Dark Winds

by Christopher Patterson

  Bryon took a step back, lowering his sword so that it pointed to the stone statue. The stone dwarf ’s voice boomed in Dwarvish, shaking the hall’s walls. As it spoke, little bits of rock chipped and fell from the corners of its mouth.

  “Turk Skäd Crûsher,” Bryon heard Turk reply, “der clan Eorthfolk.”

  “Nafer Rûndshild, der Helvegar,” Nafer said.

  The statue then looked at Bryon, still speaking.

  “Stone Axe, or rather the statue of Stone Axe, asks if you are a slave,” Turk explained with a chuckle. “I told him you are a friend, and he seemed somewhat perplexed by that, as you are a man.”

  The statue continued to stare at Bryon.

  “Am I supposed to say something?” Bryon whispered.

  “In a moment. He says we may pass,” Turk explained to Bryon. “You must offer treasure and blood first, though. Do as I did.”

  Bryon hesitantly walked towards the statue. He sheathed his sword and accepted Turk’s knife. Bryon grabbed his small leather purse, took out a coin, and placed it gently at the foot.

  “Do I really need to cut my palm?” Bryon asked.

  “Aye,” Turk said with a smile, “unless you want to end up like that lizard.”

  He cut the palm of his left hand, flinching as he did so, and squeezed a few drops of blood at the foot of the statue.

  “Now say these words as I say them,” said Turk. “Maġenacen Magorin.”

  “Do I really have to?” Bryon asked, cutting Turk off and looking pessimistically at the dwarf.

  The blue eyes of the stone statue brightened. Bryon needed no more encouragement. He repeated the first two words.

  “Offrion min feoh und blôd beorga weġ,” Turk continued. Bryon repeated the words. When he finished, the statue nodded its head, dust and flakes of stone crumbling to the ground.

  The stone dwarf warrior became inanimate once again, and the blue faded from its eyes. As smoke covered and then faded from the statue, Bryon saw that the chips that fell from its mouth, leaving small cracks and holes, were no longer there, replaced with fresh stone, as if it never spoke.

  “What, by the . . .” Bryon paused. “What by the Heavens was that?”

  “The trap. Those who did not offer up blood and gold, as these instructions here say,” Turk said, pointing to some runes next to the statue, “the two things dwarves value the most, would die by Stone Axe’s blade.”

  “Who is Stone Axe?” Bryon asked.

  “The statue. Of course, it is not really him. He died many years ago,” Turk replied.

  The dwarves and Bryon hurried back to get their companions. They were sleeping again, and it took a while to wake them. They followed Turk to the statue of Stone Axe, and both the dwarf and Bryon explained what they had to do.

  “I’m not bloody giving money to a flaming statue,” Switch hissed.

  When Stone Axe came to life, however, Switch seemed all too willing to give the statue his money, and Erik seemed more than ready to cut his left hand.

  “We will camp here for a little while,” Turk explained. “We do not need to hurry right now. We are safe here.”

  Turk inspected the statue of Stone Axe when he could hear Demik snoring and Bryon groaning as he dreamt. He didn’t really feel ashamed for marveling over the effigy, just a little silly, childish maybe. He preferred no one see him do it.

  “Is this what you really looked like? You remind me of my grandfather.” He smiled and ran his fingers along the stone beard that hung in a braid to just above the knee. He traced the intricacies of the hair that flowed from underneath the skullcap helm worn on the statue’s head.

  “You reunited the North and the South, and here you stand, a statue to watch over us. What was it like when you lived? How do we reunite our people once again? Is that why you are here? We are so despondent. Could it ever happen?”

  He watched the statue, motionless, for a while longer.

  “Or are you here for another reason? In our disparity, have they returned? Have they?” Turk looked to the darkness above him. “An, I pray to you that they have not returned.”

  Chapter 28

  ERIK AWOKE TO FIND TURK dressed for battle. Demik and Nafer had followed suit. As concerning as the sight might have been, Erik was glad for it, having dreamt of dead men again, crawling at him through the darkness of the mountain tunnel. No matter how fast he ran, they were right at his heels, and dead arms poked through the mountain walls, grasping at him and tearing at his clothes.

  “Ready yourselves,” Turk said. “Things don’t seem right.”

  “Even with the dwarvish traps to protect us?” Bryon asked.

  “There are things that can slip past dwarvish traps,” Turk replied.

  The crude mountain tunnel turned into a well-worked hall, wide and with pillars carved straight from the rock walls.

  “Stay here, and stay close to one another,” Turk commanded.

  “What the bloody flaming sheep’s guts is happening now?” Switch asked.

  “Bryon and Nafer,” Turk said, “come with me again. Wrothgard, stay here and be ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Wrothgard asked.

  “Just be ready,” Turk replied.

  The three, led by Turk, disappeared into the darkness, the light from Nafer’s torch and Bryon’s sword fading away.

  “Are you all right?” Befel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erik replied.

  “You don’t look all right,” Befel said.

  “I don’t feel all right,” Erik replied.

  “What’s wrong?” Befel asked.

  “Is that a serious question?” Erik asked. “We are stuck underneath a mountain, only the Creator knows how deep. We thought that having dwarves with us would be the answer to safe passage through these mountains, and yet, here we are, preparing for a battle with who knows what. On top of that. I can’t sleep without dreaming of dead men attacking me and dragging me to the Shadow. Almost everything that could be wrong, is wrong.”

  Erik looked to his brother. Befel looked disturbed, almost upset, but didn’t say anything.

  Turk finally reappeared in the torchlight, alone. He breathed hard and sweated profusely. Wrothgard snapped to, ready for battle. He ran to Turk.

  “Where is Bryon?” Erik said softly, and then he raised his voice. “Where is Bryon? And Nafer?”

  Switch shot him a glaring look.

  “Hush,” hissed Vander Bim.

  “Where are they?” Wrothgard repeated.

  “We are here,” Turk replied.

  “What are you bloody talking about?” Switch asked, moving up next to Wrothgard.

  “Thorakest,” Turk said. “The guards allowed me to come back for you only if I left Bryon and Nafer as collateral. They are safe. Bryon is a little worried, perhaps, but safe. Follow me.”

  They did as directed and Erik saw his cousin, standing in an illuminated area surrounded by oil lamps on tall, iron poles. Two tall, heavy, wooden doors loomed behind Bryon. Burning sconces rose along the wall on either side of the doors, showing a shadowed ceiling void of any natural cave formations.

  Five dwarves, armored in plate mail, waited behind Bryon. Erik had never seen anything like these dwarves, their armor glistening in the light. He had seen a full suit of armor once, in a storybook his mother would read him when he was younger, but the splendor in that book did not do these warriors justice. Steel—or perhaps Dwarf ’s Iron—covered the dwarves from foot to head, layered in overlapping plates of metal. Four of them wore heavy helmets, their eyes barely visible through crossbars running horizontally in front of their faces, and held long spears, as tall as Bryon, with broadswords at their sides.

  One dwarf wore no helmet but covered his head with a piece of cloth, like a handkerchief, which held his hair off his face. He held a war hammer in his right hand, its wide head not flat but rather fashioned to a dull point. He held a thick leash in his left hand, and at the end of that leash, a thick, leather collar studded with iron s
pikes held a mountain lizard. It calmly watched Bryon, flicking its forked tongue in and out.

  As Erik and the others reached the lights of the entrance, the four helmeted dwarves grabbed their spears with both hands, extended the sharp, iron tips that gleamed in the lamplight. As they tightened their grips, their leather gloves squeaked against the polished wood. The lizard handler flicked its leash and said a single word in Dwarvish, to which the reptile immediately straightened its tail and opened its wide mouth, giving an eerie hiss. It then snapped its mouth shut. Its closing jaws sounded like a blacksmith’s hammer and anvil.

  “Sheath your weapons,” Turk said.

  Erik looked to Wrothgard. The soldier shook his head and tightened his grip on his sword. Erik saw Vander Bim lower his sword, but he didn’t put it away. Switch smirked.

  “They do not trust men,” Demik said, “and fighting would only be to your folly. Sheathe your weapons as you were instructed. Surely, by now, you believe you can trust us.”

  Wrothgard waited for a moment and then slowly nodded. Everyone put away his weapon. Turk bowed to the guards and let the lizard sniff his hand like a dog. He even petted its head as he and the guards conversed. Most of the conversation sounded like an argument, and both Nafer and Demik came up to be alongside Turk and joined in the discussion. Finally, what looked to be a serious conversation turned into merriment.

  “What’s happening?” Erik asked.

  “I don’t know.” Wrothgard put his hand back on the handle of his sword and left it there.

  “Tunnel diggers. I don’t bloody like this. Some flaming dwarvish trickery.” Switch fingered the hilt of one of his daggers.

  “Onbreg!” one of the guards shouted and then knocked on the door three times.

  “Come on,” Turk said with a jerk of his head.

  Bright light peered between the two opening doors and drowned out the dim torchlight that illuminated the guards’ post. Erik put his hands up, shielding his eyes.

  As the blaze of light flooded out from behind the doors, two armored dwarves walked past the party and took up position in front of the doors, replacing two of the original guards. Those two then escorted Erik and companions through the doorway, and as soon as they had all passed the front gate, the doors started closing.

  They stood in a hall nearly one hundred paces wide and three or four times that in length. The light in the hallway originated from large, oil cauldrons and fire pits along with hundreds of torches and lanterns.

  Erik looked to Demik, who wore a wide grin as he tilted his head back, sniffing the air. He sighed.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you smile,” Erik said.

  “It has been many years since I’ve been home, lad,” Demik replied.

  “It’s amazing,” Erik said.

  “Aye, quite amazing,” Wrothgard agreed.

  “This is only the entrance.” Demik laughed.

  “Welcome to Gröde Handenhall,” Turk said. “The Great Trading Hall in Westernese.”

  All around them, visiting shops built right into the wall, Erik was fascinated as he watched a ceaseless stream of busy dwarves walking in and out of the shops, carrying food, clothing, tools, and other supplies one might buy from a city’s market.

  Also, around the walls stood the carts of vendors and artisans, selling anything from mining supplies to food, from clever artwork to weapons. Dwarves pushing wheelbarrows full of rock, dirt, and metal mined from the mountain rushed by the company, paying no attention to them, and into stores or into other, smaller hallways adjoining this one.

  “Have all these shops been here a long while?” asked Erik.

  “Aye,” Demik said. “They’ve been here for ages, owned and run by the same families for just as long.”

  “On my mother, are those . . .” Erik’s eyes widened. He couldn’t even finish what he was saying as a dwarf carting a sturdy wheelbarrow full of large, uncut, unrefined gems passed by him hurriedly, almost running over his toes. Rubies the size of his fist and sapphires a deep, translucent blue. Erik looked at Demik who smiled back at him.

  “Not in all my years of thieving have I seen such a beautiful sight,” muttered Switch, almost drooling. “One of those buggers could make me a king.”

  “Where do those lead to?” Erik asked, pointing to a number of hallways adjoining the one into which they walked.

  “To other cities eventually,” Demik replied. “The hallways can take a dwarf all over Drüum Balmdüukr, they are much like the ones we passed coming to Thorakest.”

  “I would much rather travel through these ones,” Erik replied, noting that most had armed guards standing in front of them as well as plenty of light.

  Demik laughed and said something to Nafer in his own language. The other dwarf laughed as well.

  “You men,” Demik said. “You are so afraid of the dark and of things you cannot see. You have no faith, no trust.”

  Several groups of dwarves appeared beside them, leading oxcarts packed with tools, food, clothing.

  “Oxen?” Erik questioned.

  “What else would they use?” Demik asked in return.

  Erik just shrugged.

  Four dwarves, armored in mail, followed one of the ox carts, but it wasn’t them that caught Erik’s eye, it was the great, brown bear trailing behind. Rarely had Erik seen such animals around the farm, but when they did show, someone was sure to let loose a large bull, or several, to chase it away.

  Several heads taller than Bryon if it stood on its hind legs, leather barding, as might be used on a large warhorse, protected its neck, shoulders, and hindquarters. It stopped when it saw the men, grunted, and roared. One of the dwarves scolded the beast, and it turned and trotted to catch up to its masters. The dwarf made eye contact with Erik, and as the young man smiled, the dwarf frowned.

  “I would have thought the dwarves here would have been a little more . . . well, I don’t know. How long has it been since they’ve seen a man?” Erik asked.

  “Why? Are you so interesting that we dwarves should just stop what we are doing because you are here?” Demik asked.

  “Demik,” Turk called back to the dwarf. Skull Crusher gave his dwarvish companion a scolding look. Erik saw Demik roll his eyes.

  “It is unusual to see men in the trading hall, but not too rare,” Demik explained. “We dwarves often trade with the men who live in villages on the surface of these mountains or along their foothills, like Stone’s Throw, and at times will entertain men from the north, Durathnans, and even Hargolethians. That trade usually takes place on the surface, or at one of our outposts. But from time to time, if the man is important enough, or what they want to trade is grand enough, dwarves will escort them to this place.”

  Eventually, they walked the length of Gröde Handenhall, coming to giant double doors again, these ones made of iron and preceded by an open portcullis.

  More guards stood in front of them and, after a few moments of speaking with both Turk and the two dwarves who had escorted them through Gröde Handenhall, one of them knocked on the doors three times and shouted, “Onbreg!”

  The doors opened, and the mercenaries stepped into a giant cavern, and as soon as they did, Erik heard Turk sigh and say, “Home.”

  “It looks like any other city,” Erik said, staring at the groves of apple and orange trees and farmlands that lay before him as they walked along what he assumed to be the main road of Thorakest.

  “What did you expect?” Demik asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erik replied, wincing when he heard the oinking and squealing of pigs and smiling fondly when he heard the deep moo of a cow. “When someone tells you that you are going to visit a city built within a mountain, you don’t think of farms and cattle and orchards. And irrigation.”

  “And this bright,” Wrothgard added. “It’s as if you’ve smuggled the sun in here.”

  “I suppose, in a way,” Demik replied, “we have.”

  The dwarf pointed to the top most reaches of the giant
cavern. Erik followed the dwarf ’s finger and was promptly blinded, temporarily.

  “Ages ago, all we could grow down here in the darkness were different types of fungi, carrots, and potatoes, and the only livestock we could raise were reptiles and large rodents. Any crops like corn or wheat we grew on the surface or near our surface entrances were susceptible to raiding and plundering.”

  “A thousand years ago, our forefathers installed giant mirrors in this cavern,” Demik continued. As Erik tried looking up again, squinting, he could see several of the mirrors, but beyond them he saw only darkness. “It is perhaps our greatest invention, and something we created before our northern cousins. These mirrors riddle the mountain, all the way to the surface, built into the mountain by our ancestors.”

  “I cannot imagine the engineering feat that would have been,” Wrothgard said.

  “Truly,” Demik replied. “To this day, it is a masterpiece marveled by peoples all over the world. They catch the sun’s rays and reflect them into our great cities. This allows us to farm and raise cattle like you do on the surface world.”

  Erik and his companions walked along the main road of Thorakest, passing through farmlands and then a large urban area just outside the city walls.

  “Why does a city that was built within a mountain need walls?” Vander Bim asked. “The tunnels are not large enough for siege equipment, or a large army for that matter.”

  “There are things in these mountains,” Turk replied, “that are far more dangerous and disastrous than siege weapons and armies.”

  Passing through the urban area of Thorakest, coming to the city’s walls, dwarf soldiers eyed them from its top. A gatehouse and barbican preceded the wall.

  “Look to the bartizans,” Wrothgard said. Erik had no idea of what a bartizan was, but he followed the soldier’s eyes to what looked like short towers with sloping, tiled roofs on each of the outer corners of the gatehouse. Dwarves peered out through the crenels, thick spears in hand, watching Erik.

  The iron portcullis of the gate sat open, and the two dwarvish guards that had been with them this far now led them through the entrance into the neck of the barbican. As they walked through, a horn blew from the top of one of the gatehouse’s towers, getting a response from another at the top of one of the city’s towers. Within moments, ten dwarvish soldiers blocked both the front and the back of the company. They stopped, and the party’s two escorts began speaking with a tall dwarf wearing a red tabard, Turk joining them after a few moments. After what sounded like a heated conversation, the tall dwarf signaled to his soldiers. The dwarves immediately stepped aside.