by Jaxon Reed
He grew frustrated waiting for word from Ore Stad. The isolation of Port Osmo seemed extraordinary. He regretted the wizard had not been able to bring Tun back.
But upon reflection, he knew that would not have worked either. The Council had probably not even decided what word to send him yet. Whatever distance their missive must cross, it had to be crafted first. That, Dudge knew, caused the greater delay.
Still, his father should have written by now, and he waited impatiently for the expected letter. But mail was slow in coming, usually arriving overland via wagon train. So he carried on without further guidance from home.
Late one night while going through records of receipts, he found several bills of sale signed by Rak. They piqued his curiousity. They dealt with the municipal quarry up in the Tantermooks. From what he could deduce, the workers had chanced upon a discovery in a shaft going deep into the mountain. Someone had evidently found something, because Rak had paid for additional labor, wagons, and tools.
Rak had funneled quite a bit of money into the project, and Dudge suspected the additional gold scraped from illegal tolls had been used in part to fund whatever activities had taken place in the quarry.
So, Dudge decided to check things out on his own. This led to a flurry of activity among the guards, as they prepared to lead a contingent with him out of town. After some heated words with their captain, Dudge pared down their expected number to six. Behind the scenes, he knew there must have been some fighting about which six were to accompany him. He noticed that each one of his guards had fresh wounds: black eyes, bitten ears, bandages patched around the middle from where the healers had patched up wounds.
But Dudge dismissed the notion of guards fighting for the honor to accompany him as ridiculous. “It’s not like I’m th’ crown prince,” he told them as they departed through the rear gates of the city and headed toward the mountains.
“Aye,” one of them said. “Bu’ yer our prince.”
All six swelled their bandaged chests in pride, strutting along the road with him. They even ignored his dismissive “Phsaw!”
Perversely, he grumbled to himself, the more he expressed disdain for their respect, the more they seemed to show it. These provincial dwarves held some quaint notions about the Crown. Privately he thought if his brother ever visited, the popinjay would never leave. He’d simply stay and bask in all their adulation.
Although, he thought, reconsidering, perhaps the opposite would occur. Perhaps someone who enjoyed the attention would find themselves at the other extreme. Maybe the townsfolk would disdain someone who actually enjoyed being treated like royalty.
As he mulled that thought over, they crested a rise in the path and he stopped, looking down into a large quarry. Here, he knew, the stones used to construct most of Osmo had been taken from the base of the mountain.
He said, “Th’ entrance shoul’ be down yonder ways.”
He started off again, heading down the switchbacked pathway snaking into the quarry, the guards hurrying to catch up.
At the bottom of the vast squarish site, they found several shaft entrances leading into the mountain.
“Drainage,” one of the guards said.
Dudge nodded. The shafts headed down and would serve as conduits for water to evacuate, perhaps leading to an underground river or some cavernous reservoir.
“One o’ these led t’ somethin’ they foun’,” he said. “Split up an’ lookie fer somethin’ outta th’ ordinary. Nay harm will come t’ me here.”
The guards shared dubious glances with one another but followed his orders, their curiosity piqued. Before long one of them who had gone to the right hollered out. He said, “Halloo! This un has a mark!”
The others converged on the shaft’s entrance to see what he had found. Dudge looked at the mark on the side of it and said, “Clan Slag’s crest. This be it.”
Before he could enter, the guards jumped in front of and behind him, each drawing their sword. Dudge gave a resigned sigh, but let them remain in formation. Together they entered the tunnel and headed down in single file, three before him and three following after.
The floor and sides grew damp as sunlight receded. Their eyes adjusted to the gloom as they headed further down. The going was cramped, but they could stand as they made their way carefully forward.
Dudge estimated they had walked a quarter mile into the mountain’s depths when they came across a narrow fissure that seemed to split the passageway in two. Heading to their right, the crack in the passageway led elsewhere.
“It occurred natural. Mayhap they came ’cross it by accident while diggin’ this out,” he said.
Only one could pass through at a time. The three guards in front insisted on going through first. Then Dudge squeezed through, followed by the others. The crack quickly grew wider. Soon it opened up into a larger tunnel sloping gently upwards.
They followed it several hundred steps, the tunnel growing larger the farther they ascended. Finally it opened into a large cavern, stalactites lining the ceiling.
“Somethin’ on th’ other side,” one of the guards said. Everyone squinted, their night vision stretching to the limit.
“Looks like a large door,” Dudge said.
He started toward it and the guards jumped into position, the wide cavern allowing more freedom of movement.
As they crossed the cavern’s floor, they could see the far wall was indeed dominated by a large, elaborate door. It reached up high, almost to the cavern’s ceiling 40 paces above. It looked to be fashioned from metal, and displayed a dwarven wizard in relief, standing as if prepared to cast a massive spell.
On the floor in front of the door, tools lay scattered. Pick axes, hammers, shovels, and other items were strewn about carelessly. Most seemed to be bent or broken.
“They tried t’ get in,” one of the guards said.
Dudge nodded. “Aye. An’ tools woul’ nay do it.”
“Blood on th’ floor,” another pointed out.
“Mayhap a spell on the door knocked them back.”
To the side, the beginning of a new tunnel had been carved out of the stone. Dudge walked over and poked his head through the opening.
“They tried diggin’ round th’ doorway. Dinna get far, though.”
He looked up, searching the metal entrance for any clue as to its purpose. High up, he made out an inscription. His eyes grew big as he read it.
“Lads, now I ken wha’ Rak were up to.”
The guards looked up, too. One of them said, “I kinna make it out. Wha’s it say, Yer Highness?”
Dudge said, “It reads, ‘Here lies Lok the Terrible. Fear his name, all ye enterin’.’”
He looked at his guards with round eyes. He said, “Rak foun’ Lok’s tomb, lads!”
Epilogue
The caravan trundled slowly to a stop. One of the drivers climbed down from his perch and made his way to the back of the last wagon. He flipped the canvas aside and looked in. The passenger stared back at him at eye level.
“Mile marker 20, as Your Lordship requested.”
Endrick tensed, his hand gripping the jailer’s shortsword which he had kept as a weapon. But the driver only smirked and walked away, heading back toward the front of the line. Endrick relaxed. The driver was only being sarcastic. His identity remained a secret.
He grabbed his bag and climbed out of the wagon just as it started moving again. He watched the caravan plod forward, disappearing over a rise in the road. Soon he stood alone in the middle of the Hidden Woods.
The sun’s position indicated several more hours of daylight remained. He turned and started walking back toward mile marker 19.
Actually, mile marker 18 was his true destination. When he handed over a small bag of silver to the caravaners, they thought his request to be dropped off in the middle of the forest rather odd. But, the ten pieces of silver he paid quelled any protests. What did they care if some odd fustilarian were dropped off in the woods, never to be seen agai
n?
Endrick tried his best to cast spells of forgetfulness on the merchants that morning as they ate breakfast. He had no idea of the effectiveness of his efforts, but the fact they remembered to stop at mile marker 20 was not a good indicator of success. He had planned to simply jump out, using the slowness of the oxen’s pace to his advantage. But, someone had remembered their deal and they stopped to let him off.
No matter, Endrick thought. He felt rather proud of himself for concocting the subterfuge surrounding the mile markers in case his spell did not work.
By the time he made it to mile marker 19, he regretted his efforts at misdirection. The pauper’s clothes he had obtained were itchy, the cheap shoes had rubbed blisters on his feet, and he sweated in the sun beating down on the road.
He trudged on to cover his second mile, bitterly regretting his choice now. Unused to exercise, he pushed his feet forward, trying to ignore the pain and discomfort. Who would have cared what mile marker he was dropped off near?
At long last he rounded a bend and spied the marker. He picked up his pace to close the gap. Reaching his destination at last, he plopped down under a tree, taking advantage of the shade and resting his feet. Thoughts of his royal bath back at the Emerald Palace and the soft bed in his old chambers crossed his mind. He angrily pushed them down, locking them somewhere deep inside. These steps were needed, he reminded himself, to retake what was rightfully his. To gain his revenge.
All the talk in the city swirled around the “glorious” return of Trant. Even the caravan drivers talked about it over their campfires. It took all of Endrick’s self control not to spit and lash out in rage at them when the conversation drifted in that direction. He retired to the spot in the wagon his silver had secured, instead.
For their part, the drivers left him alone. He must have seemed a strange one to them, dressed in peasant’s clothes but sporting a bag full of silver and requesting to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately for Endrick, his silver trumped their curiosity.
Now his goal was at hand. He sighed and considered pulling off the cheap shoes hurting his feet. No, he decided. If Thanden had done his part, a wizard should be appearing soon.
Somehow the sickly sprite had found him after he exited the secret tunnel. He ducked behind a tree with Thanden, hoping no one would see them.
He knew that Darkstone had friends on the Magic Council, other wizards who remained friendly with him. He knew also that Thanden had served as a link between them and Darkstone.
“Find those friends,” he told Thanden. “Find them, and let them know I live!”
Thanden made little affirmative trumpet noises, nodded vigorously, saluted, then promptly flew into the tree and passed out from the impact. Once Thanden recovered his senses, he saluted again and flew off in an erratic path before disappearing. Endrick had to believe the little creature delivered his message.
The following day, Thanden found Endrick again walking alone in a park near the castle. He gave Endrick a small slip of parchment that simply read, “Hidden Woods, mile marker 18. Be there by sunset in four days.”
As he stretched out and waited, the thought occurred to him that if whatever wizard who passed along the message neglected to show, Endrick was stranded out here in the middle of nowhere with no food or water.
He looked up at the sun to gauge how much more daylight remained. Two, maybe three hours, he decided. With nothing else to do, he leaned back against the tree and waited.
As the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, a movement caught his eye. A hazy yellow Globe of Transport appeared on the road near the mile marker.
A wizard stepped through it, carrying a staff with a stone of quartz on the end. He wore dark purple robes and had a short brown beard. He looked young for a wizard, Endrick thought. Thanden flew through the globe behind him, and fluttered above the young wizard’s head.
Endrick stood up as he approached. A sparkle of amusement flashed in the wizard’s eyes as he looked Endrick up and down. Had it been any other man, Endrick would have drawn his sword in anger at the disdainful display. But he restrained himself. A rare honest thought occurred to him, that he might indeed look quite pitiful.
“So, you were Darkstone’s puppet.”
Endrick decided to ignore the slight. He drew himself up and composed himself with a regal stare, meeting the wizard’s eyes an equal. He said, “What news have you of Darkstone?”
“He’s dead.”
Endrick was not surprised. He knew that whatever powers had sucked Darkstone out of the room against his will could probably kill him as well. He had been prepared to hear that, especially since Darkstone had never returned.
“Still,” the wizard continued, “I think we may find some use for you.”
“Yes,” Endrick said, in an effort to turn the conversation in a direction more aligned to his desires. “I’d like you to help me gain my kingdom back. Get young Trant out of the way, and I’ll take care of things from there.”
Quartzstone chuckled, enjoying the sight of a once powerful monarch attempting to save face. He said, “If you want any chance of my helping you, there’s something you need to do for me first.”
Simultaneous thoughts occurred to Endrick, who wondered what he could possibly do for a wizard and the dread that any chore he could be used for would likely be dangerous. Quite possibly deadly.
Quartzstone seemed to be waiting for an answer. Endrick let out his breath, slowly, and faced the wizard square in the eye. He said, “What would you have me do?”
Quartzstone said, “Near here, but deeper in the woods, a simpleton lives in a hut. This simpleton has a black dagger, which he loves dearly and holds close to his heart at all times.
“The woods are guarded by powerful wards, and I cannot simply go and retrieve the dagger without alerting our enemies. But you, a mere man with little magic to speak of, can enter without causing alarm.
“Go, kill the simpleton, and fetch the dagger for me. Do this, and I will do everything in my power to restore your throne.”
Quartzone lifted questioning eyebrows at him. Endrick knew the wizard knew he really had no choice.
Endrick said, “The woods are vast. How will I find this simpleton?”
“Thanden knows where the fool is. He’ll guide you there. He’s not far from here.”
“Very well. But I have no food or water for my trek.”
Quartzstone snorted and waived his hand. On the ground near Endrick, a basket of food and a travel skin appeared.
The wizard said, “Anything else, Your Highness?”
Again, Endrick ignored the insulting tone in Quartzstone’s voice. He said, “How will I send word to you I have it?”
“Thanden will find me. When he informs me you have the dagger, come back here to mile marker 18 and I will return. Then we shall kill your enemies and restore you to your throne.”
The wizard made it all sound so easy, Endrick thought. He could offer no more questions or concerns.
Quartzstone walked back through the hazy globe and it disappeared. Darkness settled in for the night as light from the transport spell winked out.
A grumble in his belly reminded Endrick of the food Quartztone left behind. He pulled meat and bread out of the basket. Thanden clapped his hands and floated down nearby, licking his lips. Endrick broke off a small piece of bread from the loaf, but before he could offer it to the sprite, Thanden grabbed the loaf and chomped it down in several quick bites.
Endrick furrowed his brows at this, partly in anger and partly in confusion. He popped the smaller piece of bread in his mouth and retrieved the meat. This time he portioned it out equally. To his surprise, the little creature ate all that Endrick gave him. It seemed the pudgy little sprite could pack away several times his weight in food.
When they finished eating, the forest stirred with the sounds of night animals. Endrick forced himself to set aside any concerns about creatures in the dark. He turned to Thanden and said, “
So, do you know where to go?”
Thanden nodded and saluted.
Endrick sighed and stood up. He said, “Well, I suppose the sooner we get his rotten black dagger, the sooner I can get my kingdom back. Lead the way.”
Thanden saluted again, and fluttered his way through the trees deeper into the forest.
Endrick followed, easily keeping up with the sprite’s pale green light in the darkness.
The End
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Dramatis Personae
Anabella - Nanny to Princess Margwen of Coral, and her Lady in Waiting.
Archemon - captain of King Keel, a Coralian naval ship.
Atta - a Princess of Crystal, seventh born child of King Aldwald and Queen Etta.
Barley - a dwarf, son of Wort, of the Clan Nugget. Died in the Battle of Greystone Village.
Bartimo - a young merchant from the Ageless Isles, twin brother to Bellasondra.
Baylock - a Coralian noble and members of King Keel’s council.
Bellasondra - a young merchant from the Ageless Isles, twin sister to Bartimo, and Stin the Thief’s love interest.
Belsett - Captain of the Lightfish, a Fellows family ship.
Bently - Queen Kita’s brother, Duke of Fellows, one of the five major noble houses of Coral.
Berti - owner of a fine pub in Corsairs Cove.
Bluestone - one of the twelve wizards.
Brightstone - a wizard. His specialties include light of all kinds.
