She had to look back.
What she saw relieved her, but only slightly. At least she had time to think. Wendimede was a good twenty meters out in front, with Garseon and Latson next, and the dark elf and the two skull knights closing fast. She kept her eyes on the skull knights, mesmerized by the forceful way the horses ran, unconcerned with the crushing forces they were distributing to their bones.
Garseon turned and sent two explosive balls for the kneecaps of the horses following him. One hit and splintered the bone, sending horse and rider sprawling in a tangled mess. The other missed, sending up a useless cloud of dirt behind its rider.
“Stay with her,” Latson called out. “I will slow down the rest.” Garseon nodded and didn’t look back. He did not question Latson’s ability.
Latson kicked up his right leg and spun off his horse, landing with a thud on the grassland. He unsnapped the holders on his throwing knives. Once they came in range, the Guard started throwing. The knives were strapped in an X down the front of his body. Ambidextrous, he had five knives that could be thrown with each hand. He sent the ten knives into the pursuers in rapid succession, knocking off the skull knight’s head and shin, and sending three into his horse, causing it to skid forward and then collapse. He injured the elf’s horse as well, but hit her only once, drawing blood from her thigh.
Latson stood in the sun, holding his ground and the enemy bore down on him. Except for the rise and fall of his chest he was motionless, coolly waiting. It was obvious to Yvonne that he had banished debilitating emotions like fear, nervousness, and hatred long ago. The elf cried out in anticipation, urging her mount forward and drawing her sword.
At the last second, Latson reached behind his right shoulder, drew his long sword, and sliced completely through the horse. The top half shot forwards, knocking the elf to the ground and nearly pinning her under hundreds of pounds of undead horse. The blade of Latson’s sword was tipped with diamonds that had been sharpened with magical bursts of pure energy. In all the Lands of Daranor, only the famous Light Sword was sharper.
The horse was having quite a tough time of it. The skull knights had at least some dexterity, and could reattach themselves quite easily. Their mounts, however, seemed to have been created with far less skill. Skull knights had been around for centuries, and the skull horses were a fairly recent creation. It appeared that there were still some flaws that their creator had not been able to fix yet. The pieces of the fallen horse were drawn to each other, but did not seem to be able to move well on their own. Rather, they just moved along with a random twitching of muscles and joints that had the net effect of movement towards each other.
However, the skull knight had reassembled himself, and he and the dark elf faced Latson together on foot. Latson stood back, defensively blocking the way that Yvonne and Garseon had fled. Soon the skull knight, whose mount had been shot in the knee by Garseon’s exploding dart, came galloping forward. Instead of aiding his companions, he rode around them in a wide arc, and headed for Yvonne.
That was the last thing she saw of them. She urged her horse onward even harder, and the next time Yvonne looked back there was no one in sight; she, Garseon and Alahim were alone.
***********************
They stumbled on all day, stopping only briefly to give the horses some rest and eat a little bread and cheese. While they had enough water for the three of them, the horses were thirsty and becoming dehydrated.
Yvonne was glad that they were in open grasslands. There was absolutely no way that the skull knights could sneak up on them. Although, she thought, this only meant that they would have to watch as the skull knights slowly closed the distance.
As twilight approached, they caught sight of five riders in the distance. The figures were still too far away to determine who they were, but Yvonne was taking no chances. She could feel the cold malevolence drifting across the plain.
“Over there,” Garseon commanded, pointing to a small, hollow log sticking out from a mound of earth. The log was lying on the ground and the entrance was shrouded with a thin green moss. They had reached the small mountains that Yvonne knew contained dwarves. Trapped between dwarves and skull knights, Yvonne wasn’t sure which was worse.
She turned to Garseon and raised her eyebrows. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting that they hide in that small log? They would be vulnerable to the skull knights with no place to run. Besides, where would their horses go?
He just shrugged and dismounted, and then crawled into the open stump. Yvonne was tired, and she didn’t have any better ideas, so she dismounted as well. Alahim went into the stump first. Yvonne followed, shaking her head.
Once inside, however, Yvonne looked around in surprise. The mound of dirt was hollow and large enough for Alahim to stand and for her and Garseon to crouch. There was a door at one end.
Garseon rapped his knuckles strongly against the door. After a few minutes when no one answered, he knocked again, harder this time. The ritual was repeated six times before Garseon called out.
“You’re not fooling anyone. I can smell you in there”
Immediately a small metal slit opened in the door, revealing two shifty eyes. “GO AWAY!” The slit slammed back closed.
“We need your assistance. It is a matter of great importance.”
“Why did you come to us? Don’t you know that dwarves are pushy, dirty, and rude?”
“Don’t forget smelly!” Another, younger voice came from inside, and was hurriedly silenced.
Almost as soon as he had said it, Yvonne’s nose curled back as a fearsome smell emanated from behind the door. Had she just noticed the smell after the dwarf mentioned it?
The dwarves on the inside suddenly erupted into a fit of coughing and gagging. After recovering, they pretended that no one was there. Garseon had to remind them again.
“Time is running short. We require help for the horses as well.”
The older one spoke again. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to visit some nice, clean elves? I hear that they are great, fragrant hosts.”
“Good one!” the young one chimed in again, before being silenced once more by the elder, his annoyance rising.
The annoyance of the elder dwarf was nothing compared to that of Garseon, however.
Yvonne stepped forward, “Please, sir. We are running away from skull knights, and we need your help.”
The elder dwarf seemed to consider her request for a moment, and when he responded there was sadness in his voice. “Sorry, pretty lady, but we cannot…What is skull knights? Skull knights are all gone from the world now.” He said it almost without believing it himself.
Garseon was ready to explode. “Idiot dwarves! By Fientien’s clean-shaven face, open the damn door!”
That was enough for the dwarves on the inside. They stepped back, and soon the door swung open. What she saw inside almost made Yvonne laugh aloud.
A younger dwarf stood next to an older one. The older dwarf looked suspicious, and the younger one looked excited but cautious. That wasn’t the odd part, though. Both were clean-shaven and impeccably dressed, but each had fresh manure smeared across their clean, freshly-pressed garments. There was a bucket of manure on the floor, and its lid was lying inside-up beside it.
“I’m sorry,” the elder dwarf apologized. “I had no idea you were…”
Garseon cut him short with a wave of his hand. “See to the horses outside quickly. I must speak to him.”
The Dwarves scurried along the corridor, and Yvonne and Alahim struggled to keep up. As she looked around, Yvonne saw that the tunnel was not at all like she had expected. It was so…tidy. Smokeless torches hung at intervals from the edges of the cave. They were spaced far apart at the straight points and clustered closer together where the tunnel bent and twisted. But the oddest thing was the floor. It was so smooth, reflecting the torchlight eerily. Was it…polished?
Soon the tunnel they were in spilled out into a larger room and Yvonne could see the dwelling places
of several dozen dwarves.
What she saw in front of her was completely at odds with everything she had heard about the dwarves. The community looked neat and efficient, and the layout of the houses was very pleasing to the eye. The houses were all fashioned out of white limestone, and they had various porches and windows covered with a light blue trim with a hint of a green sparkle in it. There were breathtaking statues and fountains, depicting ancient-looking dwarves doing all sorts of historic-looking things.
Yvonne was still in shock when a young-looking dwarf came up to them. Suddenly, she realized that having never seen a dwarf before, she had no idea what this one’s age was, although she could roughly tell which ones were older than the others. Feeling out of place, she began to feel nervous.
Her son was not feeling any of the anxiety of his mother; rather, he was looking around excitedly, his eyes becoming bigger as if that would ensure that he did not miss any details.
The dwarf who approached them bowed gracefully and then spoke. “Travelers of the King’s Highway, welcome to Albain, westward village of the Gerde-Vak. I am Fientien, and I trust that you have arrived in our humble community under great duress.”
Yvonne had to take a while to try to extract some meaning from the dwarf’s words. Fortunately, he spoke slowly and serenely, letting the air fill up with the fragrance of his words. The only proper noun she caught was the man’s name, and by the way he introduced himself, Yvonne guessed that Garseon had never met him before. The dwarf was dressed in tight-fitting black velvet breeches and a white linen shirt with elaborate ruffles on the cuffs and midsection. All this was held together by a wide leather belt fastened with an enormous brass buckle. The dwarf himself was not much taller than Alahim, although a good deal stouter. There was a healthy mixture of muscle and fat—Yvonne could tell that the dwarf was strong, but also used to easy living. His long, thin hair cascaded downwards, his shoulders breaking through like two rocks protruding from a waterfall.
Garseon bowed. “We are deeply in your debt, O gracious prince. I apologize for intruding uninvited upon your excellent abode, but we were being chased by skull knights, and had nowhere else to—“
“Ran out of water, you say? Separated from your companions and had no idea where you were? Good thing that that’s the worst we get, now-a-days.” Garseon was cut off as the dwarf flashed a menacing look, and hurriedly interrupted in a voice loud enough for any passerby to hear. He then turned, inviting the trio to follow him to a room to the side of the community, where he continued. “Before the fall of the death lord, we had all sorts of travelers fleeing monsters, but it’s a good thing that they’ve all been defeated for the last fifteen years. Yes, yes, right this way. No need to speak—your throats must be parched. We’ll fix that up soon enough, perhaps even add a few drops of darkberry juice.”
All three followed, looking none too thirsty indeed. Garseon even had a half-full waterskin hanging from his belt, but if he was embarrassed or confused, he didn’t show it. Soon they entered the house, and the dwarf closed the door behind them. He then went to the windows, where a few anxious dwarf children had come to stick their noses in. One girl shyly waved to Alahim, and he tentatively waved back. “Move away now,” Fientien commanded, “The sunlight outside can burn the very skin, I tell you. They need some rest in the darkness of my house, or their dehydration is liable to get worse. If these guests die, then thousands of their friends will come looking for them. You don’t want that, do you?”
His last threat did the trick, and soon all four were sitting in the dark, each one confused for a number of different reasons. Finally, a light was struck and Yvonne could see Fientien’s face rising out of the darkness. Instead of being frightened, she was at peace. His face even looked handsome.
“You have put me in a difficult position, you know.” He spoke more directly now, losing the rhetorical flourish that his speech had possessed outside. “Skull knights have been sighted for nearly a week, and your presence helps give credence to these rumors. Our guards should tell no one, yet, news like this is very hard to keep concealed. Did you mention the knights to Giwgi and Gowgi?”
Yvonne had no idea who those two were, but she assumed that they were the guards who had let them in. Garseon and Yvonne nodded at the same time.
Fientien shook his head. “I was afraid of this. They are guards and are sworn to secrecy, but the bigger the news, the harder it is to conceal. We would do well to get you on your way as soon as possible.”
Finally, Yvonne’s curiosity got the better of her. “Are you really dwarves? I don’t understand…you seem so…”
“Clean?” Fientien interrupted. “Why, have you heard that dwarves were smelly?”
“Well, yeah,” Yvonne stammered. “Smelly, and dirty.”
“Excellent!” Fientien replied, confusing Yvonne all the more. “And, did you ever hear the saying ‘A dwarf’s breath smells worse than his farts’?”
“No,” Yvonne said slowly as Alahim giggled. “But I have heard the joke ‘How can you tell if a dwarf is alive or a rotting corpse?’”
“Not by the smell!” Fientien excitedly chimed in. “Oh, fantastic! I made that one up myself. Never in my whole life did I think someone would come back and tell me my own joke!”
He laughed for a moment, and then remembered that he was supposed to be quiet. He proceeded in hushed tones. “As you can see, the legends you have heard about the dwarves have a measure of exaggeration. We have the most advanced society in the world. It’s full of beauty, excitement, and leisure. But let a bunch of dirty humans, elves, trolls, and others in, and they’d ruin the whole thing. So…we encourage a few ‘misconceptions’ and seal off our borders.”
Yvonne was struck by the plan. It was so simple, and as long as no one looked too closely, the dwarves could continue in peace. Still, she didn’t like the implication that humans would ruin everything if they just knew about it. They had plenty of nice things in the human cities that hadn’t been ruined.
“We need a guard,” Garseon broke in, as Fientien looked on at him incredulously. “We must take these two to Deguz.”
“Now, it’s one thing for you to come here and ask for temporary shelter,” the dwarf began, eying Garseon with a look that showed the dwarf clearly regarded the human as insane. “It’s quite another to ask us to send some dwarves out there, into the hot sun, with all those creatures, just so you don’t disturb your vacation plans.”
Yvonne, for her part, wasn’t really sure what they needed. All that she knew was that she must rejoin Tarthur. How, where, or under what circumstances, she hardly cared. Certainly, he would know what was going on. She marveled at how much she had come to depend on him in the many years since they had met. With Tarthur, she knew she would be safe. He would take care of her. But where was he?
Yvonne fixed Fientien with a soft, pleading look. “Sir, this is very important. Someone has been trying to kill my husband and—”
Fientien turned his glare on Garseon and raised his eyebrows. “With manners like that, I’m thinking of killing him myself.”
Yvonne continued, undisturbed. “He is our guide. My husband is Tarthur, from Krendon. He is in danger.”
Fientien’s look of incredulity had mellowed into one of simple deep distrust. He sat there, shaking his head slowly. Yvonne scanned his eyes, trying desperately to understand what he was thinking. They had escaped the skull knights for the moment, but if the dwarves turned them away, they would be feeble prey hunted down at will by the dark elf.
There had to be some way that she could convince the dwarves to help them. She fingered the coins in her purse, absentmindedly counting them. Beholding the riches around her, she doubted that it would be enough.
***********************
Fientien shook his head, trying to decide what to do with the intriguing figures that had so suddenly arrived at his doorstep pleading for help.
As if he didn’t have enough problems.
He had never met Tarthur
from Krendon, but he had seen him twice. Fientien had been one of the few dwarves who had fought with the king’s armies against the death lord. While the majority of dwarves stayed home, Fientien and roughly one hundred of his kinsfolk ventured out, covered in dung, and formed their own squadron. Soon, the stench of ten thousand men traveling and fighting together overwhelmed the dwarves’ fragile noses, and they simply stopped pretending—they did stink. The dwarves had been in the thick of the battle (“General, there’s not much loss in sending a hundred dwarves up the middle”) and that’s exactly where Darhyn had directed his skull knights. That helped explain the powerful sense of fear that these knights instilled in the ordinary dwarf, who heard about them only through the tales of the old veterans. By some apparent law of the natural world, monsters magnified exponentially in size and potency when a young man who had barely survived a fight with one was recounting his deeds to an attentive young woman.
Fientien had seen Tarthur and Yvonne another time, at their wedding. This time, only a handful of dwarves had ventured out, but they had gone disguised as veiled ladies. Fientien had to admit that although that disguise called his manhood somewhat into question, he much preferred it to wearing dung and living up to the stereotypes that the dwarves had created for themselves.
Fientien took a long look at Yvonne, and then at Alahim, and performed some mental gymnastics in his head. The boy would be about the right age, and although they both were dirty from traveling—the woman facing him now was caked with mud and sweat, the grime dulling her hair, reminding Fientien of the dull sheen of a rough gem, barely peaking out of its hiding place. Dwarves were deep—masters of looking for what was hidden. When she was polished, would he find the radiant golden-haired lady that he remembered underneath?
Still, their story did not make sense. The same law that magnified powers of monsters also magnified powers of heroes. Fientien had seen Tarthur single-handedly turn the tide of a battle with three powerful armies. With Darhyn gone, Fientien doubted that anything even existed that could put Tarthur in danger. Besides, if Tarthur was in danger, why did they need an escort? And Deguz? It’d be one thing if they wanted an escort back to Krendon….
Lands of Daranor: Book 02 - ProphecyQuest Page 7
