“Alright, come along, but watch your head,” the dwarf said.
Zollin moved toward the hole, and he had to get down on his hands and knees to get inside. The tunnel leading down into the mountain didn’t expand for a long distance. Zollin’s dwarf guide didn’t seem to need any light, but Zollin was forced to kindle a small flame. His hands and knees were skinned and aching by the time he reached the large cavern that served as the dwarf city. There were lanterns hanging on pegs and billowing furnaces casting an orange glow around the cavern. Dwarf children, looking much like their parents, played in small groups. The adults were either working or sitting at low tables drinking ale and smoking pipes. The fragrance of the tobacco smoke gave the dwarf village a distinct fragrance.
“This is the Tradnook clan,” said the dwarf who had led Zollin down into the cavern. “I am Avryl.”
“I’m Zollin,” he said, stretching his back.
“I thought wizards were all old men with long beards and pointy hats,” Avryl said with a smirk. “You’re just a child by the looks of you.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Zollin said.
“Oh, you haven’t disappointed me yet. Let me introduce you to Bloc, he’ll decide what to do with you.”
“Is Bloc your chief?”
“No, I’m the head of the Tradnook clan. Bloc is the descendant of Oglebard, the last king of the dwarves.”
“I didn’t know the dwarves had a king,” Zollin said as he followed Avryl.
“We don’t normally. We live in clans and each clan has a chief; there’s little need for more than that while we’re underground. But sometimes we venture forth from the deep earth, and in those times we need a king to settle disputes and deal with the humans. You tall folk are sometimes hard to endure, if you take my meaning.”
Zollin laughed and Avryl looked up at him. Zollin could see the firelight dancing in the dwarf’s eyes and for the first time he realized just how old Avryl looked. The dwarf had wrinkles around his eyes and across the round cheeks that were visible under his bushy white beard.
“I understand exactly what you mean,” Zollin said. “We are hard to endure.”
“Humpf,” Avryl responded. “For a minute there, I thought you were poking fun at me, tall one. I might not seem like much to a long strider like you, but believe me I’m still strong of arm and stalwart of heart.”
“I’ve no doubt of that, Avryl; I meant no offense, truly. I am sorry if my lack of manners has vexed you.”
“Well, you tall folk take a little getting used to,” Avryl said. “No offense was taken. You’ve manners enough for the Tradnook clan.”
Avryl led Zollin back into a richly decorated room. Most of the dwarfish homes, which were carved into the stone around the larger cavern, were sparsely furnished. Most furniture was carved out of solid rock, and there was very little comfort to be had in the small dwellings. The room Avryl led Zollin to was just the opposite. There was a thick rug on the stone floor and wooden chairs with thick, goose down cushions. Paintings in gold frames were mounted on the walls, and there were crystal decanters with rich, red wines set on a table.
Bloc was sitting in one of the chairs. He held a brass goblet in one hand, the other was stretched on the arm of the chair and Zollin noticed a large looking gold ring on the dwarf’s middle finger.
“Ho, Avryl, who is your tall friend?” Bloc said.
“This is Zollin, he’s a wizard.”
“I’ve heard of Zollin,” Bloc said merrily. He had none of the dour traits that Zollin found common in dwarves. “Welcome, Zollin, friend of Babaz and Hammert. Your work on the Stepping Stones has been a benefit to all dwarves.”
“It was my pleasure to help,” Zollin said.
“What brings you to our beautiful mountain?”
“Dire news, I’m afraid,” Zollin said. “I was hoping that the mighty dwarves could help us.”
“Mighty dwarves,” Bloc said with a laugh. “I like that. Did you hear, Avryl? We are now the mighty dwarves of the Northern Highlands. I confess; I like the sound of that.”
“Flattery brings ill tidings,” Avryl grumbled.
“Oh, don’t be so negative, you old grump,” Bloc said.
Zollin was almost shocked by Bloc’s teasing. He had never experienced a dwarf that wasn’t serious all the time.
“He’s right,” Zollin said. “The tidings from the southern kingdoms are dire.”
“Well, be that as it may, I would like to welcome you to my home, Zollin. A wizard indeed, it’s been centuries since my family has had the chance to entertain a worthy guest. Please, you look tired. Have a glass of wine and rest a while. I will send word to the clan leaders to gather, and then you can make your request of us.”
“That is very kind,” Zollin said.
Bloc waved the thanks away. He hopped up from his seat and began to pour another goblet of wine.
“Avryl, send word to the clan leaders,” Bloc said. We shall meet in three days at the dome under the rock.”
Avryl nodded, but didn’t speak. Instead, he hurried out of the room. Bloc turned to Zollin and handed him a goblet of wine.
“There, that will set things right. Tell me what is happening in the wide world above us.”
“It is a long story,” Zollin said. “And I’ll be glad to share it with you, but the gist of it is that a witch has summoned dark magic. I fought her in Osla, but she fended me off and then she cast a spell that cracked open the earth.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Bloc said, his merry expression hardening into a look of severe worry.
“You know?” Zollin asked in surprise.
“There is very little that happens below the earth that we are not aware of, Zollin,” he said. “This witch summoned a demon, an immortal spirit lord.”
“I saw it,” Zollin said.
“They are ancient, even by dwarfish standards,” Bloc said. “But this is not new magic the witch wields. I suspected we would hear from the humans at some point. In the dawn of this world, spirit beings called Illuminais worked together creating every living thing. At first our world was a blank canvass and the Illuminai had room to fashion creatures of every kind, but soon the world began filling up and conflict among the creatures spilled over into the Illuminai. Some were killed as they battled one another; others were twisted in their hate and spite. They are powerful beings, but their time in our world passed, and they were banished. They can be summoned back using dark magic, but they cannot work their power directly in our world. Instead they pour their evil into one of us, funneling their hate and fury into destroying what they once created.”
Zollin was stunned. He had longed for answers to his questions, and now that he was getting some, he was even more terrified by this new knowledge than he had been when he didn’t know what was happening.
“I assume the Leffers have been unleashed?” Bloc asked.
“Leffers?” Zollin asked.
“Winged abominations,” Bloc said. “They have the body of a horse, the head and shoulders of a man.”
“And a tail like a scorpion,” Zollin said. “Yes, we fought these Leffers, but there were too many to stop.”
“Yes, they are like a swarm of insects. They aren’t intelligent creatures, just mindless monsters intent on carrying out the will of their masters.”
“Gwendolyn was the witch who summoned them,” Zollin said.
“The person you knew is gone,” Bloc said. “The power of the Illuminai will change her forever. She is lost.”
“She will not be missed.”
“No, I suspect not,” Block said before sipping his wine.
“The Leffers are capturing people and flying them back to the great abyss,” Zollin explained. “Brianna, my betrothed, believes that Gwendolyn is creating an army.”
“Is Brianna the Fire Spirit we have heard tales of?”
“Yes,” Zollin said.
“And is it true she has birthed dragons?”
“In a sense, yes,�
� Zollin said.
“These are momentous times,” Bloc said, settling back into his seat. “The world is changing. We hang on the balance between the way things have always been, and a cold, merciless new future.”
“You think Brianna is part of that future?” Zollin asked, trying to hide his dismay.
“None of us are completely good or evil, Zollin,” Bloc said, his merry expression hardening into a look that was both serious and wise. “Surely you know that anyone can be good or bad depending on their choices. This witch in the south had chosen wickedness; you and I have chosen righteousness, or so we hope.”
Bloc smiled, but it was not a look of mirth, but rather a glance that seemed to penetrate down deep into Zollin’s soul. They stared at one another for a long moment.
“In times like these there are always a few individuals who have the power to truly make a difference. You are such a man. Your betrothed is as well, I suspect. The question before us now is how will you forge the future, Zollin?”
“I will fight,” Zollin said. “I will stand against Gwendolyn and whatever evil she unleashes.”
“Your race is always quick to choose violence,” Bloc said. “Are there no alternatives?”
“I don’t know,” Zollin said, taken aback by Bloc’s statement. “I admit I’ve never considered any.”
“We must consider every possibility,” Bloc said. “These decisions cannot be rushed.”
“No,” Zollin said, “but time is the one luxury we do not have. If Gwendolyn is building an army as we suspect, she will be marching north soon, and probably with three or four times the number of troops we can put in the field against her. That is why I am here. We need the dwarves to join our fight.”
“My people will not be quick to join your cause,” Bloc said. “The Clan Chieftains rarely agree on anything.”
“Then I must persuade them,” Zollin said.
Bloc was quiet for a moment and Zollin finished the wine in his goblet. He knew the wine was rare; it was by far the best he’d ever tasted. The warm, soothing feeling of the wine spread through his body and made him feel so relaxed that he was tempted to close his eyes and go to sleep right in the small, dwarfish chair.
“I will go with you, of course, but I cannot aide you in your plea. My family’s role for centuries has been to lead our clans when they venture out of our homeland. Few dwarves can communicate with humans effectively. They have a natural distrust for the tall folk, as your kind is known. Only wizards and other magical people have been welcomed in our hallowed halls.”
“It is my great honor to have visited your people.”
“And our great honor to host you. Please, I can see the fatigue on your face. Come and rest. We can leave for the Dome when you have slept.”
“Thank you,” Zollin said. “You are very kind.”
Bloc waved away the compliment and showed Zollin to a small anti-room. There was no bed, but the floor was covered with thick animal skins, pillows, cushions, blankets, and quilts.
“I hope this will be comfortable enough,” Bloc said.
“It is great,” Zollin said, remembering that on his last trek through the caverns under the mountains he had slept on solid rock.
“I will wake you when it is time to leave, until then, rest well.”
Zollin sat down on the soft pallet and pulled off his boots. It felt good to wiggle his toes. He was warm all over for the first time in days. He pulled off his clothes and lay down. The room was just big enough for Zollin to stretch out. His head was near one wall and his feet near the other, but he was comfortable. He thought of trying to contact Ferno, to let the green dragon know that he was okay, but before he could, he fell sound asleep.
Chapter 13
Quinn was almost through the mountain pass. He was riding a black gaited horse and leading a mule. The journey south from Felson had been uneventful and slow. He had ridden hard, staying close to the coast to avoid the Rejee Desert. The southern portion of Yelsia was sparsely populated, and he was fortunate to have avoided bandits along the way.
Riding through the mountains should have been relaxing, but he had too many worries on his mind to relax. His first concern was for Mansel. He didn’t know exactly why he felt so worried about his former apprentice. Mansel had followed them from Tranaugh Shire when Zollin had been attacked by the wizards of the Torr, but that really wasn’t surprising to Quinn. Mansel was an adventurous sort. Quinn had taught Mansel to fight with the sword, but it was quickly obvious that Mansel was a natural with a blade. He had the strength and agility needed to be a great swordsman. But the truth was that Mansel and Quinn had not gotten along over the last several months. Mansel had fallen into heavy drinking, and Quinn had left the big warrior on their way south to save Prince Willam. That incident still haunted Quinn; it was a regret that he couldn’t forgive himself for.
They had both fallen under the spell of the enchantress, Gwendolyn, and twice Mansel had tried to kill Quinn. The older man knew that those incidents haunted Mansel, even though they were both under the control of the witch at the time. Quinn’s only desire was to see Mansel happy and flourishing in life. He couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man wouldn’t have been better off not learning to fight and instead, applying his skills to a trade.
Quinn was also worried about Miriam. At first, their relationship had been sweet. They were like teenagers, caught up in a whirlwind infatuation, but their personal habits had quickly begun to wear on their romance. For his part, Quinn was used to living alone, to making decisions without input from anyone else or even considering another person’s feelings. When he had married Zollin’s mother, they had done everything together and he had catered to her every desire. But then she had died and Quinn was forced to make every decision for himself and for their newborn son all on his own. He had tried to include Miriam in his decisions, but she was full of different ideas. She hated all violence and while Quinn always tried to talk his way out of trouble first, with Felson full of refugees, conflict was inevitable. She was quick to take in anyone in need of help, especially children. Quinn was a kind man, but not particularly partial to children.
The biggest conflict between them was Miriam’s home. The home, land, and barns had been in Miriam’s family for almost a century. It had been well maintained and allowed Miriam to earn a good living as an animal healer in the community, but Quinn felt like an outsider. Everything in the home and around the property was hers. There was never a sense that it was their home and although he knew Miriam had the best intentions, they simply couldn’t get along.
He felt guilty for leaving her behind, but he could never sit back and allow Mansel to be in danger. In the past he had enjoyed the solitude and freedom of being on the road, but now that joy was smothered by guilt. One part of him felt like he should be riding to help Mansel and the other part felt as though he should be staying with Miriam, especially if what Brianna had warned them about was coming true. Full scale war was a terrifying thought, especially if the army they were fighting were full of some dark magic that transformed regular people into monsters. Still, if that war was coming, he knew he could never stay safely behind the front lines. It just wasn’t in his nature to hide from a fight.
On top of all these concerns, lingering in the back of Quinn’s mind was Zollin. His little boy had grown up so fast, and Quinn was incredibly proud of his son. The fact that Zollin was a wizard was still stupefying to Quinn, even though he’d seen his son do the impossible. But it was Zollin’s character that impressed Quinn the most. Zollin had his mother’s sense of right and wrong coupled with Quinn’s own steely discipline. And Zollin also had an independent spirit; he was fiercely loyal, but not beholding to anyone, not even the King of Yelsia. Perhaps that came from running from the Torr who had sought to control him and bend him to their will, or perhaps that trait was already evident and had given him the strength to resist the ancient magical order. Still, Zollin was in almost constant danger, and the thought of losing Zol
lin haunted Quinn’s every waking moment. He knew there was very little he could do for his son, but Quinn still worried about him, as was his right as a father.
The terrain around Quinn was slowly opening up. The valleys were wider and the mountains less steep. The Walheta mountain range was very different from the Northern Highlands which were stark and austere. The Walheta Mountains were covered with lush vegetation, towering pines, and stately fir trees grew thick on the steep mountains. Wildlife was plentiful; in fact, Quinn had managed to kill a young deer not long after he entered the mountain pass. He took a day to smoke the meat and salt as much of the tender venison down with his meager supplies as he could.
There were also people living in the Walheta, hermits mostly, who enjoyed the solitude of the mountains. Quinn had visited with several along his journey. They were friendly folk in their own way. Quinn knew, of course, that the odds of finding Mansel were slim. Still, he asked about the young warrior wherever he went.
Green Glen was a small settlement in a wide valley, just inside the southern edge of the mountains. There was a small inn and Quinn stopped long enough for a meal. He asked everyone he met of news from the south. The rumors coming north were not good. People spoke of monsters, dragons, villages’ destroyed, and vile magic unleashed. Quinn always felt a shutter of fear whenever people talked ill of magic. He’d heard such talk all his life, but now he knew better. Still, he hated to think of people judging Zollin because he was a wizard. Quinn knew that his son’s power did not come from some wicked sacrifice or allegiance to demonic forces, but many of the people he met were sure that all magic was evil. If the rumors were even partially true, he guessed they had a right to their prejudice.
He learned little of value from most of the people in the village, but one man, a teamster who transported goods through the mountains in heavy wagons, had just returned from a trek to the south. Quinn rode to the man’s home. There was a small cottage and a large barn on the property. He tied his horse and mule to a tree and walked toward the barn.
Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide Page 12
