Fate of Thorik

by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

Tall thick grass arched from the breeze rolling in off Lake Luthralum. The grasslands ended abruptly at the edge of the bluffs. Dramatic breaks from the rolling fields and mountain foothills were common along the northern shores of the lake.

  The grass had begun to turn brown and had gone to seed as the autumn’s temperatures fell. On the top of each enormous blade of grass was a fluffy bright white bedding, containing hundreds of grass seeds. Wind blowing off the lake scattered the seeds in the air, giving it a wintry blizzard appearance.

  Ambrosius softly parted the tall stalks of grass in his path to see where he was going. The floating seeds clumped onto his clothes as he headed against the wind toward the lake.

  The grass before him finally parted to show the edge of a bluff and a large oak tree. The tree was one of few that dotted the hills. The grasslands had become so thick that it was uncommon for anything else to grow. This tree must have come of age before the grass had taken over the landscape.

  Ambrosius stopped at the tree. Its roots gripped the edge of the bluff as though it was hanging on for its life. Long thick roots worked their way down the rock walls and into cracks. Nearly a third of the tree’s base was hanging over the edge.

  Reaching over, the E’rudite touched the old tree with great respect. He understood the tree’s daily struggle to fight the strong winds that wished to push it over while the ground underneath it slowly eroded away with each rain.

  The long walk from Pyrth had given Ambrosius time to think about what had happened over the past few months. His life had been turned upside down. His mistakes had amplified as his anger got the best of him, perpetuating the issue. Again, a vicious circle of his own making.

  “Ambrosius, you fool. How did you let yourself get to this point?” he asked himself.

  He could feel the energy flow from the tree into his hand. It was massively strong and rejuvenated his own strength to carry on and to make things right. Patting the tree like one would pat the back of an old friend; he looked down over the edge of the bluff at the city of Shoreview.

  The city was in a shallow beach area surrounded by the bluffs on three sides. A large system of buoyant platforms supported streets, homes and stores. Nearly half the city was floating on the water, while the other half kept it anchored to the land. The thriving city was land-locked and grew in the only direction it could; out into the lake. Thin long flags flapped in the wind above every home with colors and crests of the families who lived within them.

  Ambrosius stood near a trail leading down to the city. The windy path snaked its way past cliff dwellings randomly carved into the bluff walls. Wooden ladders and walkways connected the dwellings vertically and horizontally in a chaotic maze, working its way down to the dock-like city below. People flooded the wooden walkways as they went about their daily chores, while children played on the interlocking system of bridges and poles as though it was a giant play area.

  Working his way down the trail, it led to a wooden walkway and then to a ladder and then to another walkway before going down one more very long ladder and down several flights of stairs. Stepping out onto the street, he knew there was a less physically challenging way down but he couldn’t recall it. Every time he had visited Shoreview, the path had changed. The city was dynamic in nature and seemed to redesign itself every few years.

  The humans and Nums of the city politely greeted him as he passed. A few Ov’Unday could be seen on a distant street, while curious children followed him in a game of discovery with the outsider. The city, for the most part, felt as he had remembered it to be.

  With his feet firmly on the ground, so to speak, he walked across the raised street and out onto the floating section of the city. Stopping several times to gain his bearings from his last recollection of the town, he finally stopped at a shop. The sign out front read, ‘Dare to Trade.’

  As he attempted to enter, he found the door to be locked. Pulling his staff before him to knock on the door, he heard a snort from behind the door. A second snort and a cough followed.

  Ambrosius stepped to the side of the store to discover an open window hanging over the water, several lengths from the storefront. Two boots extended out the window, one resting on the other, toes up to the sky. A fishing pole also extended from the opening and a line had been cast into the water below.

  The snort was heard again as the owner of the boots shifted his feet slightly. A pause of silence was broken with light snoring.

  Ambrosius grinned at the opportunity.

  Using his E’rudite powers he slowly unbuckled and then lifted one of his boots off the owner’s foot and then lowered it to the water. Raising the end of the fishing line, he attached the boot to the fishhook and placed it back into the lake. A firm pull of the line with his E’rudite powers startled the person in the window.

  The remaining boot and the tattered sock disappeared from the windowsill as an unshaved chunky man leaned out of the shop to grab his fishing pole, which had slipped from his grip. Upon grabbing the tool, he reached his thick hand out to pull the line out of the water. His hopes were high as he licked his lips and gazed down into the lake for some sign of his catch.

  Unfortunately, his desire was quickly dashed as he saw a boot instead of a nice meal. Leaning out of the window, he pulled the boot up to him, unhooked it, and tossed it back into the water with a grumble. Just as he let go of the item, he recognized the clasp on the side of the boot. Pulling himself back into the store, he looked down and realized he was missing one of his boots.

  Back at the window, the hairy-back shirtless man rested his weight on the sill. Bewildered, he looked in the direction he had tossed his boot.

  “Looking for this?” Ambrosius said from the opposite way of the man’s view.

  Swiveling his head and heavy body, he saw the lean man standing on the dock platform pouring the water out of his boot. “Ambrosius! You son-of-a-Krupe!” he jested. “Best respects. When did ya get in town?”

  “Only now.”

  The man disappeared from sight and heavy footsteps pounded their way to the front of the store. The lock was quickly released and the door swung open, exposing the filthy inside of the shop and letting out a nasty foul odor.

  The man in the doorway was a hand shorter than Ambrosius but weighed twice that of the E’rudite. Shirtless, his large hairy stomach hung over his pants and was coated with leftovers from several meals. Less than a beard and more than stubble, Dare’s face looked dirty and unkept. He had limped into the doorway from an old wound to his hip, which he offset by using a large Fesh’Unday leg bone as a cane. The thick and dirty bone had battle scars and engravings. Fresh blood coated an area toward the bottom of the cane where gray rat fur still clung.

  “Dare, it is good to see you.” Ambrosius held his breath a few seconds afterward while the smell dissipated in the breeze.

  “And I you,” he replied, before noticing the burn marks down Ambrosius’ face and neck. “What happened to yur face?”

  Ambrosius had completely forgotten about his physical scars. It took him a second to realize what Dare was asking about. Touching his tender skin, he said, “The Grand Council has been destroyed, and nearly took me down with it.”

  “You be at Kingsfoot during the purification?”

  Stunned, Ambrosius asked, “How do you know what happened at the council meeting, let alone where Kingsfoot is?”

  Scratching his chest before removing a few unwanted items from the hair on it, he replied, “Know of Kingsfoot, but not where it is. Beltrow was one of my best customers. Came down from the mountains every summer ta trade. Good man, he was. I knew somethin’ was amiss when no one from Kingsfoot came down for the annual trade this year.”

  “You said ‘he was’. How do you know of his death?”

  “A flock of them faith-followers came through ‘ear after the destruction. They stated their scrolls called it a ‘purification’ to start over. Said their valley’s air went sour and they had ta leave. Talked General Stickwell into
trading one of his boats for some gems. As quick as they arrived, they set sail for some place called Elysian. Odd that I never ‘eard of it.”

  Ambrosius absorbed the new information. “It has been some troubling times, my friend.”

  “Better days ahead with you back, I think.” Dare rubbed his thumb and finger together over an imaginary coin.

  “My last purchase from you filled your pockets full,” Ambrosius commented. “Times should have been good to you with such wealth.”

  “Aye.” Dare’s eyes shifted as he thought about his reply. “Sweet Nectar of Irr, she is a troubling wench. Her vile grasp drained me but inches of me life in torment and left me dry.”

  Ambrosius looked at him shamefully. “You traded your full purse for a taste of spirits? Nectar of Irr, no less. You’ve never been able to stop once you start drinking. You know better.”

  “I does now. Have no more taste for her. The thought sours me mouth as we speak.”

  “I hope so.” Ambrosius looked around the busy street he added, “May we talk in private?”

  “At your service. Come aboard.” Dare allowed Ambrosius to enter his store of odds and ends.

  Before shutting the door, Dare noticed two young Nums spying on his affairs and pointed the bloody end of his cane at them. With a loud stomp of his foot onto the street deck, he yelled, “Be gone, ya snooping tadpoles!”

  The curious children ran off as Dare limped back into the shop and slammed the door behind him. “Shouldn’t ‘av used the foot without my boot,” he grumbled to himself while shaking off the pain under his torn sock.

  Piles of abnormally shaped objects were along every wall. Mostly junk left over from when his shop was filled with exquisite items from all over the land. These items were what didn’t sell and had been collecting dust and insects for a long time.

  It took Ambrosius a few minutes to get used to the thick air from the decaying musk of dead rats in the corner as well as Dare’s own sweaty clothes that lay about. “I am in need of your services.”

  “What tis ya wanting?” Dare rummaged through the junk piles and lifted his remaining valuable items up to show his customer. “A rack of a three-horned estoo?” he asked, but quickly read Ambrosius’ facial expression. Kicking a large fanged Sandrat out of his way he collected several other objects. “Cloth fashioned from the webs of Kiri Desert Spiders? Moon Lake gribson peddles? Ergrauthian spices?” All were answered by Ambrosius’ deadpan expression.

  “Information,” the thinner man explained.

  “Ah.” Dropping the items on the floor, he used his cane to walk right up to him. Leaning his hairy arms against Ambrosius’ chest, he moved his face close and looked up at his patron. With over exaggerated mouthing of his words he said, “My specialty.”

  The stench coming off the man’s body was nothing compared to the death vapors released from his mouth. Ambrosius turned and walked to the window where Dare had earlier been fishing in his sleep. Clutching the sill, he leaned his body on his straightened arms and took a deep breath of the air from outside. “No games this time. I have to know some critical facts. Do not appease me with half-truths to support your purse.”

  “Misinformation, I swear. I didn’t know it had been tainted.” The fat man scratched his backside as he thought. “Never on purpose. Never to my favorite customer.” He gave off an uncomfortable trustworthy smile to persuade Ambrosius to trust him.

  Collecting one last breath of fresh air from outside the window, Ambrosius turned around and leaned lightly on the windowsill before addressing the pathetic looking man in front of him. “Where is Darkmere going to strike next?”

  “Darkmere?” His voice gave away his surprise. “Ain’t been ‘ear for ages. Last I ‘eard he vanished into the east.”

  “He is often disguised and goes by the alias of the Terra King.”

  “Terra King you say? Name plucks my cobwebs. Again, not through these parts, but within the Dovenar Walls he makes his mark.” Dare taxed his brain. “I know of the ill and his sickly followers.”

  “Good. Tell me what you know.”

  “Not so fast, friend.” Dare ran his dirty fingers through his balding hair to act more businesslike. His hair ended up sticking at an awkward slant while a fresh coat of thick natural grease covered his hand. “What we be talking in payment?”

  “Your life.”

  “Not like ya to threaten me. What’s come over ya?”

  “No threat. The information I am looking for will allow me to stop Darkmere from his next attack. If I am unsuccessful, he will likely take over these lands. He eventually will catch up to you.”

  “There ain’t never been a prison I can’t escape,” Dare boasted. “Proved that to Darkmere himself.”

  “Who articulated anything about him sending you to prison? After what you’ve done in your past, I don’t see him keeping you around long.”

  Swallowing hard, Dare agreed. “Truth it be. But my purse runs dry. Surely it is worth something for my efforts.”

  “I will make good on my account. But the price will depend on the information given.”

  “Heave ahead.” Dare rested his bone cane at his hip and extending his oily hand out to Ambrosius to lock the deal.

  “Agreed.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand.

  Dare slapped his hand into Ambrosius’ causing a squishy popping sound from within the grip. Holding tightly to the taller man’s hand, Dare placed his other hand onto Ambrosius’ forearm and held it firm as he shook it hard. “Like times of old it is.” Releasing his grip, he turned away.

  Stepping over to a table, Dare cleared it of all objects with one swipe of his cane, crashing the collection to the floor. Grabbing a map from a wall rack, he unscrolled it onto the now empty table. “Terra King been racing up’n down the outer wall like a feline after a Sandrat.” He pointed to various cities on the map of the Dovenar Kingdom. “Avoids the lake like the plague. Fear of water after the Civil War, I venture.” Chuckling as his own joke, his raspy voice caused it to almost sound like a cackle.

  “Has there been any pattern to his movements. Any location that he visits more often?”

  Dare tried to put the sightings he had heard about into some type of order. Scratching under the roll of his stomach with both hands, he said, “Paces like a caged tigron, it seems. Back and forth, north and south. Never still for long. Only in one place long enough to shout his anger at them Altereds. Lands, loud, and leaves he does.”

  “Is there anyone he has befriended along the way? Any leads we can follow?”

  “Friends? Nay. Fear keeps them closer than stink on Chuttles.” Looking intensely up from the map, he scratched his backside once more. “Promises immortality fer joining his cause. Collecting corpses is more like it. Never seen again are they who join him in crusade. Taken in by the words of the Mountain King to do his bidding.”

  Looking back to the map, Dare continued, “No battle field I see for his next attack.”

  Ambrosius was disappointed. “Keep working on it. Perhaps you will recall more with time.”

  “Doubt that, I know what I know. That’s all there is,” Dare admitted. “What else ya be needing?”

  “Transport to Pelonthal.”

  “A ship and a crew ya say?” Dare stood up straight. “Costly request. Coins needed up front for provisions.”

  “I have friends here that I can obtain the funds. How soon can we sail?”

  “Ship I have, Captain I be, but a crew and supplies will take a few days to rustle up.”

  “Fine, we sail in two days.”

  Chapter 27

  Dead Waters

  Thorik’s Log: 18th day of the 11th month of the 649th year.

  Thanks to the chaos in the Coliseum that caused local hysteria throughout the surrounding city, Avanda and I were able to escape with Grewen past the outer Dovenar Wall and into the O’Sid fields. Now that we are free, we wish to give Brimmelle this same gift.