Catalyst (Book 1)

by Marc Johnson

  Would coming here be enough? And could I return to Alexandria in time?

  CHAPTER 17

  We trotted our horses up the slanted plateau that led to the dwarven city of Erlam. It had been cleared of trees, so there was only scrub, low-cut grass, and a few flowers as far as I could see to either side. Jastillian said that the landscape was very similar to the Wastelands, but this had been done deliberately. The dwarves felt they could win on the field of battle against an invading army if they were able to face them in the open. If things went wrong, they could always fall back to the mountains.

  A patrol rode out to us, well before we reached the city. The dwarves’ short, stocky, armored bodies on horseback looked awkward, almost comical to me. What didn’t look comical were their stern, angry faces. Their beady eyes got even narrower when they rested on me. Their riding style may have looked awkward, but their armor and weapons didn’t.

  They wore red and black uniforms that blended into the landscape, the faded red ochre of their helms and breastplates matching the loose red dust, while the black of their gauntlets, boots, and helms resembled the cracks that spiderwebbed the ground. The varied browns of their beards and bare, muscular arms were like the rocks that dotted the plain. The dark, aggressive colors made them even more intimidating.

  “Greetings, Jastillian,” one said.

  “Greetings.”

  “It's good to see you again.” The sentry's brown eyes scanned Jastillian. “I heard you were in the Wastelands. You look like the cat dragged you out of the Inferno. Rough time?”

  Jastillian smiled. “Aye, you could say that.”

  “Who’s the stranger?”

  “A friend.”

  “We have orders not to let outsiders in.”

  “Says who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “He’s coming with me.”

  The other dwarves looked to their leader, waiting for his response. Despite being beaten, bruised, and outnumbered, Jastillian’s fierce gaze didn’t waver. It intensified, making the dwarves squirm in their saddles. All except the leader, who didn’t falter, either.

  Seeing the implacability of the leader made my anger rise, and with it my fire. I clenched my fists and bit down on my inner cheek to control it. I wasn’t going to let this patrol bar me from getting help. I would never get into the city if I did anything foolish. I had to trust in Jastillian and let him handle this.

  “On your head, Jastillian,” the guard said. “So be it.”

  Jastillian nodded and the dwarves rode off.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  Jastillian sighed and scratched his cheek. “No idea. We'll find out soon enough.”

  At the foot of the Daleth Mountain Range, the plateau dipped into a small valley. The green of the valley contrasted with the stark browns and grays I had just seen. A blue river flowed out of the mountains, feeding the city with life. We dropped our horses off at a stable on the outskirts of Erlam, finishing our journey on foot.

  People made their homes and shops in the valley, and unlike in Alexandria, the people and buildings weren’t run down. The wood used in construction wasn’t rotting or in need of repair. There were crowds of dwarves shopping and bargaining in the marketplace and on the main streets, but there were no guards or starving mobs. The aroma of chickens, cows, and pigs dominated the air. The smell of meat was so strong, it permeated my clothes. I breathed in relief when we passed a baker.

  A huge marble scene decorated the middle of the marketplace. A white statue of a dwarven hero battled ferocious monsters that I had never seen or heard of before. His axe was stuck in the middle of one. The carvers had captured the monsters’ sharp fangs and claws, and the dwarf’s rage while killing them. The inscription beneath the statue said, ‘You can achieve your heart’s desire, only if you’re willing to die for it.’

  “That’s Eostar, lad,” Jastillian said. “Some consider him the greatest dwarf who ever lived. Have you heard of him?”

  “Sounds familiar.” I might have read about him in one of my master's books, but I couldn't remember anything now.

  “You know, lad, if it weren’t for Eostar, Shala would have lost the war.” Jastillian gazed lovingly at the statue. “He inspired me to become what I am today.”

  “How so?”

  “Eostar wasn't the best or strongest warrior, but he inspired all of us to become more. If it weren’t for Eostar, we would have helped Renak win the war.”

  I turned my gaze away from the statue, cocking my head and raising my eyebrow.

  “Don’t look so surprised, lad. Before Eostar, we dwarves only cared about fighting and honor. We cared about who was the strongest, and would follow them because it was the honorable thing to do. We learned later that survival of the fittest doesn’t necessarily mean those who are physically strong, and that honor can come in many forms.

  “We didn’t technically enter the war for a long time, but we didn't have a problem with Renak's followers crossing our borders to get at our enemies. When we finally entered the war, we sided with Renak. It was a long struggle for Eostar, but he helped us see there’s more to life than fighting and the battlefield.

  “Strength and honor can be in ideals—in doing what’s right despite the odds or what others think. At Eostar’s urging, we joined Shala’s army at a pivotal point in the war. That’s how the Erlam of today was born. Afterwards, we branched off into other occupations like healing, history, even archery. Even so, we dwarves are still mighty warriors. It's just that it’s no longer all we are.”

  I stared at Jastillian, realizing for the first time that he was much more than a simple historian. And I was going to find out what.

  We left the marketplace and walked through residential neighborhoods. Most of the buildings were constructed out of slate or sandstone, material easily taken from the mountains. While some of the homes were bigger and had more stories, all seemed to be of the same uniform, blocky shape. The dwarves didn’t seem to believe in creativity in design. However, the walls were strong and smooth, with no cracks in the foundations or crumbling mortar.

  As we made our way through town, Jastillian was greeted by everyone that walked by. There wasn’t a single dwarf who didn’t acknowledge him, ranging from the littlest dwarf child to the most scarred, battle-tested one. He smiled and said his hellos. From the greetings of the people and the reaction of the guards, I began to suspect that Jastillian must be someone of importance. Even Premier didn’t want to kill him. He wanted to kill me.

  I had worried that coming here would be a waste of time. With Jastillian by my side, it might no longer be. Whoever he was, Jastillian had some influence.

  I couldn’t help but notice that every dwarf had a weapon. The children had mock wooden axes. They ran around, chasing and fighting each other. They fought with intensity, but never cried out, even when they got hit. Most of them smiled and roared with laughter instead.

  The adults favored axes of various sizes, slung across their backs, and large enough so that they extended above their heads. How could they carry such a thing and use it effectively? It was no wonder that their arm muscles, and every other muscle, were bigger than my neck. Even the vendors were armed. The elderly dwarves tended to favor short swords, probably because they were lighter than the axes.

  As we approached the foot of the mountain, a huge stone wall loomed over us, over twenty feet high. It curved like a horseshoe around the entrance to the underground portion of the city. In front of the wall, for a long bowshot in every direction, was an open space. Just like on the plateau, all the trees and brush had been removed, and there were no buildings. Nothing to provide cover for an enemy. It was a kill zone.

  The only entrance was a thick steel gate, flanked by two towers that extended ten feet higher than the wall. Guards paced the top of the wall; they stopped as we approached and eyed us suspiciously, as did the ones on the ground. Just as we got to the gate, we were met by a female dwarf wearing an officer�
�s insignia.

  “Jastillian, glad to see you’re back,” she said, and allowed herself a smile.

  Jastillian smiled back. “Me too, Lurlane.”

  She frowned at me. “Outsiders aren’t permitted, though.” The guard tensed. “He may wander around the town, but he can’t go inside.”

  “We’re going to see the council. It’s business.”

  Lurlane eyed me and Jastillian for several moments. “I’m duty bound.”

  The guards behind her fingered their weapons, and the ones on the towers raised their crossbows.

  My fire slipped again. I was losing control. I balled my fists, trying to hide it, but it trickled along my fingers. I folded my hands into my sleeves, hoping no one saw it, and that I could get control of it before it got worse.

  “It’s important. After our meeting, you’ll know soon enough,” Jastillian said. “Everyone will know.”

  “Please,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I’ve come for Erlam’s help.”

  She stared at me, sizing me up. “All right.” Lurlane nodded, and she and her men stepped out of our way. “I suggest the two of you clean up before you see the council.”

  “Thank you,” I said as we passed by.

  “You owe me, Jastillian,” Lurlane said. “Big.”

  “I know.”

  We passed through the steel gate. Immediately inside were barracks, training grounds, and forges for the guards. Groups of dwarves performed training drills, fighting in formations. Others fought one-on-one, attacking their opponents with their axes. Unlike the children, these adults swung with purpose and precision. Farther along, dwarves wrestled each other to the ground, half-naked, with sweat glistening from their bodies. The dwarves hadn’t sent out any monster-hunting parties like the elves, yet it looked like they prepared for war.

  There were other dwarves working instead of fighting—pushing carts with materials and supplies from the mines to the forges, or making weapons and armor. Everywhere, people were busy. We made our way to the edge of the military zone, up a flight of wide stone steps, and stopped. My mouth dropped open. Jastillian grinned at me.

  We stood before the stone heart of Erlam. Because of the dwarves’ skill with stonework, the mountains literally opened up, like a giant had taken huge bites out of them. The dwarves used the mountain for their foundation, supports, and construction materials—carving, cutting and polishing the stone into the shapes they wanted. Tunnels, bridges, ramps, and archways connected tier after tier of buildings, disappearing into the darkness of the mountain.

  “What do you think, lad?” Jastillian asked.

  “Amazing,” I breathed, the words barely leaving my mouth. I stood gawking until he clapped me on the back.

  “We’d best get a move on.”

  I liked the Cave City, as Erlam’s inner city was called, better from a distance than I did once I was inside. Streets and tunnels were narrow, and buildings crowded together. There was enough room to breathe and move, but it made the space tighter than I liked. The narrow tunnels and low ceilings made my breathing speed up. Even after all my years in the White Mountain, I’d never gotten over my dislike of being closed in.

  Deep, low, faint voices echoed throughout the mountains. The sound bounced off the walls and ceiling, so I couldn’t pinpoint where it came from.

  “What is that?” I asked, straining my ears.

  “Singing. We dwarves like to sing while we dig. Makes the work go faster.”

  We traveled on paths clean of any debris. There were a few staircases, but most of the walkways were carved into ramps so it was easier for the dwarves to transport materials. It did make for a lot of rising and falling, though. Some ramps were steep enough to make me slip.

  As we moved farther into the city, darkness overtook us as the enormous cave blocked out the light. Torches had been placed everywhere. With Jastillian’s permission, I picked up one to carry. Dwarves had excellent eyesight even in the dark, but I didn’t. I could have used my power for light, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

  Every building we passed was constructed of stone, some carved right out of the living rock of the mountain. The gray, brown, black, or white-veined buildings were far more smoothed and polished than any building I had ever seen before. Because of the way the dwarves dug, using the natural contours of the rock layers, the level of the ground rose and fell.

  We walked by one building; I ran my hand over its smooth, cool surface. There were no bumps or uneven grooves. I remarked on that to Jastillian.

  “Aye. These buildings need to be strong, in case of earthquakes or falling rocks, though we also take pride in craftsmanship for its own sake. And this city is also a fallback position if we get attacked and can’t hold the field. All our important buildings are here, such as the treasury, food stores, historical artifacts, records. You know, Erlam was very different when it was first constructed, all those years ago.”

  I nodded. “I know. Erlam was originally a small mining town. How in the gods’ names did it get like this?” I waved my arms across the expanse.

  “We needed more materials, and dug deeper and deeper into the mountains. We also liked having a good defensive readiness, and what makes for a better defense than a mountain itself? We have a saying, ‘The mountain won't move, and neither shall we.’”

  I smiled. “Good point, but what about earthquakes and avalanches? How do you keep the mountain from collapsing on you?”

  Jastillian stroked his bushy beard. “Despite what some of you humans think, we're not just diggers and blood-thirsty warriors. We're also builders, lad. While a lot of the things we create are for warfare, some things aren't. This” –he swept his arms out— “is one of them. We've used the knowledge we've acquired over the centuries to refine and perfect how we build things. Some of our engineers used their expertise to make these mountains habitable.”

  “That's incredible.”

  “Aye,” Jastillian said. “In my travels, I’ve learned that magic was used to help with the original beams, joints, columns, and frames, but I wasn't able to find any evidence of it in our own records. We lack a wizard's expertise.” He twiddled his beard and stared upwards. “Still, if magic were involved even a little bit, it would be a great find.”

  “If I'm ever back this way, I'll check for you,” I said, looking up to see what he saw. Even now, I could make out dwarves working among the buildings. No wonder everything was so clean and in such perfect repair. I wished I was just visiting Erlam, and could sight-see.

  But I wasn't.

  I couldn’t get the princess out of my mind. Had Premier already brought his forces to Alexandria? Had she gambled—moved against Premier and failed? If only there was a way to know what was happening. I wasn’t leaving here without securing the dwarves’ help. If I had come all this way here for nothing, and abandoned the princess in her time of need, I would never be able to forgive myself.

  I looked over my shoulder and whispered, “Krystal. Please be safe.”

  Jastillian led me to a flat, rectangular building, which he said was the largest building in the mountain. We walked up a long staircase, between polished dark gray columns. There were no windows. It was far too deep in the mountains for windows to be of any use.

  “Jastillian,” one of the guards said, blocking the open archway.

  “Greetings.”

  “I see you’ve brought a visitor, yet I’ve not been notified, which means the human doesn’t have clearance. I know it’s been a while since you’ve last been here, but there are no outsiders currently allowed into Erlam.” The dwarf shook his head wearily. “Tell me why I should admit you, instead of having your friend locked up.”

  “It’s urgent. We’re going to see my mother.”

  “You may see her. The human stays.”

  “He’s coming too.”

  The guard shook his head. “He can’t. I don’t care—”

  “He’s a wizard.”

  The guard stared at me, dumbfoun
ded, before looking back to Jastillian. Then he broke into a chuckle. “He tell you that, to get you to bring him to Erlam? Not likely. Everyone knows there are no more wizards in Northern Shala.” He shared a smirk with the other guards.

  “Hellsfire,” Jastillian said.

  I nodded in understanding. I released my anger and frustration at being barred at every turn while people’s lives were in danger. This was taking far too long. The torch flame in my hand exploded into a fireball twice as big as my head. I dropped the torch, keeping the flame hovering in front of me. It flew towards the guards and stopped, spinning faster and faster. The guards backed away, eyes wide, hands on their weapons.

  Jastillian coughed, catching my attention. He shook his head slightly.

  I reached out to the fire. My hand reabsorbed it. The warmth flowed through my body as the fire disappeared from view.

  The guards moved aside, still stunned.

  “It's good to be home.” Jastillian smiled and clapped the guard on his shoulder as we passed through the archway and into the building.

  He looked satisfied, but I had an uneasy feeling that getting the dwarves to help was going to be a lot harder than entering their city.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Let’s go get cleaned up before I take you to meet my mother,” Jastillian said.

  “Who is your mother?” I asked.

  “She leads Erlam.”

  My eyes widened. That was great news. Hope rose within me. Maybe coming here wasn’t a waste of time.

  “Think she will help?” I asked.

  “I’ll do my best, lad.”

  Jastillian led me through the narrow halls. Banners hung all over the place, many depicting a muscular arm wielding an axe. It was the dwarves’ symbol for strength and power, intimidating people in battle. Jastillian said that even though they were now more than just a warrior people, they kept the symbol to remind themselves of their past.