by Glen Johnson
“We will not fail you our master.” Both looked like a jack-in-the-box, bowing, straighten, then bowing again.
“Go! And do not fail me.” The two left their place in front of the throne, falling over each other i n an attempt to get to the exit and start their covert operation.
Hopefully they w ill follow some wandering vagrant and get lost in the process , Vorr mused.
Vorr leaned back i n his elaborately carved obsidian throne.
I wish it was as easy to rid my self of that bloody Vrocos, as it was these two sniveling fools. But given time I w ill prevail. I always d o , that’s why I’m king and not th at irritating bloodsucking leech .
Chapter Six
COLD TURKEY
“Oh my aching head,” Leinthren said for the tenth time in as many minutes.
“Come on, they will be waiting for us.” Pramos said, while trying his best to get the elf’s pack strapped to his thin back.
“So, you’re telling me I volunteered for… f-for,” he stuttered, “this, what?” he finally asked, while resting a thin delicate han d over his domed , pounding, hung -over forehead. Like most drunks the morning after was always a rude awakening to their drinking problem. But as always it was forgotten about when the next dinking opportunity arose; acute amnesia always going hand in hand with the prospect of another mind numbing, intoxicating drink.
“Yes. And don’t try worming out now. You promised!” A promise to elves was sacred. They would sooner pass up their life, before breaking one.
“I did?” Leinthren looked bewildered, eyes opening as wide as their aching lids would allow them.
“Yes, and for the runes sake stop complaining. We are supposed to be meeting the others in less than twenty minutes.” Pramos pulled the straps tight, almost cutting off the elf’s blood circulation.
“Meeting…? Meeting who?” Confusion clouded Leinthren’s smooth face. “The wine was good. Now that I do remember.” A blissful look crossed the elf’s complexion. “Now if only I could recall its name.” His eyes closed slightly. “I could possible procure a few bottles,” he caught Pramos look. “You know, for the cold nights ahead.” This tho ught cheered the elf immensely.
“Cold nights? You’re cold blooded, you don’t feel the cold. And I think you have had well enough for a month or two. We need your tracking abilities, and we don’t need them drowning in the bottom of a bottle. You’re going Cold Turkey for a few days.”
“What's a turkey?” the elf asked frowning.
“I’m not sure. I believe it’s an ancient saying , meaning : no drink for you for a while.”
“You’re no fun.”
“You’re right, I’m not, that’s because I’m human, remember?” His answer seemed to satisfy Leinthren, who still looked a little downcast.
“Just one for the road,” he ventured, momentary escaping from Pramos ’ hands and making his way across the small room to his drinks collection.
Elven homes are simple, but shrouded in arches, small buttresses, delicate carvings and lace covering. The room they stood in was the s mall living area. A single tall backed chair, and an almost as highly decretive foot stool, stood in the cen ter of the room, resting beside the bulky drinks cabinet, and all awash in bright sunlight that poured through a tall fancy arched window.
Nothing else apart from one small decoratively carved table was in the room. To one side w as the sleeping chamber, beside that the cleaning area. The food preparation area was outside under a covered veranda, to stop vermin ’s from become a health hazard.
The only disturbing thing Pramos noticed about the home was the drinks collection – apart from its size – there was only one glass, no one else being able to enjoy a drink along with Leinthren. He always drank alon e –a very bad sign.
“Certainly not! One for the road indeed,” Pramos announced, while hefting his own pack onto his back, after just checking he had everything he needed : blankets, clothes, food and survival gear. He was secretly looking forward to the trip. He was starting to feel claustrophobic in the small village, but couldn’t think of a way, or reason to leave the safe surroundings. Maybe I could settle in the city of Keep Safe , or another we w ill pass; if we survive , he reasoned. Also he would get to spend time with Minika. She stirred up feelings in him. Feelings he ha s never fel t before, or really understood.
Pramos always took time out of his day to watch her from a distance. Every morning he would go to the well in the center of the village just after dawn, and stand around after filling his water-skin, pretending to be checking it for leaks, until she arrived to fill her jug. And every afternoon at midday he would sit outside his small ramshackle dwelling, pretending to be fixing something when she walked past, checking the circumference of the barrier. She never spoke to him, or even acknowledged his presence. That all changed when the letter arrived.
Pramos then turned to allow the elf to tighten his straps.
“I can hear the bottles clinking.”
“Oh, my, my, how did my hand get there?” Leinthren sulked across, aiding the human in securing his pack, and return ed the favor of trying to stop his blood circulation.
Leinthren’s pack seemed much lighter.
“Pity… pity,” Leinthren said. “Oh well, let’s be on our way then.” The elf seemed to cheer up while he said this.
“What’re you up to?” Pramos asked. Turning around to eye the elf suspiciously, crossing his arms over his toned chest.
“Me? My good Pramos, what makes you think I’m up to anything?” A broad mischievous smile curving his thin lips, which altered his delicate long elongated features, making him look almost sinister.
“Remember I’m watching you Leinthren,” said with a pointing finger, with a severely chewed finger nail for emphasis.
“And how truly glad I am, to have a friend as caring as you, Pramos.”
“Come on, they will be waiting.” Annoyed he couldn’t figure out what the elf was up to.
They exited Leinthren’s small dwelling and the elf made sure it was closed up tight until his return. Leinthren had one last peek through the window at his drinks collection. He rested his hand on the misted glass, as if saying goodbye to a loved one.
They then started mak ing their way down the villages main street, towards Minika’s home.
Pramos was up front, discussing possible routes they could take. If only they knew what dire ction they were to head off in.
But Leinthren was completely engrossed in his own thoughts. As he was walking behind Pramos he started to unscrew the end of his finely carved willow-walking cane. A quick glance to check Pramos was engrossed in his musings, and t he elf tipped his cane back , taking a quick swig from its contents, which brought a sparkle to his eyes, and a rose colo ured glow to his thin pale cheeks.
The elf then fell into step behind Pramos, be it a little wobbly.
“This trip might not be so bad after all,” the elf muttered to himself. He then started to sing the words to a rude dwarf barroom so ng: “Then I said to Drac’sam-til... Do you know your daughter is ripe? Oh I pray let me be the one to teach her.” Deep breath. “And I saaaaaaiiiid... Ooooh daughter of Drac’sam-til,” Leinthren took another deep breath, continuing the song a little faster. “You... kneel down, head back –” He was brought up short by a slap from a passing female wh o was on her way to the market.
Chapter Seven
ACROSS THE WASTELAND
“You’re late.” Minika stated as Pramos walked through the door.
“Sorry. I had to get old drunkard here ready.” Pramos waved a hand at the swaying elf, who was trying to sit on a chair in one corner , with little success. The chair seemed to be moving around.
“Surely the alcohol would’ve worn off by now?” Droncin the dwarf said, as he was eyeing the elf with disgust. He a sk ed the question because he wasn’t sure about elven digestive systems, and how long it took to absorb its liquor.
“It did. He had some more this morning,” Pramos said ,
embarrassed that the elf had tricked him.
“Surely you knew not to allow him anymore?” Minika said, while eyeing the elf that was holding onto the back of t he chair, and leaning heavily on it –cross-eyed.
“I did. I mean I had. But I didn’t realize he had a store of it inside his walking cane.”
This was accentuate d by the elf belching rather loudly. This c aus ed his straw hat to slip down over his eyes , emphasizing a bright red handprint on his cheek.
“By-golly, night time already?” Leinthren said turning his head this way and that, making the hat spin around.
“Last time I offer him any drin-wos wine,” Minika remarked casually.
“Ah ha! So that’s its name,” the elf called l ouder than he probably meant to .
“We will have to make do,” Minika said while looking over a collection of small stones resting on a table in one corner. She picked one up and gave it a final check. Satisfied, she slipped it into a pocket of her robe; her traveling robe, one which had many pockets and a hood. It was also a mottled brown colo ur because the normal white one would have stood out like a sore thumb in the desert dunes.
“It will wear off as we start on our way. He’s not needed for a few days, because we all know the first part of our journey , as we head towards the city of Keep Safe.” She had only a small bag that she was tying to the top of a long white straight piece of wood that she would use as a supporting s taff.
“I need to stop at Keep Safe first to collect some information . I also need to talk to someone using their communication orb.” She looked around at them. “It goes without saying that n o one is to mention our mission. You are simply traveling with me to Keep Safe . You are to make up your own excuse as to why you need to go there.”
Minika read the letter that had been sent to her one more time, to memorize it. Then holding on to it she started to whisper some incoherent chant, while tracing a rune with her finger. The page flared up into a ball of flames. She dropped it to the floor. It had completely di sintegrated before falling half way.
Droncin took a step back. Dwarfs couldn’t abide magic. Never trust something you can not see , as their saying went. But trust your solid axe – the dwarven proverb finished. He had his large axe swung over his shoulder . It shined radiant metallic silver. He had spent hours polishing it after the meeting w ith four different types of oil , while he thought about all that had been discussed.
His mind was set. He would do whatever was required for him to become a famous hero. Songs will be sung about him for decades to come. He could even rank up along side King Dracko the Great, who had led his people forth from the Great Battle of Tarnac, destroying all that stood in his path .
Droncin’s chest puffed up with pride, a legend in his own lifetime. He would be the gre atest dwarf who ever wielded an axe. The dwarf that had sent the evil in this world back into its prison bonds. He quickly wiped away at a solitary tear before any of the other saw it.
Minika was walking around her small home, checking everything was in order for their long jo urney ahead. She stopped beside a large red blossoming plant that took up one whole side of the room. With a delicate swish and flick of her wrist a collection of blue runes gathered and floated down and wrapped around the large terracotta pot; these would keep the soil moist while she was away. The plant had been her mother s . She gave one of the plants large light green leaves a gentle ca ress. Then she drew a healing rune on the plants stalk and plucked the leaf from the stem, and placed it in her pocket.
“All ready?” Minika asked . “Then let’s go.” She headed towards the door, standing to one side while the others exited. All a part from the elf who walked in to the doorframe, smacking his long bony nose on its hard surface. The dwarf barked with laughter.
A few people had gathered around Minika home. Re alizing something was happening they want ed to be the first to hear about it and pass the gossip along.
Minika walked past them all, unconcerned with their idle speculation.
The village was set up many decades ago because of the fresh water spring that bubbled up from what was now the center of the village. Minika’s home was right on the main square.
Pramos and Droncin commenced filling theirs and the other twos water skins from the bubbling fresh water fountain. They only needed to fill them once; Minika’s rune magic would replicate what they already had.
Leinthren was busy on one side, annoying a young woman, asking her where he could procure some bottles of drin-wos wine.
Minika walked over to an elderly human male who was sat on a rickety chair that looked almost as old as its occupant. She leant down and whispered into his wrinkled ear. The elderly human merely nodded once to say he understood. He n ever r ose or ma de any comment. He then simply watched as the small group of four headed off into the distance , walking along the main street towards the shielded barrier.
A small group of children and nosey adults followed the four to the edge of town, stopping a safe distance from the protective barrier, even though it w ould do them no harm.
Minika didn’t turn, and said nothing as she walked up to the shimmering shield and proceeded to walk right through. The shield was made up of billions of runes, all lock ed together creating the vast dome that enc ompassed the small village. It was Minika’s job to monitor the barrier to make sure the runes stayed joined and didn’t start to unravel. As she passed though the runes rejoined to complete the shield. She was closely followed by Pramos, who seemed to want to walk along beside the female, while continually try ing to start up a conversation.
But Minika was in no mood for chatter. She was exhausted because she had been up most of the night strengthening the spell over the village, and reconnecting unraveling links that could have become holes . Instead of sleep she had entered a deep trance like state, in order to recuperate from the amount of magic she had used. But the village would be fine for maybe a week. Hopefully she would be back before then.
Behind her Droncin was walk ing with his chest so puffed up that he couldn’t see where he was walking, and almost tripped headlong into a ditch.
Not far behind the dwarf followed the elf, who was walking with such a wobbling stance that he would have wa lked twice as far as the others by the time they reach their destination. He was also quietly mutter ing the rest of the rude dwarf barroom song to himself.
*
Before long the towns people became bored of watching them and moved off to do whatever they had been doing before this small change in their otherwise dull day. All except two figures, who were crouched down behind a large rock y outcrop to one side on a steep hill.
“Masssster wassss right, t hey are up to ssssomething,” the first figure stated. “Now is ss the time to prove oursssselve ss s.” Slis turned to see why Qwat was so quiet .
Qwat was busy shaking with excitement. So much so that Slis had to slither away from him, because Qwat had just wet himself.
Chapter Eight
NOTHING SACRED
Simeon walk slowly and purposefully down the long corridor. He was in no rus h. Time merged together when you reached a certain age , with m ore years behind you than what’s ahead. His long white robes dragged along the flagstone floor. He made a mental note to order his robes taken up by a few inches. His old bones were closing in, making him stoop more each month. Within a couple of year s he would be bent almost double; if they all lived that long. He would have done it himself, but sowing wasn’t his forte, not with his bad eyesight and weak , shaking hands. Magic could be used to heighten the length, but the robe had runes sown a round its hem, to protect the garment from dirt, wear ‘n’ tear, and more importantly, magic. The best way to make them last was to sow the runes on individually by hand with strengthened thread.
Younger magi raced around him in a flurry of activity. His presence always made people jumpy ; made them work faster, trying to impress. But Simeon hadn’t been impressed with anything for as long as he could remember. The world
was stagnant, like a room that had been closed to the fresh air for t o o many long years. A window needed to be thrown open, fresh air need ed to circulate this decayed world. He didn’t understand the creatures need to control all. They controlled everything outside the protective barriers. But he knew it was more complicated than that, it had nothing to do with space, belongings, food or water. It all came down to revenge.
Eons ago mankind’s ancestors had imprisoned them, and now they wanted revenge, even though not one of the original magi was alive, only distant , watered down relatives. Wasn’t it an ancient mythical book called the Bible that had said an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth ? A book that billions had followed, to what end? A God that didn’t protect them during the worst calamity since the supposed flood of Noah’s day. A vast group of followers who screamed out for protection and forgiveness as the weapons of science obliterated them from off the planet. It seemed ironic that the demons would call for a biblical eye for an eye, and he was amazed that their vengeance still burn t strong af ter so many thousands of years.
Simeon was closing in on his destinat ion; a small room he studied in. It was nothing fancy, just a small stone space that rested on the very edge of the main citadel that overlooked the barren Aratta Plains below that he spent endless hours, studying and reminiscing; in the section of the city called Nimrods Tower. The room had stone shelves that encompassed t wo walls; all filled with ancient manuscripts and tattered books, leaving just two wall s, one for the window and one for the door. His old battered table faced out the window, pressed right up against it. A collection of writing implements and paper was all that sat on the desk; paperwork related to the running of the largest human city, and eleven others like it dotted around the inhabitable world, and the hundreds of towns and small villages –all were dotted about on the worlds Energy Grid.
