by Sam Ferguson
The wind stopped and he found himself back in front of the manor. Erik and Braun were not outside. The warlock turned to see the men working as before. The distant pair of sparrows dashing through the sky overhead. He turned and waited patiently. Everything played out as it had previously. The front door opened and Erik and Braun stepped outside again.
“I told them to be ready,” Braun shouted exactly as he had before.
“Then why are there no wagons?” Erik yelled.
“Braun!” one of the men shouted from the trenches. “In the field!”
Erik and Braun ran out toward the field and stopped just a few paces short of where Gondok’hr watched the alternate scene unfold.
“By the gods!” Braun said. “That is him!” he said. “That’s Senator Bracken!”
“And he has an army with him,” Erik said. “Tell the men that he is not a senator. He is a warlock.”
“His army rides under the king’s banner,” Braun said.
“They are not the king’s men,” Erik said. “Come, we must sound the alarm.”
“We aren’t ready,” Braun said.
Gondok’hr turned and glanced back. He saw his future self, riding at the head of his army. He nodded his head. He turned back to see Erik and Braun running to the manor and shouting frantically. The men in the trenches abandoned their tasks and scrambled for their weapons. He would have remained and watched the battle unfold, but something blocked him. The scene stopped, as if it were a play frozen in a block of ice. The colors faded, replaced by a gray and blue haze. The warlock tried to fight it, but he was unable to push the spell forward. Something ripped him from his spell and he found himself gasping for breath on the floor in the room.
He coughed and sputtered, rolling over to his knees and pushing himself up to stand in the room. His head throbbed and a stabbing pain assaulted the back of his neck. If only he could have seen the battle! No matter, he had seen enough to get an advantage. He waved his hand and the runes disappeared as if they had never been drawn. Gondok’hr grabbed the copper coin and bolted for the door. There was no time to waste. He would lead his army out now and catch the boy unprepared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Al’s fingers ached deep in the bones. His arms barely could muster the strength to hold onto his handhold anymore. He released his grip and floated back into the pool, relying on his stubby legs to keep him afloat as he gave his arms a break. He took in a deep breath and tilted back, trying to bring his belly up to the surface. He managed to float on his back for several minutes, but as sleep took over his body fell under the water and he woke sharply. He sputtered and coughed water out from his mouth as his arms flailed about, splashing and smacking the water. His feet began kicking furiously to keep him above the surface.
“It won’t be long now,” a voice shouted from above.
Al wiped the water from his eyes and saw his brother peering at him over the ledge. “Have you no decency?” Al asked. “Where is your compassion? I am your brother.”
“No,” Threnton said with a shrug. “You are a thief. You broke into my home to usurp my throne. I have no brother.”
“Be gone then, dog,” Al grumbled. “Isn’t it enough to let me die, or must you taunt me also?”
Threnton frowned and held up a small parchment. He turned slightly and angled the paper in the torchlight to read it. After a moment his mouth dropped open and he gasped. “Oh, dear brother your friend is in dire straits!” he shouted. “Someone by the name of Erik, do you know him?”
Al ignored his brother’s feigned concern. “What does it say?”
“It says that Erik expects a dragon to attack Lokton Manor!” Threnton clasped a hand over his mouth and gasped again. His wide eyes looked down to the pool at Al briefly before he pulled his hand away from his mouth to reveal a sickening sneer. “I suppose you will not be alone in the afterlife after all,” Threnton said. “Where do you suppose traitorous dwarves go when they die?”
“You don’t know what you are doing,” Al said. “Leave me here if you will, but send the cavedogs out to help him. The dragon will come for Roegudok Hall also!”
“Enough!” Threnton bellowed. “I only came to tell you so you may die knowing that you could not save your friends. They are as doomed as you.”
“I promise you this,” Al said determinedly. “Send the cavedogs or I will crush your life from you.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Threnton said. “You only remain alive because you are too stubborn to admit defeat.”
“Perhaps so,” Al conceded. “But mark my words. I will fulfill my promise, whether in the flesh or as a ghastly spirit from the beyond. I will punish you unless you send the cavedogs to help him.”
Threnton tossed the parchment into the air above the pit and watched it flitter down as a leaf on the wind. “I think not,” he said simply. “You will die here, and no one shall ever hear from you again.”
“If I am too stubborn to drown in your pit, then perhaps I am stubborn enough to strangle you as a specter,” Al threatened.
Threnton drew his head back and looked long and hard at Al before finally whirling around and storming off through the hall.
Al felt his heart sink with each echoing step his brother took. If a dragon came for Erik at Lokton Manor, there was little that could save him. Al could only hope that Erik had sent a message to Lady Dimwater as well, for there was no way he could help his friend. He had failed.
The dwarf swam back to the side of the pit and groped along the walls for some sort of handhold. The only one he found was the one he had been holding onto since being cast into the pit. He pulled himself up on it and reached out, hoping to find some sort of crack or crevice, anything to pull up farther. There was nothing there. He let himself bob down to his arms’ full extent and then yanked himself up as hard and fast as he could. He let go of the handhold and reached out for the ledge, but it was still beyond his reach. He splashed back down into the pool and let out a feral yell, cursing the pit. In answer, the chute above opened and another blast of cold water rained down upon him, knocking him under the surface for a few seconds until he managed to swim to the far side of the pit.
“I’m sorry, Erik,” Al sputtered. He turned his head up to the ledge and his eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and wiped his eyes. As he looked down he caught a faint glimmer beneath the water. At first Al thought perhaps it was a shiny rock reflecting the torchlight from above, but that couldn’t be it. The torches above barely threw shadows onto the wall of the pit, and hardly any light at all reached the water’s surface. This was something else.
The light grew, ever so slightly, until Al could just make out the outline of his hammer. The dwarf laughed aloud. “Now you mock me too,” he said to his hammer. “Ha! If only my father were here to see that!” Al punched the water before him. He laughed twice more and then his smile faded. “Oh father, what have I done?” He looked back to his hammer. “Had I not chosen the hammer in the first place, then I would be able to help my friends. If I had honored your wish and become king, then I could protect our people.” Al sighed. “I have failed so many.”
He let himself fall beneath the surface of the water. He was ready to meet his fate. He fell down toward the hammer, reaching out for it with his hand as he descended in the pool. He didn’t bother to look up again. The darkness closed in around him and the water grew colder as he neared his hammer. The silvery light about the tool grew brighter and then a voice echoed through the pool.
“Don’t you remember the fishing hole?” the voice called out.
Al startled and turned about but no one was there. The light around his hammer faded and winked out. Al plucked the hammer up into his hand and then the voice returned.
“Don’t you remember the fishing hole?” it asked again.
Al’s thoughts raced through the years of his memories. Centuries back, when he was only a small child, he had gone fishing with his cousin after his father had told
him not to. He had fallen into a pool of water not unlike this one, and almost drowned except…
Al burst into action. He held his stinging lungs in check and tightened his mouth and nose to keep the water out. He swam down beyond where the hammer had been and groped around with his other hand. His hand went down through a small shaft in the bottom. The pull of the water exiting the pool was only slight, for the hole was barely large enough for him to stick his hand through.
His lungs burned and started to spasm. He turned and put his feet to the solid rock and pushed off. As his head and mouth burst out through the surface he exhaled quickly and gasped for air. He still clung to his hammer in one hand. The instrument began to glow again. He took in a deep breath and dove down to the hole in the bottom of the pool.
He thrust his hand into the shaft once more and felt around. It was then that he knew what to do. The stone underneath the pool was not solid granite. The floor was shale, thick yet brittle. He was able to even chip a small piece off with his hand inside the hole.
His hammer glowed brighter, allowing him to see the floor of the pool. He grinned when he saw the gray stone around the hole. It was obvious to him now that the chute above, which dropped water periodically, had managed to erode this hole in the pit. Though it wasn’t large now, the shale would be no match for his hammer. With any luck, perhaps there was a larger chute on the other side of the thin hole.
Al steadied himself and gave a mighty swing. The water restricted his strength and slowed his strike, but it mattered not. The hammer struck the stone and sent shards of brittle, thin shale all around. A crack ripped through and a bit of rock fell away. The force of the water draining out grew, and Al’s beard swayed toward the drain. The dwarf took another swing, aiming for the end of the crack. A large area, the size of a wine barrel, shifted and rumbled as the crack ripped around and loosed it from the floor.
With the third swing, a large section of the shale floor shattered and was sucked into the hole below. Al was drawn into the chute after the rocks. He brought his arms up to protect his face as he slid side to side through a winding chute. Once he got stuck as the chute narrowed and caught him around the belly, but the crushing pressure from the water above forced him through and sent him shooting through the rest of the chute.
Finally the chute turned and angled sideways. Al flew out through an opening the size of a normal dwarven doorway. He briefly flew through the air before crashing down into a new pool of still water.
He slid his hammer into his belt and clumsily pulled himself above the surface and looked around. He looked to his left and saw a berm of dirt behind an outcropping of rock. He swam to it with the last of his strength and pulled himself up to lie on the hard, black stone.
Al laughed a couple of times and turned over to kiss the rock beneath him. “My weary bones thank you for the respite,” he said to the rock.
“And my weary soul thanks you for returning,” a voice said.
Al sat up erect and looked out over the pool he had just left. There, above the water, he saw the glowing figure of his father. “It was you in the pit?” Al asked.
His father nodded his head and moved forward. He did not walk so much as float toward Al. “You remembered the fishing hole,” Al’s father said with a slight smile on his face.
Al nodded. “This wasn’t exactly the same,” Al said. “I didn’t have to dig my way out last time.”
“No,” his father said. “But the principle was the same.”
Al smirked and rubbed a nervous thumb over his hammer. “I’m sorry father,” he said. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
The ghost held up a hand and smiled wide. “Apologize not,” he said. “After all, it was your hammer that enabled you to escape. It is your past that makes you who you are today. You will be a better king for it, and a better ally to the humans as well. You know them and their ways more intimately than I ever could.”
Al looked to his feet. “I would have been happy to take the scale,” he said. “I did not want to challenge my brother.”
The ghost nodded and his smile disappeared. “It brings me no joy to see this day. A father can never rejoice when his sons fight. Your brother has grown hard in his ways, and he will not see the truth. You must press on. It is the only way to save your friends, and our people.”
Al nodded. He fumbled for something else to say, but no other words came to him. He looked up at his father and smiled. “Stay with me father,” he said. “Guide me. I am still not wise in the way of kings.”
His father’s smile returned and the ghost looked upon him with loving eyes. “Be not a king,” he said. “Be a friend, be a protector, and be a helper. These things are better than a king, and will give you true power as you wear the crown. Now, you must go. The guards are coming for the patrol. The two that you will see are friendly to you. It is Timmin and Brinon, your old, dear cousins. Tell them that you have seen me here, and that you are to gather the council and restore Roegudok Hall to the ancient ways. They will help you.”
Al stood and reached out to his father, but the apparition faded away over the water as dust in the wind.
“Halt!” a voice shouted from behind.
Al wheeled around to see a short, stout dwarf with a thick chest, bald head, and a neatly braided black beard. Al smiled. “Hello Timmin,” he said. “Where’s Brinon?”
A second dwarf emerged from a tunnel off to the side and his jaw dropped open. “Al?” Brinon said.
“Hello cousins,” Al said.
“Stonebubbles, Al! How did you ever end up in here?”
Al patted the air and stepped over the berm to the stone path in front of the tunnel his cousins had just exited. “You boys might want to sit down. It is quite a tale.”
The two of them exchanged grins. “It doesn’t have anything to do with your pa does it?” Timmin asked with a crooked smile on his face.
Al smiled wide and nodded his head. “He told me you would help me restore the hall.”
“Well, it’s about time!” Brinon shouted. “We’ve been doing patrol here for years after that brother of yours threw us out of our homes. We’ll help you throw the old lout out on his backside!”
Al chuckled. “Well then, let’s go and get the council.”
Timmin held up a hand. “Nope, nothin’ doin’!” he said quickly. Al shot him a confused look but Timmin walked over and threw his arms around him in an embrace. As he pulled back he patted Al’s shoulder. “You were exiled long ago. Anyone sees you and it will be off to the dungeon with you.”
Al shrugged and laughed. “Actually I just escaped from a pit that Threnton threw me into.”
Timmin and Brinon looked to each other. “Really?” Brinon asked. “No one has heard of your return.”
Al gestured to himself. “Why do you think I am all wet?” he asked. “I only escaped the pit by swimming through a chute of water that brought me here.”
Brinon frowned. “Then that is all the more reason for you to wait here. We will go and get the council and bring them to you. If the whole council is with you, no one will dare intervene.”
“Alferug is here as well,” Al said.
“Where is he?” Timmin asked.
Al shrugged. “I am not sure, we were separated when my brother’s guards arrested us.”
“Alright,” Timmin said. “I will check the dungeon for Alferug.” Timmin thumbed at his brother. “Brinon will go and get the council.”
“Thank you,” Al said.
Timmin nodded and bounded off into the tunnel from which he had come. Brinon dug into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth bundle. He smiled and tossed it to Al. Al opened it and found a hunk of sourdough bread inside.
“Thanks,” Al said.
Brinon shrugged. “It isn’t much, but it’s all I have on me.” Then he turned and left.
Al turned and looked for a place to sit down while he tore a hunk out of the bread. He wasn’t sure he had ever tasted bread that was so good be
fore in his life. His stomach roared with hunger as he chewed. He had forgotten how hungry he had become, trapped in that pit his brother had thrown him into. It was good to sit and eat.
As he licked the last crumb from his fingers he laid back against the rock and let his eyes close. Sleep was upon him before he could take another breath. He slept heavy and sound next to the pool of water.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hairen moved into the room and set a scroll down upon the table. “I have the map, Aparen,” she said.
Aparen looked down at the table. “Where is Silvi?” he asked.
“She is busy,” Hairen said.
Aparen smirked. He noted the contempt in her voice, but he ignored it. He reached out and unrolled the map. “So Senator Bracken is attacking from the west?” he asked.
“He has a small army under his command,” Hairen started. “He will be leaving from Kuldiga Academy and striking Lokton Manor from the west.” She moved her gnarled, wrinkled finger over the map and pointed to their position. “We will come south from here and strike the manor from the north.”
“If Senator Bracken has an army, why would he need us?” Aparen asked.
“Have you not heard of Master Lepkin’s victory at Gelleirt Monastery?” Hairen asked. She turned a condescending eye on him. “If he could defeat three hundred Tarthun raiders single-handedly, surely you can see why Senator Bracken might need assistance?”
“But why would he trust us?” Aparen asked. “A senator working with a coven of witches and warlocks would be strung up in the center of Drakei Glazei.”
Hairen smiled her crooked, sly smile and cackled. “Don’t you worry about that. Senator Bracken can take care of himself. Besides, his official report will say that House Cedreau came to his aid.”
“But I told Silvi that I don’t want anyone to call me by my given name. I am Aparen now, not Eldrik.”
Hairen turned on him and pushed him back to the wall with an unseen spell. “Do not talk to me with such contempt,” she warned. “I am still witch enough to handle the likes of you.” She flicked her wrist and dispelled the force pinning him against the wall.
