They jumped through together as a group. The brilliance engulfed them and a moment later they landed in the middle of a dirt road. It was daylight, and the surroundings showed no life except for some birds chirping in the distance. Sparse trees dotted rolling meadows in every direction. A cool breeze brought the smell of dried vegetation.
“Are you alright, Dulgin?” they asked.
“Yeah, of course. Just a scratch. Let’s move on,” he tried to lift himself up but quickly fell to the ground in pain.
Bridazak and Spilf inspected his wound by turning him over on his side. Small wisps of smoke wafted up from the hole that penetrated the armor, revealing a black sludge pouring out from the opening in his flesh. Spilf riffled through his pack and produced a vial with blue liquid inside.
“Our only one.” He uncorked it and then poured it directly on the wound. Dulgin lurched at first but settled in as the magic of the fluid produced its healing affects. His wound slowly closed and the black sludge dissipated. The Dwarf slowly turned over to lie flat on his back. Then he winked at them and smiled.
“Gold or not, you sure know how to show a Dwarf a good time.”
They all stood up on their feet and surveyed the land. Dulgin began to cough uncontrollably. Blood was on his hands after the fit was over.
“I think that mystic gave you a little more than an open gash in your side, my friend,” Bridazak stated with concern.
“Who were those people, and why are they after us?” Spilf asked.
“I don’t know, but they looked angry about something,” Bridazak responded.
“They were military, and that could only mean King Manasseh.” Dulgin coughed again.
“Good news is, I think they improved the look of your armor, my friend.”
They laughed and then began to walk down the road—a road that they had never been on before.
.
5
Lonely Tear
The sun beamed its last rays across the landscape, giving a golden hue to the terrain. There were no distinguishable landmarks, and the name of the town of Lonely Tear had never fallen on their ears before. Dulgin was still experiencing the hidden effects of the magic that the mystic unleashed into his body. He lumbered along with gritted teeth and concentrated on each step he took. The Ordakians watched him and gave periodic glances of concern to one another. Time was against them.
“Bridazak, how did you know the answer to that riddle?” the Dwarf winced as he tried to distract himself from the pain.
“It was strange. A light outlined the statue and then I felt an impression in my mind that I cannot explain.”
“Did Kiratta give you the answer?”
“No, it was more powerful, like a spirit directing me from wthin. Time stopped, and—I’m not sure how to explain it.”
“You were possessed by something?”
“No, not like that. It was an impression that welled up inside me.”
“It was the box, Bridazak.”
He looked at Spilf, surprised, but deep down he knew he was right. What could he possibly be carrying? Bridazak withdrew the impenetrable container, and a soothing warmth flowed through him as he grasped it once again.
Dulgin suddenly doubled over and grunted, jarring him from his thoughts.
“Are you alright?”
“I need to sit and rest. I will be fine.” He could feel a cold sensation running through his veins. In his stubbornness, he resisted to inform his comrades as they lowered him down onto a slightly inclined grassy slope along the dirt road.
“Bridazak, he needs a healer.”
“I know. I wish a caravan or someone would come along to let us know where we are.”
Bridazak and Spilf heard faint neighing from a horse behind them. They made eye contact, making sure they both heard what they thought they heard, and simultaneously turned around slowly. A caravan in the distance approached. Spilf looked at his friend and lifted an eyebrow, indicating the box his friend still held. Bridazak quickly tucked it away again, and they waited along the worn roadside for the oncoming group of merchants.
“Well met!” Bridazak yelled towards the first horse drawn wagon.
“Bugger off,” responded the man. “We don’t pick up stragglers!”
A thick cloud of dust enveloped them from the movement of the more than thirty wagons being pulled by horses in a single-file line. They covered their faces, coughing.
Within seconds a woman’s voice could barely be heard over the rumbling noise of the moving caravan. Her words fought through the tumbling of wheels and the thuds of hooves.
“Come, I’m over here!” her voice carried mysteriously.
Bridazak hustled to one of the slow-moving vehicles. He pushed aside the thick velvet draping to reveal the silhouette of a robed woman, confirming his instincts—he had found the right wagon. Inside, it was cozy and warm, but dark.
“Thank you and well met,” said Bridazak, helping his two comrades finish the climb inside.
“Where are ya headed?” Dulgin asked with grimaced face.
“The next town, I suppose,” replied the veiled woman.
“Why did you help us?” asked Spilf.
“I have my reasons,” she elusively responded as she lit a dangling oil lamp.
She threw off her hood and revealed her breathtaking face. Her complexion was impeccable and her red hair seemed almost on fire. Her eyes sparkled an orange hue, and an enchanting glow surrounded her face, soft and alluring.
He stuttered, “I’m Bridazak. This is Dulgin and Spilf.”
Dulgin was also captivated by her stunning appearance, but went into a coughing frenzy. He clutched at his heart; his legs spasmed and he fell hard against the wood framed wagon in excruciating pain.
“Oh my, you are hurt Dulgin,” she quickly pulled her leather gloves off and knelt at Dulgin’s side. Before the Ordakians could say or do anything, she closed her eyes and began to recite an unknown incantation, “Shel-ouck-noh-kah-thoom-kay-labra.”
Her hands weaved and jostled in the movement of the arcane. Her gestures were fluent, and the sounds emanating from her vocals were charismatic and capturing. Her chanting ended; she opened her eyes and smiled at the gruff looking Dwarf. She placed her delicate hands onto his armored chest, and a glow permeated. Dulgin forced his eyes shut while his friends watched hypnotically and helplessly. Energy flowed through her hands and then the radiance dwindled. She backed away and gave a genuine smile toward them all.
“You are a healer,” Bridazak chimed in amazement.
“Yes, at times I can be,” she responded pleasantly.
“Thank you my lady,” Dulgin initiated a bow of his head. “I am in your debt,” he added, checking himself over. He noticed his coughing had stopped. His muscles relaxed and he felt strong once again. “What is your name?”
“People call me Ember.”
“That’s your real name?” asked Spilf. His life of surviving as a thief had taught him when people were not being entirely truthful.
She paused for a moment,” No,” she admitted, “but I like to go by that name when I meet new people, such as you.”
She focused again on Bridazak, “Would you like for me to reveal your future? If I concentrate hard enough, I might find the answer that you seek.”
“What do you mean? How do you know that I have a question?” he asked curiously.
“You have an aura of confusion about you that I can sense.”
“Actually, I do have a question on my mind. Maybe what you say might shed some light on the answer.” Thoughts of wonder burned inside, and every step they had taken brought a need to know what he carried even more. He tried to breathe calmly, but his heart pounded furiously. Moving closer, he sat upright and attentive in hope.
Dulgin quietly gazed at the angelic, red-haired woman. He was suspicious of her, even though she had just miraculously healed him from the poison that was wreaking havoc inside his body. He glanced over at his companions. Spilf’s mouth w
as open, still held captive by her allure. Bridazak sat waiting for the mysterious woman’s prediction like a puppy waiting for its food. Dulgin had a feeling this female wasn’t all she played up to be, but he waited quietly as she began to tell his friend’s future. Her eyes were closed and her head cocked back, her hands resting on her knees. She was deep in meditation. The light of the lamp seemed to pulse, but not enough to alarm them. Her blue robe in the dim light appeared black at times. There were no symbols or family crest to identify any lineage or regime she may have belonged to. Everything was plain and simple, but at the same time, her beauty nullified the most magnificent thing you could think of. No blemish was on her face, no wrinkle, nothing out of sorts. She was as perfect as he imagined one could be.
“There is someone coming,” she started. “Someone of great importance, and someone you will meet. Evil follows you wherever you may go, but destiny has awakened once again. In time, the truth will be revealed and this truth shall set you free.” Her eyes opened and she locked into Bridazak’s, “That is all that I am permitted to tell you.”
“Who are you?” Bridazak questioned, knowing she was more than what she appeared to be.
“I am someone full of regret, and though there is no hope for me, I have chosen my path.” She shifted her focus, “Dulgin, keep your suspicions high, for they might save you and your friends. Spilfer Teehle, you might spend your time in the shadows, but the brightness of your heart shines strong.” The woman suddenly faded away like a dream, disappearing right in front of them. The wagon stopped abruptly. Dulgin swung the heavy curtain aside, and discovered more time had passed than they realized; the deep of night was upon them, and the saturated air clung to their skin. The rest of the caravan was gone. Vanished.
With the light from the oil lamp inside, Dulgin spotted a weathered wood sign that read Lonely Tear—One Millari, and an arrow that pointed the way. Hanging from the wooden post was a medallion on a chain. Bridazak hopped down and grabbed it from the aged marker to inspect it. A symbol of flames adorned the jewelry piece. A circle of gold encompassed the image. Bridazak placed it around his neck and then looked back at his friends, who still sat in the back of the cart, feeling foggy and stunned.
“Let’s get moving,” Dulgin shook off the numb feeling. He made his way to the front of the coach, helped Spilf right behind him and then grabbed the reigns.
“Thought you said you wouldn’t ride any horses,” Spilf stated.
“I didn’t say anything about a wagon, just none of them four legged meat-walkers.”
Bridazak smiled, “Let’s see what awaits us in Lonely Tear!” He climbed on with a renewed spirit.
The Dwarf whipped the horses and they all jolted backwards. Within minutes they had reached the outer walls of the small town. Two guards, roused by the sound in the early morning darkness, stepped out and halted their approach.
“State your business,” declared one human guard, suspicious of the three little-folk.
“We’re merchants delivering silk goods,” replied Bridazak.
“Silk goods, huh? Why are you travelling at odd hours of the night?”
“The late hours are more favorable in getting the goods delivered faster, as there is less traffic,” he said with a cheesy smile, which Dulgin and Spilf did not share as the other guard approached the back of the wagon to inspect the merchandise. Knowing full well there was no silk onboard, Bridazak glanced over to Dulgin and gave him a look that begged for forgiveness.
“Ya blundering fool,” whispered the Dwarf harshly, nudging him with his elbow.
“I didn’t know they were going to check. I’m sorry.”
They dropped their heads and waited to be chastised by the guards for lying, and then probably detained and questioned. At least they would have a place to stay the night, once arrested.
“Everything checks out, Tulk. There are about ten silk bolts back here.”
Spilf quickly peeked through the canvas, and saw the guard inspecting the imagined rolled thread in the barren hold of their wagon. He shrugged his shoulders, informing his friends the human seemed to have gone mad.
“Okay, you’re clear to go through. Welcome to Lonely Tear,” the guard Tulk waved them to enter.
“This is just unbelievable,” whispered the Dwarf as they rode past the alert pair of troops.
Spilf nudged Bridazak to get his attention, whispering, “It’s the box again. It’s helping us.”
Bridazak wanted to respond, but whether it was fatigue or not, he had no words to challenge his friend’s insight. “Let’s just find a place to rest,” he sighed.
The town was quiet, except for the wagon wheels on the hardened dirt and the clopping of the horses’ shoed hooves. Lonely Tear was a hamlet of five hundred humans that had survived on its fishing industry. They could see a bay of water clearly now as the moonlight shimmered off the glassy surface. The town was situated on a hill with a considerable slant heading towards the bay. An occasional human staggered from one of the taverns down the street and the wind created a slight whistle between the structures as it raced up from the water.
“Lady Luck Inn. That’s a great place to stay,” Bridazak pointed to direct the attention of his friends.
“How do you know that, ya blundering fool? You’ve never been here before.”
“Because it has ‘Luck’ in its title. That’s how I know,” he defended himself.
Upset and tired of the day’s happenings, the Dwarf’s rough voice quaked to life, “Oh, come on. Let’s get some rest and just forget about today. I’m tired of all these games and ghost tricks.”
Dulgin went off to settle things with the stable caretaker and then they walked into the Lady Luck Inn. The stone building was a two-story structure with a thatched roof and double paned windows. It was very plain outside; a simple sign dangled above the entryway. Inside was much the same; nothing adorned the walls, and a few small tables were set around a fireplace where sparkling embers faded. There stood a small registry station to the left of them, but no one was present. All was quiet, like the town. A dim light from behind the counter in a back room mingled with the darkness of the main lobby. They tried to peek over the human-sized wooden counter to see where the innkeeper might be. They had hoped their entrance had alerted someone, but not a soul stirred from the back room.
“There is no one here, late night travelers,” said a creaky, unknown voice from behind them near the fireplace. “Come, sit by the fire while you wait for the innkeeper,” the midget voice spoke again.
The fire suddenly erupted, illuminating the lodge enough to see more clearly. In the light, they recognized that the small creature was a Deep Gnome, an underground race with wood-brown skin, pure white hair, gray-blue eyes, and a plump nose, pitted and almost three inches in length. Smaller than the Ordakians, he was only three feet tall. He wore earth-toned clothing, leather boots adorned with strange writings, shiny gold bracers around his arms, and a small, thin, dark brown cape that was slung over his left shoulder. The Deep Gnome glared at them with a cocky confidence.
“Who are you?” Bridazak asked suspiciously.
“My name is Mudd, but you can call me Aloysius Davadander Ashenkoombi, for short.”
The Dwarf and Daks looked at each other, bewildered and confused.
“I don’t like him,” whispered Dulgin.
“And I don’t care,” the mysterious Gnome grinned, apparently hearing the Dwarf’s comment from across the room.
“What do you want?” asked Bridazak.
“I wanted to see with my own eyes the ones that are causing so much grief.”
“Grief with whom?” Dulgin questioned as he took a step forward.
“Yes, an interesting question indeed,” he sighed, “You have no idea what is happening, do you?”
“No, we don’t. But we would appreciate some answers,” chimed Bridazak as he moved into the sitting room and sat on the end of one of the benches. His friends followed, but did not sit.
“Things are changing rapidly—things that no one can stop. You, Bridazak, have awakened the destiny of this realm. The prophecy has been unleashed. I have seen much over my thousand years, and have found that men of all races are springs without water and mists driven by a storm. The blackest darkness is reserved for most, but for what they were not told, they will see, and what they have not heard, they will understand.” Mudd narrowed his eye slits while staring intently toward Bridazak.
“Since you know who I am, are you the one Ember spoke of?” asked the Ordakian.
“Not even close, but interesting that you should mention her name. She told you of him, didn’t she? Now I see that she has granted you protection, for what it is worth,” Mudd pointed at the medallion around Bridazak’s neck.
“What is it worth?” Spilf’s interest piqued at the thought of getting a few more coins in their purses.
“Worthless to those it was not given to, and no help in preventing me from locating you. What matters now is the time of the prophecy. It has called out for centuries, but none have heard, until now. I will give you a word of advice before I depart. Keep moving, because as I found you, so can others. You can stay in my room, if you dare, and the key I leave behind opens more than one door.” The mysterious gnome became blurry and slowly transformed into a ghostly image. He produced a soft aura as he rose from the chair and hovered.
“The creatures of this world never cease to amaze me. We will see if you are one of them.” Mudd flew up higher and then soared down toward the group. They ducked and watched the apparition as he plummeted into the roaring fire. A burst of flame erupted, and then reduced to its original dying embers. Spilf noticed a glint of gold, and upon inspection, discovered a golden key on the chair where Mudd sat.
Bridazak sighed as he put his hands over his face. “What have I gotten us into?” He reached for the box again, but thought better of exposing it, remembering Mudd’s warning. It didn’t matter though, as he found that just the thought of it calmed him and returned a warm feeling to his otherwise nervous soul.
The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) Page 5
