by TP Keane
Chapter 14
The dusty roads, parched from lack of rain, soon gave way to a dark landscape devoid of trees, grass or any indication of life whatsoever. The intense sunshine of southern Naretia was swallowed greedily by vast fields of blackness, which refused to let any light reflect off its glassy surface. Dark waves, frozen in place by some magical spell, stretched out as far as the eye could see, and looked as though it could have consumed every vector of life instantly.
Though they had not yet stepped onto the ominous terrain, the intense heat radiating off the surface blew suffocating air in Ol?rin's direction. Dwarven legends tell of how they used the blood of the fiercest demon, the heart fires from the hottest volcano, and the strongest diamonds from their mines, to create this impenetrable obsidian landscape. There were many legends too about men spending weeks, and all of their resources, trying to break though the surface so that they might lay hands on the dwarf's riches. But all perished in the end.
"What is that?" Aramus asked, squinting against the bright sunlight.
"That, is the city of Balbuldor," Ol?rin answered, pausing to riffle through his hat.
The heat had forced Ol?rin to relinquish his thick cloak and fur boots into his hat, in favour of lighter clothes. Aramus, however, seemed unperturbed by the heat, despite his black leather jacket (which now had a sizable hole in the shoulder) and heavy boots. Ol?rin felt faint just by looking at him, and wondered if his tolerance for the climate wasn't another trait passed down to him by his father.
"I see no city, old man."
"No, of course you don't," Ol?rin replied, fishing out a small bundle of pink wool with a sigh of relief. "It wouldn't be protected very well if it were just lying around in the open, now would it? The city lies beneath the ground."
"How do we get there?"
Ol?rin plopped his hat back on his bald head and proceeded to detangle the lumps of pink wool until four knitted tea cozies emerged.
"With these," he said handing two of them to an astonished looking Aramus. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not crazy. The dwarfs have enchanted this obsidian with an Infernos curse. Should any living, or non-living thing rest upon its surface, it will superheat it until the object melts or bursts into flames. So, I would suggest that you put those on your feet before you walk any further."
Aramus shot Ol?rin a sceptical look. Throwing his eyes to the heavens Ol?rin sighed and shoved his staff into his hat. He slipped on his own tea cozies and walked, unharmed, onto the obsidian. Reaching into the pockets of his robes, he pulled out a small item, and tossed it toward Aramus.
A round, yellow pebble skidded to a halt no more than a foot away from the young man. Slowly the black rock beneath the pebble began to change. It turned a bright crimson colour and an intense heat began to emanate from it. Ol?rin watched as Aramus shielded himself from the rising heat with his arm. Within seconds the pebble shattered into a thousand pieces from the heat.
"You must take care not to accidently drop anything onto the surface," he continued. "Don't sit down, or lean on anything, because it is only these pink shoe coverings that prevent us both from being burned alive. You can thank my good friend, Zerran, for these."
"Was Zerran a wizard too?"
"Heavens no. Zerran is a somewhat dim-witted farmer that lives in the middle of Lothangard, where he has no fields to plough. But what he lacks in common sense, he makes up for with his gift in creating heat-absorbing tea cozies. Although, I think it may have more to do with his one and only livestock, Bella the sheep, who lives in his kitchen. According to Zerran's neighbours, Bella was involved in some kind of horrendous incident involving the raspberry bush and an overprotective wizard. Since then, she's lost her taste for raspberries, and given Zerran nothing but magically imbued pink wool that protects from all things hot. Fascinating really. Of course, being the dim-witted soul that he is, he lacks the imagination to fashion anything but tea cozies from it."
Aramus paused and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. After a moment longer he closed it again, straightened the strap of his backpack across his chest, and put the pink woollen covers over his black boots.
"All right, old man, where to next?" he said with a defeated sigh.
"Next, we must get lost. That is the only way to find the entrance to Balbuldor."
Aramus rolled his eyes before cautiously stepping onto the black obsidian. With little more than a sigh of relief at not bursting into flames, he followed Ol?rin into the featureless landscape.
They had only walked for a little over twenty minutes before they became aware of the sound of ogres screaming in the distance. The two companions spun around in unison, and standing at the outer reaches of the obsidian border was the queen of Naretia. Her red armour glinted brightly against the dark landscape, and a long line of cleaver wielding ogres paced excitedly behind her.
Ol?rin watched as she pointed to another ogre and gestured him forward. He diligently marched onto the obsidian without fear, but within seconds was consumed in a blaze. His arms and legs hit out wildly, and his bloodcurdling roars of pain reverberated over the glassy landscape. Ol?rin couldn't look, so instead turned his gaze toward Aramus, who appeared unruffled by the torture that was happening.
"We must quicken our pace to get ourselves lost," Ol?rin said, taking Aramus by the elbow and turning him in the opposite direction. "I'd wager that she doesn't know my friend Zerran, but she is also resolute to reach us. I don't doubt that if she could create a path of dead ogre bodies to reach us, she would."
