Both of them jumped and turned around. Lufra turned pale.
Rozelle screeched, “Trillius! I’m gonna kill you.”
“Wow, what seems to be the problem here?” he gazed at the huge brawl.
“As if you don’t know,” Rozelle mocked.
“Me? Why would I have anything to do with pirates fighting in a bar? It’s not like this isn’t normal for their kind. This probably happens nightly here. Boy, I would hate to be in there right now.”
“El’Korr and Rondee are inside looking for you,” Lufra exclaimed.
“Now why would they go and do a silly thing like that?”
“Cause maybe they care about you,” Rozelle snapped.
“Me? I will tell you why they went in there. It is because dwarves and pirates have the same spirit—always looking for the next fight. It’s certainly not my fault.”
Rozelle turned and took a step toward the tavern. She closed her eyes and instantly transformed into a large black bear.
“Rozelle! No! Don’t go in there!” Trillius yelled.
It was too late, the black bear charged inside the chaotic melee and roared. Shocked pirates and barmaids whirled in their tracks, facing the sound. Their eyes opened wide when the bear rose on its hind legs; the massive snarling beast clawed the air. Half-cocked fists froze and mouths dropped open at what loomed before them. Female screams were stifled in clasped throats. Concluding it was not a figment of their imagination, chairs and tables were pushed aside and overturned as terrified patrons scrambled out of the tavern.
El’Korr and Rondee emerged. They were battered and bruised. Blood trickled out of Rondee’s nose and El’Korr’s left eye was swollen shut.
“Nice one, Druid,” El’Korr said while embracing Rondee with one arm around his neck.
They hobbled out into the street with Rozelle lumbering behind them. Trillius and Lufra stood outside waiting.
“Two things, Gnome. First, thank you,” El’Korr stated with a grin.
“Really?” Trillius responded nervously.
“Yes, Rondee and I haven’t had a bar-fight like that for quite some time. It reminded us of our younger years.”
“Great, you’re welcome, I guess.”
“Second,” El’Korr’s tone became serious, “you will be giving all that money to Captain Elsbeth as your fee for stowing away on her ship.”
“C’mon! That’s not fair. I worked hard to get that money.”
Everyone glared angrily at Trillius.
“Fine! I’ll do it.”
El’Korr nudged Trillius to start walking back to the ship.
Trillius turned toward them with his hands up, “Hey, it’s still early guys,” he pleaded.
“Not a chance Gnome, now move it before my fist uses your nose as a punching bag.”
The heroes cautiously began to ascend the ancient stairway that led deeper and higher into the mountain. Abawken took the lead followed by Dulgin, then the ordakians. Suddenly, the roar of grinding stone echoed around them. They looked back down the stairs and saw the cliff wall come together, blocking the entrance and sealing out the light.
“No turning back now,” Bridazak commented.
A soft glow permeated from the rock itself as they continued their climb deeper into the tunnel. The air was stale and the scent of wet granite increased the further they traversed.
“The tale of the frost dwarves says that they were the first of the dwarves to exist. Legends say that they are the creators of all the snow for the entire realm of Ruauck-El,” Dulgin’s voice spoke matter of fact and it echoed a calming effect on the heroes. “The ancient name for this place was actually Deegosh Sond, which simply means, ‘white shield.’ Now though, it’s just Te Sond.”
“Are frost dwarves friendly?” Spilf asked.
Dulgin turned and smiled, “Of course, just look at me, I’m friendly.” His scowl then returned and he raised the right side of his upper lip.
In an attempt to keep his friend’s courage up, Bridazak said, “Don’t worry Spilf, I am sure they will greet us with open arms.”
“Yeah, a festival in your honor awaits, little-ones,” Dulgin teased as he continued his way up, “and dwarven ale, let’s not forget.”
“Yeah, how can we forget that gem, Dulgin?” Spilf turned and whispered to Bridazak, “How would my parents find their way, with what we just went through? It seems unlikely they would have made it this far.”
“We must continue to have hope, my friend,” Bridazak placed his hand onto Spilf’s shoulder. “Have any of our steps led us to a dead end yet? Everywhere we’ve gone we’ve found another clue. Let’s focus on where this path takes us.”
Spilf nodded and grinned his appreciation of Bridazak’s comforting words and then they continued.
They climbed what seemed to be an endless stairway, each step hand chiseled by the Dwarves. All breathed heavily as they increased in altitude; they gasped at the thin air as they slogged along, but finally Spilf wheezed and began to slow.
Dulgin turned and said, “Should I start calling you ‘Wheezy’ now?”
Spilf glared at his friend, but was unable to respond as he leaned his back against the rugged wall and bent over, breathing hard, steadying himself with his hands on his knees.
Bridazak said, “Let’s rest to catch our breath.”
Dulgin turned away and grumbled, clearly not wanting to stop, but knew he couldn’t convince the daks otherwise.
Abawken shuffled down to Spilf’s step, knelt, and offered, “Master Spilf, it would be wise to keep moving until we find a suitable place to rest. Climb onto my back.”
Spilf looked to Bridazak, who nodded, and then he obliged the human and climbed aboard, wrapping his arms around his neck. Dulgin raised an eyebrow as Abawken passed by and then followed.
Suddenly, Dulgin turned to face Bridazak, “Don’t even ask. No free rides on my back.”
The halfling smiled and then reached for his coin pouch, “How much, then?”
Dulgin shook his head, “I’m not liking you right now.” He then turned and stomped up the steps, climbing to catch up to Abawken.
Sweat dripped from their brows. Another hour elapsed of the hike into the mountain when they finally reached a flat chamber opening. The ceiling of the cavern scaled beyond sight, and on the opposite side was an entrance to another tunnel. A cold breeze rushed out from the new passageway. Blue icy tendrils wrapped themselves around the edges of the granite opening as if gripping the walls and trying to break out from within.
“There’s a pile of wood over here and a burnt out campfire,” Spilf pointed.
Abawken investigated the black soot of the long burned out fire, “It’s old. No one has been here for quite some time.”
“It’s a frost dwarf sentry post, but they wouldn’t need a fire. This wood came from someone else.”
“Where are the sentries?” Bridazak asked.
“I don’t know, why do you keep asking me?”
“Maybe cause you’re a dwarf. Ever think of that?” Spilf quipped.
Dulgin pointed his finger, “Shut it, Stubby!”
“Let’s rest for the night,” Abawken suggested.
Spilf sighed in relief and plopped to the ground.
“Fine, I’ll take first guard shift,” Dulgin grunted. He threw his backpack next to the wood. “Make yourself useful Stubby, and make a fire.”
“Why me?”
“You found the wood, that’s why. Unless you want to check out the tunnel with Abawken to make sure it is critterless.”
Spilf looked at the imposing exit across from them, then said, “I’ll make a fire.”
Abawken wandered the dunes on the outskirts of his home in the east, under the relentless afternoon sun. The sand shifted under his steps. He knew better than to be distracted, but his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t notice the tremors in the dunes behind him, or the slight hum of the desert monster Beltothi, the digging mouth filled with teeth and tentacles, moving slowly and meth
odically underground, sensing the vibrations of its next victim.
He took a deep breath. These daily solitary walks were not providing him the answers he needed to the problems waiting for him within the city walls. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he sighed and turned, resigning himself to head back.
He noticed a moment before it surfaced; far too late to escape—his leg was quickly caught within the Beltothi’s grasp. He already felt the strength of the squeezing arm, barely visible as it blended so perfectly. He looked frantically for his scimitar but it was not in sight. He bent toward the creature, trying to pry the arm away, but with no effect. It tightened its grip and slid further up his leg, sliding him closer to the gaping maw. He could see the sharp, criss-crossed teeth lining the wide opening in the sand. More tentacles slithered out and reached toward him.
Seconds remained before the human fighter would be consumed. Abawken looked around and noticed he was surrounded by large crested dunes. He knew in his mind that he would never travel to the basin of the hills knowing full well the Beltothi lurked in such places. “This doesn’t seem right,” he thought.
Just then he spotted the silhouette of a desert nomad, cloak fluttering in the arid breeze, face wrapped, only revealing darkened eyes.
“Help me!” Abawken yelled, but the figure did not move.
He heard the sand cascading down inside the mouth of the creature as he was pulled to the edge. Abawken dug his heels into the hardened carapace lip, but felt sure his legs would snap from the tremendous strength of the Beltothi.
He looked back toward the figure, but the mysterious nomad was gone. His leg buckled and he felt the rising heat of his muscles tearing in his legs under the extreme pressure. The smell of death seeped into his skin as the mouth belched and gurgled.
Suddenly, the Beltothi was gone, and he lay safe atop the sand surface again. “Sand Dragon must have scared it off,” he thought, still dazed.
Abawken gripped his injured leg with his hands and then began to crawl away. As he turned toward his home, he bumped into the wrapped leather boots of the nomad he had seen earlier. He looked up, but the sun overhead caused him to squint and he could only see the halo of light around the cloaked figure.
“Who are you?”
A female voice responded, “I’m the hunter.”
“There is a Sand Dragon nearby,” Abawken warned, his mouth dry.
“No, there is not.”
“You created the sound to scare the Beltothi?” he surmised.
“I’m the hunter.”
“You hunt the Beltothi?”
“You assume much, my dear Abawken.”
“How do you know my name?” he asked, struggling to stand. He was more terrified now than he had been in the jaws of the Beltothi a moment ago. Just then, the smell of Lilac infiltrated his nostrils and the sudden realization hit his face. “Devana.”
“That never gets old,” she said, “I like the way you say my name.”
Abawken stood, “Devana, why do you torture me like this?”
“Oh, is that what I am doing?”
“You are a dream witch, nothing more.”
“It is a shame that is all you think of me.”
“You can’t have it, Devana.”
“You know it doesn’t belong to you,” she retaliated.
“It chose me.”
She paused and smiled, “I would hate for any of your band of misfits to get hurt.”
“Keep them out of this,” he bit back.
“Where are you and these friends of yours going anyway?”
He reluctantly responded, “We are looking for Master Spilfer’s parents.”
“Oh, another noble quest for the famous Abawken,” she mocked.
“Let me finish this journey, and then we can talk, Devana.”
“I have my deadlines, but I have been quite entertained with you and your friends, plus I have missed our rendezvous of late. You do have some time remaining, but I cannot guarantee you will be able to finish, and you know I always catch my prey. It would make things a great deal easier if you simply relinquish what I’m hunting.”
“Like I said, it chose me. I cannot give you what is not my right to give.”
Devana’s head tilted sideways and she grinned, “You have changed, Abawken. What happened to you?”
“Why have you chosen this life, Devana?” he countered.
“This life chose me and you know it.”
“When we were kids, we talked about our future—”
“A future?” she cut him off. “With a former slave girl? What would that be? Come now, we were children with wild dreams.”
“Devana, I still believe in you.”
“So easy for you to say, but we’ve each made our choices.”
“We saw things differently, and my father—”
She cut him off again, “Has paid me well to track you and retrieve his treasure.”
“I could have never imagined what you have become, Devana.”
“There is one thing certain in life, my dear Abawken, and that is death, nothing else. I have chosen to embrace it and work alongside of it. Relax, I try to make it as painless as possible for most.”
Abawken looked away from her, but Devana compelled him to step closer to her. He tried to resist, but just like the world and creatures she had created, it felt outside his control. She unwrapped the linen around her face to reveal her smooth and perfect skin. Her bronze hair cascaded down below her shoulders and her chestnut colored eyes penetrated his very soul. He tried to look away but his will was overrun.
Without touching him, she abruptly pushed him away, “Remember what I said. Your time is running out.”
Abawken awoke next to the dying embers of their fire. Dulgin poked at them, sending tiny sparks into the air. Bridazak and Spilf were asleep on the other side of the pit.
“Is it my turn to guard, Master Dulgin?” the human asked as he sat upright.
“Who is she?” the Dwarf asked while keeping his gaze fixed on the fire.
“I am not sure what you are speaking of.”
“She broke your heart? Someone you left behind back home perhaps?”
“Just another bad dream, Master Dwarf.”
“I understand. You miss this person.” Dulgin continued to poke at the fire.
“She is not the one that I miss,” the human whispered. His thoughts were no longer with the hopes of his past, but with the hopes of his future.
“Well, I’m quite aware of these so called bad dreams of yours, and won’t make a second mistake of trying to wake you like before. Surprised you didn’t wake Bridazak and Stubby over there.”
“Past demons that haunt me still,” Abawken responded.
“Oh, Dwarves call them ex-wives.”
“You had a wife?”
“Don’t be tryin to change the subject Huey, but no, I have not, just never was the settling down type, and never found the one with the right amount of facial hair.”
Abawken chuckled, “Your females are bearded?”
“Of course. Most of our beard contests are won by the women. The pride they bring to our race warms my heart. Now why don’t you tell me about what chose you,” Dulgin’s face turned serious and he glared at Abawken.
The human locked eyes with him and understood it was futile to dissuade the determined dwarf. “My sword. It chose me.”
“Now you have my attention. Go on.”
“The Sword of the Elements has an intelligent soul held within. It chooses its wielder.”
“So where does this woman come into play?”
“Her name is Devana. We grew up together, but something changed along the way, and she chose a different path in life. She has been hired by my father to bring the sword back to Zoar. This sword has great meaning where I come from and has been only in the hands of Kings.”
“Kings? Guess your sword had a change of heart then,” Dulgin scoffed.
Abawken waited silently, holding his stare with his dwarven
friend. Dulgin caught his look and saw the intensity in his eyes. “Wait, are you telling me you are of royal blood?”
“Yes, my father is the King of Zoar to the far east beyond the Horn Kings of your region. However, my call in life is not there, but here, with you.”
“Yeah, I understand, but that makes you a Prince. Well, this changes things.”
“How so, Master Dulgin? I am still the same man.”
“Now, I need to be calling you Princey.” They both chuckled softly so as not to wake the others.
Unbeknownst to them, Bridazak was awake, and had overheard the entire conversation. Their first adventure together had united the group of travelers to one another forever, though many still carried their hidden secrets. It was nice to hear Abawken open up, and especially with Dulgin. Bridazak would keep this information to himself and let the two of them bond a bit closer, but he would also be looking out for this Devana. Her name was not unknown to him, and those who lived and breathed the underground life, as he once had, all knew it well—the name of a hired assassin.
Veric was concerned. “The devling should have reported in by now.” Daysho folded his arms across his chest, “I told you, you should have sent me instead.”
“Then I would have been here telling my devling that Daysho should have reported in by now,” Veric snapped.
“I can tell you’re upset, Wizard, but you are in good company.”
“How so, Assassin?” Veric emphasized Daysho’s title mockingly.
The hooded killer smirked, “My contacts run deep, and I have word of your missing ship.”
“Well done. Where is it?”
“The deeper I go with my contacts, the deeper you will have to go in your coffers.”
“You people. You walk in delicate matters. I could destroy you where you stand, Daysho.”
“If word went out of your hasty reaction, then my network would be a formidable enemy. It would not be wise to turn your back on the Guild.”
Each man stared down the other. The wizard desperately needed the information his hired assassin had garnered.
Veric reluctantly said, “My apologies. You can understand my irritation.”
Daysho smiled, his perfect set of white teeth glowing under the veil of darkness inside his cowl. “Of course,” he mocked.