eyes burned with fire. Suddenly he raised his hammer to bring it down on the head of the sneering nomad and only the intervention of Brogus, who grabbed Dol by the arm to stop the blow, prevented the attack.
“Dol,” said Milli. “What are you doing?”
“He cannot help us,” said Dol. “Why not get rid of him before he brings down more of his kind upon us?”
“Dol,” repeated Milli. “We are not the sort to murder in cold blood. Besides, if we can communicate with him perhaps he can tell us where we are.”
“In the meantime,” said Petra emerging from the back of the cave where she remained hidden during the fight, “We now have five horses and an excellent supply of water.”
