“Use it to sit on?” joked another dwarf.
“What is up with the ale tonight, Karicon?” asked a third dwarf. “Is it the king’s birthday or something?”
“I am just cleaning out an old storeroom,” Karicon replied. “The ale might be quite old.”
“The last keg you brought was fine by me,” a heavy dwarf replied. “Bring that one over here, and I will sample it for my brothers.”
More laughter filled the room, and Karicon carried the keg to the heavy dwarf who had requested it. He handed it to the dwarf and backed away towards the secret door. The heavy dwarf grinned broadly as he opened the keg, but his grin faded rapidly. A foul stench emanated from the open keg, and the dwarves recoiled from it.
“Close that keg back up,” scowled one of the dwarves. “I think something died in it.”
“That is foul,” another dwarf commented as he brought his arm over his nose. “That’s enough to make you gag.”
“You’re stinking up the whole place,” complained another dwarf. “Get that thing out of here.”
Karicon swiftly opened the secret door. Several of the dwarves saw him and called in protest. Karicon immediately closed the door again.
“Never open that door,” admonished one of the dwarves. “You could have given away our secret.”
“It was only for a second,” Karicon said apologetically. “I couldn’t breathe for the stench of that keg. What foul stuff is in there?”
“You brought it to us,” retorted one of the dwarves. “Get it out of here.”
Karicon moved quickly across the chamber and picked up the keg. He made a show of holding it at arms length and turning his head away from it as he hurried out of the chamber. He heard curses mixed with laughter as he fled from the chamber, but the attention of the dwarves in the chamber seemed to be focused on the smell and not his error of opening the door. Karicon smiled inwardly. He moved swiftly through the corridors until he reached his chamber. He set the foul keg on the floor and opened the door to his chamber. He smiled as he saw Morro inside with a wooden door. He entered the chamber and closed the door.
“You did well,” smiled Morro. “There is a key tied to the edge of the Door. Lock the Door and keep the key safe. You will also need to support this door somehow so it can be opened when the time comes.”
“I can take care of that,” promised the dwarf. “The first thing I have to do is get rid of that stinking keg outside. When are you leaving?”
“Right away,” answered the elf. “There is no reason to delay, and your fellow dwarves are already foggy from ale.”
“Where is Sparky?”
“He is in the valley waiting for me.”
“Then this is goodbye,” the dwarf said sadly. “I never thought I would be close friends with an elf, but I will miss you. I fear that I will never see you again.”
“You will not get rid of this elf so easily,” chuckled Morro. “I will be back.”
Without further words, Morro turned and exited the chamber. He walked slowly through the corridors, keeping an eye on the hourglass. When the sands were restored, he triggered the device and began running. He reached the secret door and opened it. He stepped through the door into the dark valley and shoved the door closed. He turned and ran as fast as he could, again keeping an eye on the hourglass. When the sands were almost completely done, he slowed down and looked for a tall tree. He found one easily, and he scampered up to rest on a solid branch. Almost immediately, the sounds of the night filled the forest.
The elf sat in the tree for a while, listening for the sounds of human activity. There were none. Morro climbed down and moved stealthily towards the area where Door number twenty-four was erected. An hour later, he reached the area of the forest bordering the field. Sparky glided through the air and landed on his shoulder.
“Everything is as it should be,” the fairy reported softly.
“We will have to do this quickly,” whispered the elven thief. “We have no idea what might be waiting for us on the other side. I want to be well away from the Door on the Alcean side before the sands run out.”
“If the hourglass even affects those in Alcea,” retorted the fairy.
Morro frowned and glanced at the fairy. “I had not thought about that. Is it possible for time to stop in one part of the world and not the other? What would happen at the dividing line between the two zones?”
“I did not make the hourglass,” shrugged the fairy. “I do not have any answers.”
“It is too late in the game to think about such things now,” sighed the elf. “Get in your pocket. I am going for the Door.”
Sparky shot to Morro’s breast pocket and slid into it. Morro triggered the hourglass and ran towards the stack of Doors. In his haste, Morro uncharacteristically tripped over a tree root. He cursed as his body tumbled to the ground. Sparky’s stiff body slid halfway out of his breast pocket, but the elf did not notice. He dashed to the stack of Doors and tore the key off the edge of the top Door. He stashed it in his pouch. Lifting the top Door over his head, the elf turned and raced towards Door twenty-four. Morro bent down and set the Door on the ground. He unlocked the Door to Alcea and opened it. He picked up the Door and passed through to Alcea. Again he placed his stolen Door on the ground and closed the Federation Door.
The elf’s eyes darted around the dark place he had arrived in. The smell of animals was strong, and hay covered the floor. Morro realized that he was in a barn, but he could not see anything. He bent over and picked up his stolen Door. Moving cautiously, the elf soon saw faint light coming through a distant crack. Mindful of the running sands of the hourglass, Morro pressed onward a little too quickly. He tripped again, and the stolen Door slipped from his grasp. Morro picked himself up off the ground and retrieved the Door. He moved more slowly towards the light and eventually came to a set of barn doors. He peered through the crack, but he could not see anything.
Morro quietly pushed the barn doors open and eased into the night. He pushed the barn doors closed and briefly looked up to get his bearings. Knowing that Tagaret was east of Mya, the elf turned towards the rising moon with the intent of putting some distance between the Door in the barn and himself. He ran swiftly with the Door held over his head. Not able to see the hourglass without stopping to put down the Door, the elf ran until he found a gully to hide in. He lowered the Door to the ground and quickly grabbed the hourglass. The sands had already run out. Morro turned and crawled to the lip of the gully and peered towards the barn to see if anyone had spotted him. He saw no one. He crawled away from the lip of the gully and rested against the side of it for a few minutes to catch his breath.
Knowing that he could not carry the Door all the way to Tagaret, Morro explored the gully until he found an appropriate spot to hide the Door. He carved out a section of the side of the gully and put the Door where the dirt had been. He then covered the Door with dirt and transplanted patches of grass over the top of it. Satisfied that the Door would be safe and would not be discovered, Morro climbed out of the gully and headed towards the rising moon. When he came to the top of a hill, the elf saw a city before him in the valley. Not wanting to run into any humans before he reached Tagaret, Morro set out to bypass the city. He veered to the right and headed into the forest.
After about an hour of walking, Morro sat down for a meal break. He rummaged through his pack for some food and then decided to waken the fairy to see the map of Alcea again. He stuck his finger into his breast pocket and found it empty. The elf’s eyes frantically searched the area around him, expecting the mischievous fairy to leap out and announce the success of another prank, but Sparky did not appear. Morro rose to his feet with concern etched into his face. Remembering back to the last time he had spoken to the fairy, Morro quivered anxiously. He called out Sparky’s name, softly at first, but continually louder as time passed. Eventually, Morro settled back on the ground in despair. He had lost his fairy.
Morro decided to backtrack to find Sparky. He
rose to his feet to head back to the barn, but noises in the forest caused him to freeze. His hand crept towards the pouch that held the hourglass, but he never got the chance to trigger the device.
“Move that hand any further and it will be the last thing you ever do,” threatened the voice.
Morro froze as he heard the sounds of people all around him. He mentally pictured a group of soldiers sneaking up on him, and the thought sent shivers through his body. When the attackers finally stepped from the trees, Morro sighed with relief. They were elves.
“A little far from home, aren’t we, Dielderal?” sneered the first elf to speak.
“Very far,” Morro answered cautiously. “I am trying to get to Tagaret.”
“Are you now? And how did you get here?”
Morro didn’t care for the tone of the elf asking the questions. As he stared at the Elderal elves, he realized that he was in trouble. While the Knights of Alcea and Prince Rigal had finally accepted the Dielderal as brothers, the people of Alcea probably knew nothing about that. He needed to convince these elves that he was on their side and not the side of the Federation.
“I am delivering a vital message from Garth Shado,” Morro stated evasively. “It is imperative that I get to Tagaret quickly.”
The Elderal elves looked questioningly at one other, and more than one of them shook their heads.
“The name of your master is of no importance to us,” stated the Elderal leader. “What is the message to be delivered?”
“I am to deliver it to the King of Alcea personally,” declared Morro. “Will you point me in the right direction?”
“There is no chance that the likes of you will ever get near to the king,” snarled the leader. “Bind his hands.”
Morro glanced around nervously. When several of the elves lowered their bows to comply with the leader’s orders, he made his move. Using his gift of speed, Morro dove to the ground, his hand frantically reaching into his pouch to trigger the hourglass. Bowstrings snapped, and Morro gritted his teeth as his finger found the lever. He pressed the lever and waited for the pain of the first arrow, but it never came. Morro rolled over on his back. His eyes grew large as he glanced up and saw three arrows mere inches away from his body. He scurried away from the arrows and leaped to his feet.
Morro started running as fast as he could, but he knew that it was a futile effort. The elves from Elderal would eventually track him down. Although he had a lead equal to the time the hourglass provided, he was in unfamiliar territory. The elves of Elderal were not. Morro could run until he was exhausted, but the elves would call on their brethren to take up the chase, and they would never need to halt their search. It was only a matter of time before they caught him. As Morro ran, he thought about returning to Zara, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Should the Elderal elves follow him through the Door, the Federation would know that their hidden valley had been penetrated.
His mind desperately searching for a way to lose the elves tracking him, Morro suddenly remembered the river flowing through the city he had seen from the hilltop. He immediately veered to the left. As he ran through a clearing, he glanced up at the rising moon. He suddenly halted and stared into the eastern sky. The moon was actually closer to the horizon than it had been when he buried the Door. The moon was not rising. It was setting. Frozen in confusion, the elf tried to understand what was going on. He gazed at the stars and verified that morning would soon be upon him, but it made no sense to him. He could not understand how he had lost the entire night. The howl of a wolf snapped the elf out of his stupor. He raced out of the clearing and continued towards the river.
When Morro broke out of the forest, he was expecting to see the river before him. Instead, the walls of a city appeared, and the sky was already beginning to lighten with the coming dawn. The wall was not in the best shape for defensive purposes, but soldiers manned it. Morro slowed to a walk so as not to bring undo attention to himself. He turned his head to the right to see how far the wall extended. He sighed nervously as he did the same to his left. He had come out of the forest exactly in the center of the wall. If he turned in either direction to avoid the city, the Elderal elves would be upon him before he could reach cover. Summoning up his courage, Morro walked briskly towards the gates of the city.
The soldiers saw the elf approaching, but Morro noted that they did not sound an alarm. Morro tried to remain calm as he approached the gates. In all of his years of thieving, he had never felt as vulnerable as he did now. He realized that while he had earned the trust of the Alceans in Zara, he really knew very little about them. He also realized that the Dielderal were still looked upon as the enemy in this land. Morro reached the gates and they opened without a need for asking. When he walked through the gates, he was immediately met by six soldiers.
“It is not often that we get a visitor from Elderal,” stated an officer. “What brings you to our fine city?”
Morro stared at the officer. The man was trying not to be intimidating, but the elf knew that he was suspicious. Figuring that the elves seldom entered the neighboring city, Morro decided to gamble.
“I am not from Elderal,” smiled Morro. “I am seeking to deliver a message from Garth Shado to the king. I was hoping to find a boat that could take me down the river to Tagaret.”
“Garth Shado?” frowned the officer. “Who is he?”
“He is a bandit,” answered one of the soldiers. “Or at least he was. I heard that he died in Melbin a while back. Something to do with killing some Melbin guards before the war.”
“He is a Knight of Alcea,” frowned Morro, “along with his wife Kalina.”
“Never heard of a Knight of Alcea by that name,” declared the officer.
“What about Clint?” asked Morro. “Max? Karl?”
“We had better take you to see Baron Tratter,” said the officer. “He may be able to help you.”
The officer sounded pleasant, and his offer of help sounded genuine, but Morro could not help noticing that the guards surrounded him as if he were a prisoner. He had little doubt that he was heading for a cell, but he resisted the urge to use his hourglass. He could not afford for the humans to be searching for him as well as the elves, and he needed time to figure a way out of the mess he had stepped into.
Outside the city at the edge of the forest, a band elves peered at the city gates.
“The Dielderal has entered Mya,” declared the leader. “We cannot go in there and seize him. One of you must carry word to Queen Lyander. The rest of us are going downstream in case the Dielderal tries to escape by the river.”
* * * *
Baron Tratter was a large man. His belly bulged under his tunic, and his cheeks were round, but his eyes missed nothing. He stared at the elf before him, and a frown covered his face.
Morro sat straight in his chair in the baron’s office. The six soldiers who had escorted him from the gates stood behind the chair, blocking any exit from the room. While there had been no overt threat issued, Morro knew he was one step away from a jail cell.
“I understand that you are not Elderal,” stated the baron. “What tribe are you from?”
“I follow Prince Rigal of Glendor,” stated Morro. “Have you heard of him?”
“I have not,” answered the baron. “Why have you come to Mya? That is not normal for elves.”
“It isn’t normal,” conceded Morro, “but I spend a good deal of my time in the land of humans. I thought I could find fast transport down the river. I tried to explain to your men that I carry a message from Garth Shado for the king. They evidently have not heard of him. Have you?”
“Only in passing,” replied the baron, “but he is not a Knight of Alcea as you told my men. What is your name?”
“I am called Morro,” answered the elf. “Have you heard of Clint, Max, or Karl?”
The baron frowned and shook his head. “Let me be honest with you, Morro. My men suspect that you are a Dielderal. Now, I must admit that I know precious little a
bout elves and their ways, but I am going to have to hold you until I find out more about you. I am certainly not going to send you on to see King Arik without knowing exactly who you are and what threat you might present to him.”
Morro sighed with frustration. “What about Tedi and Natia? Have you heard of them? They also are Knights of Alcea.”
The baron’s eyes blinked in recognition of the names. “What weapons do they favor?”
“Natia uses knives,” answered Morro. “Tedi carries a black staff. It is no ordinary staff. His name is etched into it.”
The baron stared silently at the elf. He had met Tedi and Natia at the Battle of Watling Flats, and the elf was accurate in his description of their weapons, but that did not make the rest of his story true. Surely, the enemy might be aware of such things.
“You know them,” declared the elf. “I can see it in your eyes. Surely, you must know Garth and Kalina. They are quite close to Tedi and Natia, and they are also Knights of Alcea.”
“I am afraid that I must seek counsel regarding you, Morro,” sighed the baron as he looked at the officer. “Remove his weapons and belongings. We will put him in a cell until I get information about him. He is not to be harmed in any way.”
The soldiers moved forward and started relieving the elf of his belongings. The officer opened Morro’s pouch and peered inside. He walked to the baron and showed him the contents. Baron Tratter extracted a gold Zaran coin and examined it. He returned it to the pouch and motioned for the officer to continue his duties. Morro knew that he could not use the hourglass and get out of the situation, so he tried another approach.
“I would like to speak to you alone if that is permissible,” pleaded the elf. “I may be able to convince you of the truth of what I am saying, but it is not something that too many ears should hear.”
The baron looked at the elf curiously. He nodded to the officer and then drew his sword. The officer and the soldiers retreated from the room.
“I may not look like it,” the baron said threateningly, “but I do know how to use this sword. Do not make me use it.”
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