The walls were covered in reliefs that looked so lifelike that it seemed the figures were moving. He barely had a chance to look before he was being whisked along.
They approached a magnificent rounded arch. On either side of the arch was a pedestal. On the left pedestal sat a book. It was old and looked like it would fall apart at the first touch. They had taken precautions though, the top of the pedestal was enclosed within glass. An enormous ogre skull rested on the pedestal on the right. The skull was eerie looking regardless of how long the ogre had been dead.
Even before they reached the arch, Flare could hear a low rumble and he knew what it was. It was the rumble of a large crowd. He glanced at Belgil, “Who’s all in there?”
Belgil shrugged, but Flare knew him well enough now to see that he too was surprised.
Holgar was first to reach the arch, he continued on through and then began descending some steps. Belgil and Flare followed him and Flare momentarily paused when he could see beyond the archway. This wasn’t a private audience with the king, it looked like the room beyond was packed to overflowing.
Stepping through the arch, Flare got his first good look at the room beyond. Immediately in front of the arch, steps led down to a flat circular floor. All around the floor, tiered seating climbed away from the floor and the seats were all full, with dwarves standing in the walkways. It looked vaguely like an arena of some sort.
The ceiling was a mirror image of the floor. The ceiling near the edges of the room was almost low enough for Flare to touch, but then it stepped up higher until the center of the room had the highest ceiling.
Directly opposite the arch, across the lowered floor, was a raised throne. The seat was nearly ten feet off of the floor and the only way to reach it was from an opening directly behind the throne. An old but still hardy looking dwarf sat there, an almost dainty looking ring of gold sitting on his head. The crown looked decidedly out of place on his head, lost as it almost was in the king’s wild hair. Standing on a small perch at the right hand of the king was Councilor Emlin.
Belgil gave him a small tug and Flare moved forward slowly. They began descending the steps and he studied the king. He had thought that anyone who would listen to Emlin had to be a fool, but the king looked intelligent. More than that, he looked alert and wary.
Flare’s eyes flicked to Emlin and were already dismissing the fool when he spotted something to make his heart sing. The old bastard held Ossendar in his hands.
As they entered, the low rumble of the crowd slowly died away, leaving an eerie silence.
They led Flare to stand in the middle of the floor, directly in front of the king’s throne. Emlin’s dwarves spread out in a semi-circle between Flare and the king. Holgar and Belgil both bowed before the king, and Flare reluctantly followed their example. He had the feeling that this meeting wasn’t going to go well, but he at least wanted to try diplomacy.
Straightening back up, Holgar spoke first. “My king. We have brought Flare as you requested.”
“Tell me, where did you get this sword?” The voice was not that of the king, instead it was Councilor Emlin. He cut off as the king raised a hand.
“There will be time for that, Emlin. I would know who I am entertaining,” the King said. “Tell me what is your name and where are you from?” His voice was low like most of the dwarves but not quite so raspy. It made him much easier to understand than the others.
Holgar moved out of the way slightly and nodded to Flare.
Stepping forward, Flare resisted the urge to smile. He had thought long and hard on how he wanted this meeting to go, and so far it was going according to his hopes. He was quite sure he was about to shock the dwarves and he hoped it would be enough to keep things from getting nasty.
Flare whispered a quick magic spell to amplify his words. “My name is Flaranthlas Eldanari. My grandfather is Feilolas, King of the Elves. I am ninth in line to the elven throne.” His words were having the desired affect, both Holgar and Belgil twisted in surprise and even Emlin’s mouth dropped open. Of those he could see, only King Vognar seemed unaffected, perhaps that would change. “My father is Darion, King of Telur.” He paused briefly before adding, “I am his first son.” This was true but King Darion had never officially acknowledged Flare as his son. The king had adopted him after the battle of Mul-Dune, both to reward Flare and to minimize his feelings of guilt. The king had hoped that his adoption of Flare would not alarm the Church.
“I am the conqueror of Mul-Dune. I claimed that sword from the catacombs under Mount Ogular.” He lowered his voice at this point, “I will have that sword back.”
For the briefest of moments, there was silence and then the chamber erupted with conversation. Holgar and Belgil both looked dumbstruck, as did the guards that stood between them and King Vognar. The fat guard, Grom, looked to Emlin for guidance but got no help there. Emlin was still staring at Flare through wide eyes. Strangely, King Vognar still sat stoically, looking unaffected by Flare’s statements.
It was at that moment that Flare heard it. There was a soft melody that seemed almost too quiet to hear. It sounded like someone humming a low whimsical tune. It sent shivers down his spine and his arms and legs were quickly covered with goose pimples. He had heard it several times before and he thought he knew where it was coming from. Dagan had once told him that one of the divine blades had sung to its owner and he felt that was what was happening now. Ossendar was singing to him.
Without thought of the consequences, he reached out with his spirit and yanked the sword from Emlin’s hands. It flew through the air and Flare snagged it by the hilt.
The sight of Ossendar coming to rest in Flare’s hand was enough to jar Emlin from his shock. With his eyes still opened wide, he pointed at Flare and shouted, “He’s armed! Kill him!”
There was the unmistakable sound of several twangs as several dwarven bowmen loosed arrows from near the archway. The arrows zipped through the air and shattered against an invisible barrier three feet short of where Flare stood.
Smiling, Flare pulled his eyes from Ossendar and looked back towards the archway. The bowman stood there with their mouths hanging open.
The remains of the arrows were little more than small pieces of wood lying crumbled on the floor. They lay at the base of an invisible but solid sorcerer’s shield. Flare had created the shield upon entering the audience chamber. It seems that it was a good idea.
He began steeling himself. The sorcerer’s shield would protect him from arrows and even a guard or two, but if they came at him in numbers the shield wouldn’t last long.
“Stop!” King Vognar’s voice boomed from his position on the elevated throne. The word cut off the hum of the crowd.
Flare turned to see the dwarven king standing in front of his seat and glaring around the room.
“I granted him an audience and you try to kill him?”
“My king,” Emlin began, his voice sounding oily. He did not get to finish his sentence.
“Enough,” Vognar shouted in Emlin’s direction, causing the councilor to flinch. “I am king and I rule here. I will make the decisions.”
Emlin took a deep breath and nodded his head. “I did not mean to offend you, my lord.”
Vognar had already turned his attention back to the floor of the audience chamber. “Guards! Seize those dwarves!” He pointed to the dwarven bowmen.
The guards did not move. They stood there staring dumbly between King Vognar and Emlin. For just a moment it seemed they would not follow orders.
King Vognar slammed his hand down on the arm of his throne. “I said now!” He shouted and the guards jumped to obey. There was a moment of silence as the bowmen were escorted from the chamber. “Clear the room!” the king said, his voice just loud enough to reach the far corners of the chamber. No one moved for a moment, everyone just stared at the king. The little dwarven king seemed to swell as he sucked in air to explode. The crowd didn’t give him the chance but as one they rose and rushed the ex
it.
It took several moments for the room to clear, but soon the only occupants of the room were Belgil, Holgar, Flare, Emlin, and King Vognar. No words were exchanged as the hall emptied. The King and Emlin stared at Flare and Flare just stared right back.
When the room was clear, the King said, “Wait a moment. I’ll come down there.”
Emlin opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then he closed it quickly. The King did not look receptive to any advice at the moment.
The King and the councilor left the podium through a small door in the back and reappeared a moment later on the floor. The King approached with a brisk step, but Emlin followed with a noticeable hesitation. The hesitation was understandable; even Flare’s two escorts were regarding him with something akin to fear.
Vognar stopped a good ten feet short of Flare. There was a brief silence as the two groups regarded each other.
“So, is it true?” King Vognar asked. “Are you really the one that was prophesied about?”
“One of them,” Flare answered.
“What does that mean?” Emlin asked. “Either you’re the Destroyer or not.”
Flare didn’t get the chance to answer as Vognar spoke quickly. “I think it means that he’s not the Destroyer; he’s the other one.”
Flare’s hesitated – taken by surprise – he wasn’t aware that others knew of the true meaning of the Kelcer prophecy.
Apparently, Emlin was not aware. “What does that mean?” the councilor asked, looking confused.
Flare ignored Emlin and instead addressed the King. “I am, as you say, the other one.”
Belgil and Holgar held their tongue, despite their obvious confusion; but Emlin did not.
“My King, I do not understand what he’s saying, but you should not listen to him. Retake Ossendar, whatever the cost, and expel him from our kingdom.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” King Vognar responded and Emlin’s eyes widened. Undoubtedly the councilor was not used to being addressed like that by the King.
The King turned his attention to Emlin, “Leave us.”
“My king?” Emlin asked, looking astonished.
“Leave us,” the King repeated. His voice left no room for argument.
Councilor Emlin blinked at the King for several moments and then he bowed and left the room. He looked disgruntled the whole way.
The King waited until the door closed behind Emlin and then he looked hard at Flare. “Are you the one?” he asked.
Flare nodded, “I am.” It should have been evident enough just by the fact that he carried Ossendar, but he could understand how the king would need more confirmation.
“Forgive me, my King,” Belgil said after a moment, “but I don’t’ understand.”
The King glanced at Belgil and then looked back to Flare. “You know of Kelcer?” Belgil nodded and the King continued, “We have long known that the prophecy speaks of two men. One is evil and the other is not.” Both Belgil and Holgar looked surprised at this but they remained silent. The King took a deep breath, “I always hoped that this day would not come while I yet lived.”
Flare smiled, “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
The King grunted in reply and then asked, “Do you only have the sword?”
The smile slid from Flare’s face. “Yes. The sword is all I have. I do not know where the helmet or the shield are located. The armor is supposed to be near the city of Saprasia.”
The King was silent for a moment considering. “Then why are you in these mountains?” he finally asked.
Flare shrugged and looked sheepish. “I only knew about the sword until recently and the Church has been pursuing me.” Pausing he hoped Vognar would be receptive to his next suggestion. “Since you already know the true meaning of the prophecy, does that mean we can count on you to help?”
It was difficult to tell but it looked like Vognar actually smiled at that. “Whether you win or the other one wins, what does it matter to us? It will undoubtedly be bad for the dwarves either way.”
The statement caught Flare by surprise. “Bad for you?” he repeated, “how so?”
“The dwarves have never been treated as equals. Not even when we partook in the Great Wars. Our advice was never sought nor heeded, and once the fighting was over we were looked upon as servants rather than allies.”
“Perhaps your people were mistreated in the distant past, but those kings and leaders are long dead. I hope to avoid the mistakes they made.”
Vognar looked dubious. “You must forgive me but I’ve had little enough reason to trust a human,” he paused for several heartbeats and then hurried on, “or even a half-human.”
Flare did not know how to respond to that and so he held his tongue. There was a brief silence which was finally broken by Vognar speaking.
“Belgil, go and retrieve Flaranthlas’ things.”
Belgil started in surprise but recovered quickly. He bowed low and then turned and hurriedly left the room.
“Flaranthlas, I would have you stay in a guestroom at my palace so that it will be easier for us to talk. Would that be acceptable?”
Surprised, Flare hesitated. “Well, I really need to be going. I have a long journey ahead of me.” It was the simple truth. The Faerum wastelands were on the far side of Telurian territory which meant he had to cross the whole of a kingdom that was desperately searching for him.
“Journey?” Vognar repeated. “Are you heading to Saprasia then?” His eyes bored into Flare, he never blinked or looked away.
Flare nodded, “It’s the only place I know to go. The armor was lost there and the Church believes that it is still there or perhaps a clue remains as to where it is now.” A new thought occurred to him and he pressed ahead quickly. “Do you know where the armor, helmet, or shield might be?”
Vognar’s forehead wrinkled in anger and his tone became even more gruff. “If I knew where the shield was, then the entirety of the dwarven realm would follow me to battle. We would liberate it or die in the attempt.”
“Of course,” Flare said quickly, “I meant no offense.”
After a moment Vognar nodded and some of the anger slipped away. “I have no idea where the armor is, but the helmet has, for a long time, been rumored to be in the King of Aramonia’s treasure room.”
Flare took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Perhaps there was a reason that his path had brought him here. So, it was possible that the King of Aramonia had possession of the helmet. That suggested an alternate course of action; it might be better to go to Aramonia on the way to Saprasia. While Aramonia wasn’t exactly along the path he had planned to take, it would be faster to make a detour and try for the helmet then it would be to go to Saprasia and then come all the way back.
Smiling, Flare looked up at King Vognar. The dwarf was studying him intently. “Thank you,” Flare said, “you may have helped me even if you did not want to.”
“Perhaps,” Vognar said slowly, “but it was just a rumor.”
Chapter 22
It was late in the day as the Guardians followed Warren into the mountains. They had made good time and hadn’t seen the first goblin. That wasn’t unusual. Goblins hated the daylight and preferred to come out once the sun had gone down. They had taken precautions though and Warren’s men were spread out in front of the party, acting like scouts. No one was particularly happy with the situation. The Guardians were unhappy about relying on the strangers to give warning prior to walking blindly into a bunch of goblins. Warren’s men were also unhappy; they did not enjoy their commander alone with the Guardians.
Warren and Heather led the way and Enton stayed close on their heels. Heather suppressed a grin at Enton’s attempt at chivalry. It was as if he thought Warren was leading them into an attack and he had to stay close to protect her. The urge to grin slowly left her and she wondered again what she should do about the big man. She forced the thoughts away, she could deal with it later if they survived this foolhardy attempt.
Immediately behind Enton, came sorcerers and magi. The two sorcerers had been walking with their heads together for hours, talking quietly and barely paying any attention to their surroundings. Cassandra and Mikela walked shortly behind Dagan and Agminion, but they walked in silence. Warren had warned all four of them to use their craft only as a last resort and only then if their lives depended on it.
Aaron followed the small group of magic-users and he seemed more at ease than Enton. He wasn’t foolish enough to trust these new strangers, but he did trust Heather.
Atock brought up the rear and he, like Enton, seemed to be walking on his toes. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword and his eyes were busy constantly scanning their surroundings.
It had only taken a couple of hours to reach the spot where Heather and seen the prisoners being tortured and they gave it a wide berth. Undoubtedly there would be goblins near the prisoners. She even feared encountering a goblin heading to or from the amphitheatre. She shouldn’t have worried though. Warren took them a long way west to make sure they passed safely.
There were two mountain peaks here, and a valley led to the northwest. The group slowed while skirting around last night’s stage, but then they picked the pace back up quickly. Gradually the land became more sloped and their pace slowed. The magic-users could not keep up a fast pace on a slope. They walked for several hours in silence before Heather spoke.
“Last night I saw a huge opening in the mountain. Was that the entrance to the mine?” Heather asked quietly.
Into the Wastelands: Book Four of the Restoration Series Page 24
