“You are to blame.”
The others echoed, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“No,” Erik said. He couldn’t help the shakiness of fear in his voice.
Fox looked down at his body. He was no longer naked, but tattered clothes hung loosely from his ever-withering body.
“Yes, you are why we must wander the darkness.”
Erik closed his eyes and shook his head, pressing his back hard against the tree behind him as Fox’s breath was ever closer to his face. “No.”
“You are why we couldn’t take the caravan.”
Erik heard the echo again, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
He felt cold hands around his neck, pressing him against the tree, pushing him upwards.
“No,” Erik said as he struggled to free himself from Fox’s grip.
“Yes.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” came the echo.
Erik’s feet were off the ground. He struggled with Fox’s arm, but the putrid hand, flesh rotting off in front of Erik’s face, proved too strong. He clawed at the arm, ripping skin and flesh away. Fox paid no heed, and he felt no pain.
“You will die,” hissed Fox.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“And you will wander the darkness.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“Your skin will rot, and I will feast on it.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
Erik closed his eyes as he found it impossible to breathe in any more air. He gurgled, struggled, cried.
“You will know true pain,” Fox hissed.
Erik remembered the gloved hand around his neck, squeezing so hard it should’ve broken his neck, and the blazing flames, so hot they could have melted iron. He remembered the thundering, deafening sound of his voice and the hand around his heart. It should have crushed it, splattered it like a tomato. His eyes shot open.
“No!” he shouted. He found the strength to suck in a breath of air.
He wrenched the hand away from his neck, twisting the arm until he heard bones breaking and tendons snapping. He kicked out and caught Fox in the chest. As the dead man fell backwards, his forearm broke away from the elbow, and Erik held it up for all the dead to see. He then threw it to the ground. Then Erik reached down and grabbed Fox by the throat.
Fox screamed in pain as if Erik’s touch burned his rotting skin. The young man pushed the dead slaver against the same tree. One dead man grabbed Erik’s shoulder, but he swung backwards, and the man hit the ground, writhing in pain. The others stayed back.
“You are evil, and you will feel pain that is unimaginable, and it will be unceasing. You are here on your own accord.”
Fox squirmed and screamed, grabbing at Erik’s arm. As he touched Erik’s skin, however, his already decaying flesh burned away, revealing the bone underneath.
“This is your punishment.”
Erik released Fox, and he crawled away like a snake at Erik’s feet, head cowering and eyes turned away. He disappeared into the dark forest, the other dead ones at his heels, and as the last of them disappeared, Erik could see the sunlight just over the tops of several trees now, and he smiled. Then, in the brightening sky, the warmth of a late spring morning touched his face, and he closed his eyes and awoke.
The final scene from the dream was still clear in his mind, and he knew he would see Fox’s face in his dreams for the rest of his days, but he could haunt him all he wanted to. Erik now knew that, one day, he would walk past Fox in the forest and step up onto a carriage and it would carry him away to the sun, away home. Fox would watch in his never-ending darkness and experience never-ending pain, knowing that it was no one else’s fault but his.
Erik had once felt pity for him, but that pity was gone. He would no longer fear Fox, would no longer run from him, it would be the other way around.
Fox, you will run from me. You will no longer haunt my conscience. You will run from me or I will crush you, and you will live out your eternity as dust blown on a cold wind.
Chapter 32
ERIK HAD NEVER SEEN ANYTHING like the throne of King Skella, a chair made of solid gold, set with sapphires and rubies and diamonds, covered in cushions that just looked soft and comfortable. A man could buy all the free lands of Western Háthgolthane with just a piece of that throne. Even more amazing than the throne was the dwarf who sat upon it. He had never seen a king, had only heard stories of what a king looked like. He imagined a gigantic man with a massive crown and glimmering armor. Or an evil looking man with menacing eyes and an oily beard wearing long black robes. And then he imagined everything in between. But none of those looked like King Skella.
An older dwarf, with a long, white beard that pooled in his lap, sat upon the throne. He had the look of a dwarf that was once strong and muscular, with a firm jaw and broad shoulders despite the white hair and wrinkles, but also a look that reminded Erik of his grandfather. The King smiled as he looked at the mercenaries, his hands folded underneath his chin. His eyes were trusting eyes. Erik didn’t necessarily know what that meant, or what trusting eyes looked like, but those blue, piercing orbs stared at everyone in the audience, and Erik couldn’t help thinking those eyes saw things, and that a man with integrity could believe those eyes.
“It was many years ago that I saw you, Skull Crusher,” King Skella finally said, speaking in perfect, unaccented Westernese, “but these eyes never forget a face, no matter how young or old. You were probably too young, though, to remember your father bringing you here.”
“I could never forget such a thing, Your Majesty,” Turk replied with a bow. “Such an honor to stand before the King of Drüum Balmdüukr—both then and now.”
The King put up a hand.
“I appreciate your politeness, Skull Crusher,” King Skella said with a bold voice, although Erik sensed weariness there as well, “but it is unnecessary. When you were a child, you knew none the better. You sat there, where you stand now, playing with wooden toys while I spoke with your father, caring not for whom you entertained. I think that is the beauty of children.”
“Your Majesty,” Turk said with a bow. Erik heard sadness in the dwarf ’s voice.
“Tomek Skull Crusher was a good dwarf and a humble servant,” King Skella said. “His death was a great loss for us all. Although, certainly, none of us feel that loss more than you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Turk replied. “My greatest shame is that my father had no family to sit by his bedside as he passed. I abandoned my family.”
“It is unfortunate that you were not here for his passing,” King Skella said, “but such is life. It is not for us to know when those we love will pass from this life to the next. Many things would be different in this world if we could know such a thing. He was strong of faith, and he was not alone when he passed. I made sure to that.”
“I can never repay your kindness, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
Skella raised his hand.
“Your family has served my family for generations,” King Skella explained. “Service must be repaid with service. Kindness with kindness. Friendship and faith with friendship and faithfulness. It was the least I could do to sit next to your father in his last moments.”
Turk bowed.
“So,” King Skella said with a heavy sigh, “what is it that you have that is so important to our people?”
Turk straightened himself.
“We carry with us a map that leads to the lost city of Orvencrest,” Turk said.
Murmurs erupted throughout the throne room, and they continued until King Skella held up his hand.
“And how have you come by this map, Turk Skull Crusher,” King Skella asked, “when our own historians haven’t been able to find the lost city for a thousand years?”
“The Messenger of the East gave it to us,” Turk replied. “Our renown as mercenaries earned us an invitation to a meeting he held, some mission for the Lord of the East.”
“Andragos,” King Skella said, leaning forward. “That is
his real name. A snake, a scorpion, and a practitioner of the dark arts. And certainly not to be trusted, especially by dwarves. Why would Andragos, the Black Mage, so willingly give you this treasure? Perhaps a better question would be how it is that men have found the location to a dwarvish city, lost by time and hidden away within dwarvish lands?”
“It wasn’t just us, Your Majesty,” Turk replied.
“I don’t like him talking about our business so bloody freely,” Switch whispered, and Wrothgard, standing next to Erik, nodded in agreement.
“Most of those petitioned for this mission were men, Your Majesty,” Turk explained. “Supposedly, there is some treasure, some family heirloom of the Lord of the East’s hidden away in the treasure room of Orvencrest.”
“I highly doubt some family treasure of the Ruler of Golgolithul lies hidden away in Orvencrest,” King Skella said, sitting back. “Andragos is a lap dog to the Stévockians. And the Stévockians are cunning and cruel and wicked.”
“That I do not know, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“Well, I do, and very well,” King Skella said, raising his voice a bit and leaning forward once more. “The dark magic of the Stévockians is the only answer to the question of how men found our—I repeat, our—lost city. And there is certainly some other reason than a lost heirloom that Fen-Stévock would send mercenaries to find Orvencrest.”
“This does not sound like it is going well,” Erik heard Switch whisper again.
“Be ready,” Wrothgard whispered back.
“Without our weapons?” Switch asked. “Be ready for what?”
“To run,” Wrothgard replied in a hushed voice.
Erik raised an eyebrow as he listened to the two men mutter to one another.
“I suppose another question I might ask is whether or not this map can be trusted,” the King said. “I do not harbor the same distrust of men that some of my kin have,” the king added, seemingly more for the men than anyone else, “however, Golgolithul I do not trust.”
The King looked to several of the politicians and nobles that had accompanied them in the throne room. They murmured and muttered among themselves. The King turned up a lip, and an audible growl came from underneath his sweeping, white mustache.
“So, you have brought me this map,” King Skella said. “Did your companions know that was your intention?”
Turk looked back at Erik and the rest of the mercenaries. Erik could here Switch grumble.
“No,” Turk said with a quick shake of his head.
“I see,” King Skella said.
“How does that make you feel?” King Skella asked and it took only a moment for Erik to realize that he was speaking to the rest of them . . . the men.
“Pretty damn pissed off,” Switch said.
“As I imagine you would be,” King Skella said. “I know I would be. But we will have to deal with that at another time. You have come to me with this map, Skull Crusher. What is it you want? I would say to hopefully help your own people, but I think it is more than that.”
“Help us, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“In what way?” the King asked.
“Let us rest here for a time,” Turk said. “Maybe a fortnight. Give us room and board and give my companions leave to walk about Thorakest as if they were welcomed guests.”
The King leaned back again, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Louder murmuring rose up from the politicians and nobles in the room. King Skella glared at them.
“I will let you rest here, in my palace, as guests,” the King said. “Although, it pains me to aid the endeavors of Fen-Stévock, I trust you, Turk Skull Crusher. I trust your family and your loyalty, despite some of the choices you have made. And I will give your friends leave to move about the city unhindered. However, they must understand that this is a large city like any other and, with that, brings its own dangers.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Turk said with a bow. “And then send us on our way so that we might find the lost city of Orvencrest and return a millennia worth of riches home to its people. Give my friends leave to take their fill of the treasure and, if that remains their desire, to return this heirloom to the Lord of the East, and Drüum Balmdüukr can have the rest.”
“It is a novel idea,” the King said with a smile, and then the smile disappeared, “but I fear your enthusiasm is misplaced. You are not as smart as I thought you were if you believe Golgolithulian troops wouldn’t be swarming these mountains the minute they returned with whatever it is the Lord of the East wants, trying to lay claim to the rest of the treasure. We are already dealing with Patûk Al’Banan and his forces infesting our mountains.”
Erik heard Wrothgard grumble.
“Why shouldn’t I just take the map you have?” the King asked. “Why not send my own warriors to find our lost city and forget about the Lord of the East?”
Switch hissed. Erik could feel the tension surrounding his companions.
“Should I be so willing to part with treasure that belongs to the dwarves?” King Skella asked. “Have you become so bold in your absence, Skull Crusher, to ask so much of your King?”
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Turk said with a quick bow. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Who knows what still lies in the treasure rooms of Orvencrest,” the King continued. “They may be barren for all we know. Although, if not, a single, small chest of gold from that treasure would last any of these men’s families for generations. It is, perhaps, not an overly absurd request to allow these men to keep a small portion of treasure for themselves. However, my concern lies not with these men, but with Golgolithul. You have come to me in trying times, Turk Skull Crusher.”
The King sat silent again for a while. Finally, he stared up at the nobles and politicians and aristocrats in the throne room.
“Leave us,” King Skella said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Varlass Usse!”
They all hurried out of the room.
“Vermin,” King Skella said, not holding back the volume of his voice even as some of the politicians still lingered. “At least, most of them. I am sure within a matter of moments, gossip will have spread to the streets of Thorakest that I am allying with men of Golgolithul, and those who think like Fréden Frewin will be calling for a coup of my rule. You have given me much to think on.”
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Turk said.
“No, you’re not,” the King said with a smile. “And if you return without this heirloom?”
“Death,” Wrothgard said, speaking over Turk. “Torture first, then death, Your Majesty.”
“And if the Lord of the East knows you are colluding with dwarves?” the King asked.
“Probably the same, Your Majesty,” Wrothgard replied.
“He probably already knows you are here,” King Skella said.
“It is a chance I am willing to take,” Turk replied.
“I am sure,” the King said and then pointed to Erik and the other men, “but are they.”
“What choice do we bloody have now?” Switch hissed but less quietly.
“True,” the king said with a shrug. The look on Switch’s face said he didn’t mean for the king to hear. “I am not sure if I will let you go, yet. It is a grave risk on the part of my people.”
“You condemn us to death if you do not,” Wrothgard said.
“I am a king, no different than the Lord of the East,” King Skella shouted, suddenly standing. “I can condemn you to death if I so choose. It is my right, is it not?”
The dwarvish guards in the room moved in, spears lowered at the mercenaries. Wrothgard stepped back and bowed.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the soldier said, “it is your right.”
“However, I am different than the Lord of the East, and I would not so willingly take a life,” King Skella said. “I do recognize that if I do not allow you to continue your journey, the Lord of the East will sign a death warrant for each one of you. With that in mind, if you so wish, you could
stay here, in Thorakest, as citizens of my city.”
“As prisoners,” Vander Bim said.
“Perhaps, some might look at it that way,” King Skella replied. It was again, an utterance not intended for royal ears, but they worked as well as a child’s. “Fen-Stévock’s claws can still draw blood even within the protection of my city, so there is no easy answer. I promise to have an answer for you soon.”
“Can we get our weapons back, Your Majesty?” Wrothgard asked.
“No,” King Skella said with a slow shake of his head. “I do apologize, but that is a privilege extended only to citizens of Thorakest. Rest assured, they will be kept safely within my own personal armory.”
“I am so relieved,” Switch mumbled, and Erik couldn’t help agreeing with the thief ’s sarcasm. “Now I’ll just go walking around a large city full of people who hate me with nothing but my balls and my fists to protect myself.”
“Introduce me to your compatriots, Turk,” the King said, sitting back down and leaning back, seemingly relaxing a bit.
Turk introduced them all, making sure to announce Switch as a former merchant from Goldum, rather than a thief.
“Eleodum?” King Skella questioned when Turk introduced Erik and Befel and Bryon.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Erik replied before Befel or Bryon could say anything.
“That is an old name,” King Skella said. “One I recognize. A good name. Be proud of that name—and where it comes from.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Erik replied with raised eyebrows.
“The lands south of the Gray Mountains carry the blood of heroes, Erik Eleodum,” King Skella explained. “Perhaps I can give you a history lesson sometime.”
“Heroes . . .” Erik whispered to himself as he felt goose pimples rise along his arms.
Chapter 33
ERIK AWOKE TO A LOUD knock at his door. Turk didn’t wait for anyone to get up, and before Erik could prop himself up on one elbow, Turk was entering the room, holding two swords.
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