by Jeff Inlo
Chapter 6
"There's something going on up there," Ryson stated with an edge of concern to his voice.
They had traveled far into the Lacobian. The sun was already climbing high in the sky. The desert heat returned quickly, just as the sight of the sandstone mountain came into their view. Though it stood a distance away, shimmering above the desert sand, they would reach the algor meeting place before noon time.
Just past dawn, Ryson had wondered, even voiced the possibility to his companions, if they might find any algors within the monument. He had not found a trace of a single algor through their entire journey. He had believed he would find many trails once they closed upon the sandstone ridge with its many cave entrances. Yet, first to his disappointment, then to his dismay, he found nothing but the wind blown sand. The possibility that the edifice was now abandoned grew stronger with every step, grew until he tasted the blowing grit of sand in the air.
Holli tensed with preparedness for any calamity as she demanded a more detailed explanation.
"What is it you sense?"
"There's a lot of sand in the air, more than there should be given the amount of wind."
"What could be the source?"
"I'm not sure, but I can tell you what it's not. It's not just a few algors stepping off into the desert. There's just too much sand in the air." Ryson ceased speaking as he stopped all forward movement. His eyes narrowed, focusing upon a point distant on the horizon. His arm jutted forward, his finger pointed out like a dagger. "Over there. Just to the right of the cliff face. Between those two dunes. There's a cloud of sand spreading in the air."
Holli and Lief peered into the distance. They found the spot defined by the delver, but saw nothing. The sand was too fine in the shimmering heat for them to discern it from the surrounding dunes.
The delver, however, was quite sure of what he saw. "The disturbance isn't recent, but it was definitely caused this morning."
"It is beyond my sight," Holli admitted without shame. Elf eyes were sharp but could not compare to those of a purebred delver. "What do you make of it?"
"A slowly spreading cloud of settling sand. There's not much of it left in the air, only a trace really." He bent down and grabbed a handful of sand from the desert at his feet. He threw it into the air and watched carefully. The majority of the abrasive substance fell to the ground. Smaller grains were gently swept away by the hot breeze. The dust, however, floated lazily in the air. At the beginning, it was well concentrated, a tightly defined cloud of minute sand particles. It spread slowly, altered by wind and gravity, but it remained in the air and visible even after several moments.
"That was just a handful," Ryson stated as his eyes shot back and forth from the cloud in front of him to the one in the distance. "Whatever caused the one by the cliff, it had to be big."
Holli wanted greater detail. "Big like what?"
"Maybe like fifty galloping horses, maybe a hundred," Ryson stated flatly.
"A galloping horse would not last very long in this heat," Holli noted.
"That's true, but for the algors to have caused this, there would have to have been a lot of them, and dancing around or something."
"What about a battle?"
Ryson remembered their own encounter with the dwarves. "You think maybe the dwarves have already attacked?"
Holli nodded. "It is a possibility."
"It would have had to have been a large skirmish."
Lief looked to Holli. "Jon knew about their meeting place. If he revealed that to Yave when he explained the circumstance surrounding Tun's death, she would know about it as well. That would definitely be her first target. She would probably send a great force of dwarves to attack."
Ryson gulped back a growing sense of dread that manifested itself as a lump in his throat. He struggled to remain optimistic. "Now, hold on. Why would such a battle between the dwarves and the algors take place so far from the monument? Don't you think the algors would have stayed in the mountain, protected their home? It doesn't make sense that they would go off into the open sand to fight the dwarves."
"The algors are better suited to fight in the open upon the sand," Holli reminded the delver. "They fight with slings. They are used to the shifting sand, where the dwarves are not. If I had an army of algors, I would certainly prefer to fight in the open than in the caves of their sandstone mountain. Especially if they were attacked by dwarves. The dwarves would hold a great advantage in the caves, fighting in an element they would consider home."
Ryson still would not accept the theory. "But how would the algors have known that the dwarves meant to attack? How would they have had a chance to get to the clearing? We haven't warned them yet."
"Word spreads quickly from algor to algor," Holli allowed.
Ryson again thought of their own encounter with the dwarves. The war party jumped through the sand. Perhaps the dwarves did not know of the meeting place, perhaps they attacked a few stragglers just outside of the cliff face and the algors dashed out to meet the antagonists. It held merit, but he would not know for sure until he could better inspect the actual area of disturbance.
"We won't know what happened until I get a closer look at that area of sand," he stated. "I want to get over there as quickly as possible, but I don't want to fall upon an ambush or alarm any algors that may be around. How do we handle this?"
Holli looked directly at the sandstone edifice. "We go to the mountain first. We call to the algors and give our warning. That is why we're here. I hope that we will find an algor, or several algors, that might help with an explanation. We will tend to the disturbance after we carry out our primary mission."
Lief and Ryson did not argue. The delver began a quick trot in the direction of the edifice, and the two elves followed briskly. As he glided over the sandy dunes, Ryson kept a careful eye upon the ground in front of him. He watched diligently for any signs of a dwarf ambush. He also took quick glimpses of the slowly dispersing sand cloud to his right. There was no sign of any further movement. If a battle had been fought there, it was long since over.
The three quickly closed upon the cliff face of the sandstone mountain. As the cave entrances grew more defined with their proximity, Ryson's distress leaped. Immediately, he noticed the fresh trails of hundreds of algors. He said nothing to his companions, but his quickened pace spoke volumes of his anxiety.
The elves struggled to keep up. Just as Holli was about to call for the delver to slow, Ryson came to an abrupt halt. Each elf breathed heavily the hot, dry air as they waited impatiently for an explanation.
Ryson said nothing at first, his attention squarely fixed upon the sand in front of him. His eyes scanned the trails which moved away from the rock and over the dunes. He counted under his breath, staggered by the signs of so many.
He dropped to his knees as he inspected several sets of algor footprints. The claw marks and the wide-spread sole imprints were easily distinguishable in the soft sand. Ryson measured the depth of several prints.
"They were carrying something. Something heavy." He got to his feet and looked directly toward Holli. "The trails lead directly to the sand cloud over there. There aren't any fresh trails coming back."
"Any other markings?"
"If you mean dwarf trails, no. The only thing around is algor prints." Ryson paused to look up at the edifice before him. He shook his head. "I don't think there's anybody left up there."
"Can you be certain?"
"No."
"Should we call to them?" Lief asked tensely.
"I don't know if we should," Ryson responded with caution. "If there are any of them left up there, they're probably going to be cautious about strangers. We don't know what happened here."
Holli's grim expression revealed much of her own dread, expressed more than her simple reply. "Our priorities have now changed. Let us answer what has happened here first. Follow the trails."
Ryson did so eagerly. He mov
ed carefully toward the lingering dust cloud. He said little, only enough to instruct Holli on what he found.
"The trails form stringent lines, they marched in rigid formation. It's hard to tell exactly how many of them were marching this way. At least over two hundred, but maybe five times that much."
Holli looked back to the sandstone ridge. "How many do you think the mountain could hold?"
"Impossible to say. I know very little about how they live, how many per cave, what they might consider cramped. It's also difficult to say how deep the caves go into the rock. If you forced me to guess, I'd say … wait a minute!"
The elves stopped, stood dead still.
The delver sniffed the air, put an ear to the wind. "They're still there." But his voice was a mixture of confusion and certainty. "I can hear them. There's no battle, they're alive, but they're crying, wailing. What's going on?"
The delver wanted an answer, and he wanted it now. He took off in a dash, quickly outdistancing the two elves.
Lief cursed under his breath as he and Holli sprinted to catch up. They followed in his wake, fighting the heat and the shifting sand. They lost sight of him over the first dune. As they topped it, they caught his blurred movement quickly passing over the next. Again, Lief cursed.
"Why does he do this?"
"It is what he is," Holli responded without slowing.
As the elves reached the top of the second dune, they did not expect to see the delver, only his trail in the sand which he did not bother to hide. To their surprise, Ryson stood in their view, stopped upon the peak of a third dune and looking down upon a valley of sand before him.
The elves fought against the desert slopes that separated them from their friend. They plunged forward, saying nothing, their feet slipping over loose granules. They reached the side of the delver only to join him in viewing a sorrowful sight.
Thousands of algors circled a large open pit, stood hand in hand grieving. Well over another thousand algor bodies rested lifeless and still at the bottom of the pit. The dead were not covered, and large jagged wounds were grossly apparent. No blood dripped from the gashes, only a thick ooze glistened in the sun. The three stared down upon the sight with marked sadness as well as disbelief etching their expressions.
Ryson's voice cracked with emotion. "So many, so many dead! Look at the wounds! They were attacked, slaughtered."
Lief spoke with gray gloom. "The dwarves. They must have found the meeting place. Fire upon them all." The last was spoken without angry emotion, but with grievous regret.
Holli, though moved by the sight, called upon her guard training. She placed the facts together, ordered the events in likely fashion.
"They are indeed axe and mace wounds. I doubt the algors even knew what hit them. They were attacked in their mountain, not in the open. I'm sure that's where we'll find the signs of battle. The sand cloud that you saw was the result of excavating the burial site. They carried the bodies from the mountain. The lines you spoke of were a funeral march."
"The bodies. That's what weighed them down." Ryson could stand the sight no longer. He swung his head away, took a few steps, and dropped to the seat of his pants.
"Should we let them know we're here?" Lief asked of Holli.
"They already know," Ryson mumbled. "They saw me when I climbed up here. They didn't move. They just stood there wailing, ignoring me."
Holli frowned. "We came here to tell them the dwarves wished to attack them. That, they now know. But I wouldn't suggest we leave until we get a chance to tell them of all we understand. They must be told of Yave's actions. They must be told why so many were killed. I doubt it will help ease their grief. I have no idea how long their ceremony will last. I can only suggest we go back to their caves and wait for them to return to the mountain. Hopefully, they will hear what we have to say."
Holli walked slowly back in the direction of the sandstone mountain. Lief followed, but Ryson ignored them both. Still sitting in the sand, his senses fought for reason in the scene he had witnessed. The wailing of the algors streamed into his ears, bit into his skin. His fingers clenched about handfuls of sand. Confusion, grief, anger; all of it flooded his consciousness. The sight of the pit haunted him, remained clear in his mind no matter how hard he fought off the image. Death, not of one or even a handful, but death in grand design as if the reaper himself had swooned down and his black spirit engulfed them like a low cloud, that was the image of his horror. Three comrades had died in his presence at Sanctum, but never, never before had he witnessed death on such an immense scale. He couldn't just walk away.
He staggered to his feet. He turned to face the algors, looked into the heart of the burial pit. Though the algors were not his own; not his family, not even his race; he hurt. Pain exploded in his chest. A thickness filled his head, beyond tragedy, beyond horror. It was not the twisted mutilated shape of the dead. It was the loss, a loss he felt as deeply as any algor. How could the soul feel so empty, yet hurt so much at the same time? He wished to release his pain. Ryson did not even consider if the algors would have him. He simply trudged down the side of the dune to the edge of the pit. He stepped up to the ring of algors that stood hand-in-hand.
Without a word, without any other acknowledgment of his presence, the circle opened for him, opened as if he was simply another algor. Two algors broke hands and stepped aside, offered a space for the Ryson to enter, an invitation for the delver to join the circle.
Ryson took a small step forward, took the hands of the algors, and completed the circle once more. At that moment, he was both one with the algors, as well as separated from them. He felt the sense of belonging to their community, just as he felt that which made him different. In that same instant, he understood what it was like to be an algor, a race that constantly struggled to seek individualism in a community bound as a whole. He looked into the pit and saw the loss in a new light, the loss to the community. The pressure in his head doubled, tripled, and forced the unyielding release of tears. He wailed with the algors. Screamed until his voice was nothing more than a grumble and his throat was raw.
For one of the few times in his life, the delver lost track of both his surroundings and of time. No pressing desire to explore the land tempted his spirit. He simply stood with the algors crying, exhausting his grief. He held nothing back, he released it all.
The algors began pushing sand from piles into the pit. They worked in a fashion which typified their struggle between acting together and acting alone. At times they moved in orchestrated flows, moving like a single arm directed by one mind. Other times, their coordination broke down. They appeared more like angry bees flying in every direction.
As the algors finished the burial, Ryson realized that they had not yet released all their emotion. Though they had discharged their grief, they held to their anger, anger out of their community being viciously attacked. And though they welcomed the delver into their ceremony, they now ignored him. The algors filed away, passing the delver with disregard.
Ryson looked to the sand, looked upon the burial site. There were no markers left behind, no list of names of the dead. The desert had swallowed the bodies and soon a hot wind would remove all traces, all signs of the burial. It was not the algor way to leave remembrances for their fallen, for their dead, but Ryson could not bring himself to simply walk away from the empty sand.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out his dagger. He plunged it into the sand. It looked out of place, a weapon on top of a burial mound for hundreds. He thought of picking it up. He knew the desert would swallow this as well before the end of the day, it would fail as a marker. He bent over, but his hand stopped before his fingers could clasp the handle. He would leave it behind, a marker for his own memories, a marker that a delver had stood with the algors and understood their grief.
Ryson quickly returned to the sandstone mountain, only to find the algors circling the elves with angry shouts. They were not listening to Holli's call f
or calm or even Lief's curses. Most were not even listening to themselves. They simply shouted out threats, insults, and accusations.
"The elves are allied with the dwarves!"
"These are but more spies!"
"Send them away!"
"Take them prisoner."
Ryson tried to make his way through the mass of algors to the elves, but they blocked his path. Otherwise, the algors ignored him. They heaped their fury upon the elves. The delver meant nothing to them. He was able to use his speed and agility to pass through much of the mob, but there were so many. The circles of algors grew tighter as he closed upon the elves and it became near impossible to pass unless he climbed over them. He considered it.
The algors continued their harangue.
"Elves have no business here."
"We have work to do, the magic must be collected."
"The dwarves will pay, as will all those that help them."
Ryson could hear Holli try to speak over the crowd.
"We do not help the dwarves, we came to warn you." Her emotions remained in control even as the algors completely dismissed her statement.
"It is too late for warnings."
"Warn the dwarves. Let them know they will pay."
Ryson was not sure what that meant, but one thing was perfectly clear, the algors were not in the mood for listening. The group consensus was fed out of anger and hostility and it seemed each algor fed on the passion.
In the face of such angry disarray, Ryson opted for the dramatic. With a swift pull, he unsheathed his sword. It burned like the sun. The light bathed over the algors, covered them like sheets of rain. He made no threatening gestures. He simply held the blade well over his head, pointing straight to the heavens.
The algors ceased their din. They turned away from the elves as their voices spoke in unison. A thousand algors speaking with one voice, speaking the name of a delver that had joined those of the legends.
"Ryson Acumen."
The name crashed out over the desert as it was spoken with reverence and intimacy.
A single algor voice followed the chorus. "It is indeed the delver Acumen."
Ryson turned upon the voice as the speaker stepped through the intertwined mass. It was an algor the delver recognized.
"You were one of the ten," Ryson stated with certainty. "You traveled to Sanctum with us. You didn't enter the mountain. You were one of the eight that waited outside."
"You did not select me," the algor said plainly.
A twinge of guilt bit into Ryson. "I didn't know who to pick. I just picked two at random."
"You picked on faith," the algor corrected. "Why are you here?"
The need for the sword was gone, and Ryson returned it to its sheath. The algors listened intently to his response.
The purpose of Ryson's journey was now nearly irrelevant. Still, he spoke with open honesty over his intentions. "We came to warn you the dwarves wanted to attack. In truth, it was the elves that came to me. They pointed out that you needed to be warned. I realize that we are late, and you don't know how sorry I am."
The single algor spoke eloquently. "We would never doubt the word of Ryson Acumen. If the elves wished to do us this service, we shall not repay them with hostility."
Holli and Lief made their way through the crowd of algors. They stood at Ryson's side. The elf guard desired more information.
"What exactly happened here? I realize the dwarves attacked you, but how? How did the battle progress? Why were your casualties so great?"
"The dwarves attacked viciously," the algor responded. "They tunneled into our mountain from below. We were not armed, we were not ready. They moved from one tunnel to another, killing everything in their path. There were no warnings, only confusion. Those of us that survived did so only because we slept in tunnels the dwarves did not locate or because we were out of the mountain entirely. The dwarves appeared ready to destroy the mountain completely, but the large number of tunnels forced them to separate. Their troops were disjointed and unorganized. They had to regroup back underground. We have not seen them again. We don't know if they'll be back because we don't know why we were attacked."
Lief turned his attention to all the algors, giving sweeping glances across the crowd. "What has happened here is an injustice, a misguided act of revenge. It seems Yave Folarok of Dunop blames the algors for the death of her son, Tun. King Bol has banished himself from Dunop and Yave has taken control. I know this does not ease your loss, but this is why you were attacked. I'm sorry."
The algors erupted, the silence blasted away by their calls.
"Be sorry for the dwarves."
"The dwarves shall be sorry."
"Sorry they dared to attack us."
More shouts rang out, but many of the algors began to climb the sandstone cliff face and disappear into the many caves. The numbers around the elves and Ryson dwindled, but their resolution was no less evident.
Ryson's eyes bore into the algor in front of him. "What are you going to do?"
"War has been declared," the algor said simply. "We shall respond. We will create an army of sand giants and send them to Dunop. The sand giants will use the very tunnels dug by the dwarves that attacked us. The tunnels will lead them directly to Dunop. If the dwarves try to collapse them, the giants will break through. The sand giants will destroy Dunop and every dwarf that comes in their path."
The algor said nothing more, simply walked past Ryson and followed the others back to the caves. Within moments, the two elves and the delver were left alone, standing in front of the sandstone edifice with even greater dread than when they had begun their trip.
