Catalyst (Book 1) (25 page)

I knew I shouldn't have wasted my time coming here, but it was far too late to turn back now. “I'll do whatever I have to do to convince them to help me.”

Jastillian smiled. “I know. Now let me turn around while you get dressed.”

I was going to protest, but Jastillian was right about humans being bashful, at least when it came to me. Not having any clothes and having someone stare at me made me shy. I wasn’t that comfortable with Jastillian yet, and he wasn't a pretty girl.

I got out, dried myself off, and put my not-so-clean clothes back on. When I put on my wizard’s robe, I inhaled its scent. It smelt surprisingly clean.

Master Stradus once said a wizard’s robe is a part of the wizard, and the two become one. In time, I’d understand. Maybe the robe was clean because I was clean? Although it might have been because of the fact that it soaked up all the steam, and I had been in the room for a long time.

I rubbed my wrinkly fingers through my slick hair and said, “I’m ready.”

“Good, lad. Before the questioning, we’ll get to eat first. I’m sure you're as hungry as I am.”

My stomach rumbled so loud I’m sure Jastillian heard it. “Just a little bit.”

We left the quiet sanctuary of the bathhouse. Jastillian led me through the halls. We walked up a broad flight of stairs, passing four guards before we reached a set of large double doors carved out of granite and etched with the dwarves’ symbol. Jastillian opened one of the doors.

The room was much larger than those in the rest of the castle. In the center was a large, circular stone table, and about two dozen well-armed dwarves of varying ages surrounded it. The room was surprisingly stark. I had expected it to be as richly decorated as the rest of the castle. There were no paintings, statues, or even banners. The only decoration was the dwarves’ symbol carved into the middle of the table, just visible under the platters of food.

All heads turned towards us as we entered, and the conversation stilled. Jastillian led me to a seat on a stone bench, next to an elderly female dwarf.

“Hello, my son,” the old dwarf said. Her short, thin hair was as white as snow. When she smiled, her face creased with wrinkles.

“Hello, Mother,” Jastillian said. The pair embraced.

Jastillian’s mother looked towards me. Her vital, dark blue eyes had that same piercing gaze as King Furlong had. I wondered if all military rulers had the same way of sizing a person up. I inclined my head. Jastillian’s mother was the only dwarf present who didn’t wear a huge weapon. She chose to carry a short sword sheathed at her side.

“Hellsfire,” Jastillian said, “this is the leader of Erlam, Lenora.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I’m grateful you allowed me to come into your wondrous city.”

“Thank you for helping my son, Wizard Hellsfire.”

“Please, just Hellsfire.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” said a younger dwarf with red hair.

“That’s right,” another said with a fierce gaze. “There should be no outsiders here in the heart of Erlam at this time.”

“He rescued me from a great and dangerous wizard,” Jastillian said.

“Your point?” the red haired dwarf asked.

“He’s a wizard. There hasn’t been one in Erlam for centuries. The least we could do is show our hospitality to him.”

“Enough of this!” Lenora said, eyeing Jastillian and the red-haired one. “We will discuss this after we've had something to eat, as is our custom.”

They bowed their heads.

Lenora raised her ale-filled mug. Everyone did the same, and so did I. They slammed them hard down on the table. Nobody had warned me to turn my head away. I wiped some ale from my eye. The red-haired dwarf smirked.

There was plenty of food on the table, but an overabundance of meat. Everything from boar and deer, to chicken, rabbit, and pig filled the platters. The aroma of roasted pork and grilled rabbit upset my stomach.

I avoided all the meat, eating mostly potatoes, bread, and beans. The dwarves made a little small talk, but most were too busy tearing their food apart. Having traveled with Jastillian for the past few days, I had learned that dwarves ate this way to show appreciation for the food—not with words but with actions.

I didn't get into conversation with any of the dwarves. Most glanced at me often, peering over their food. That was unnerving enough, but the red-haired dwarf, the one who had argued against my presence, never took his eyes off me. I tried to be polite and not stare back, but it was hard. He was one of the bigger and younger dwarves in the room. His clothes strained to contain his muscles. His red beard and hair added to the fierceness of his gaze. The more he stared, the angrier I grew. My fire started to build.

I did my best to endure it, pretending I didn’t notice. I was an outsider, and I needed their help. I couldn’t afford to get into an argument. Luckily for me, dwarves also show appreciation for good food by eating quickly, and the food was good enough that the meal was not a long one.

“Mother, if we may?” Jastillian asked.

Lenora looked around the table and saw that everyone was finished. She ate the last piece off a pork shank and put the bone down on her plate. Then she nodded yes.

Jastillian said, “All of Northern Shala is in
grave
danger.”

Time seemed to stop as the whole room became quiet.

Jastillian then told all the dwarves of his journey into the Wastelands, his capture, our escape, and of Premier’s plans to take over Alexandria. All eyes were locked on Jastillian. He had a teacher's voice, deep and thoughtful. It fluctuated with his emotions, and was never boring. In fact, he made the whole tale sound even more exciting than it actually was.

After Jastillian was finished, one of the slightly older dwarves said, “I feared something was wrong in Alexandria.” She glanced to the dwarf who had stared at me through dinner. “We should have sent a party there as I suggested. The elves had the right idea, for once.”

“Whatever you want to say, Artesia, you can say in front of Hellsfire,” Jastillian said.

Artesia looked at Lenora. She nodded. “We've had problems with the Wasteland creatures, Jastillian. Extra patrols have had to be sent out to deal with them. They haven't been enough of a threat for us to worry that Alexandria has been overrun, but there've been enough to be an annoyance. Now you say they're just a symptom of a much more worrisome problem.” Artesia scanned the table and said in a loud, forceful voice, “We must mobilize our army to go to Alexandria and help them.”

For a moment I was relieved. They wanted to send the army. This had been much easier than Jastillian had said it would be, and I hadn’t had to say anything. But my relief was short-lived. The dwarves started talking among themselves, until it all blended into a low rumble. I tried to get a read on them, but it was hard. All their voices and questions overlapped, and their expressions differed. A few seemed eager for battle and wanted to help. Others appeared worried, nervous, and a few were angry and hostile.

“Quiet!” Lenora said, slamming down her mug. Silence fell. “I'm not opposed to helping Alexandria, but what if Premier has already taken the city? What shall we do then? We can’t possibly enter Alexandria with our force alone. It’s…tactically unsound.”

“Mother, you sound afraid,” Jastillian said.

Lenora narrowed her eyes. Anger passed over her face. If you wanted to provoke a dwarf, the best way was to call him or her a coward. Then Lenora laughed and slapped her son hard on the shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re my son. Otherwise I’d have to drub you with my sword hilt. Sieging a castle takes resources and time. Time we may not have.”

“You're not actually considering this,” another dwarf said in a calm voice. “It's none of our business. We should fortify our defenses here.”

“But what about the people of Alexandria?” I asked. “You're not going to let them die and leave the elves to face the Wastelands alone?”

“If Alexandria has failed in its duty, then the city should fall. I admire the elves' courage, but if they are foolish enough to do this—may they die well.”

“They need your help. You’re the only country close enough and strong enough to help them.” I wanted to throw my hands up in frustration, but restrained myself.

The dwarf shrugged as he reached for his mug. He took a sip and wiped the ale from his black beard. His calmness frustrated me more than the other dwarf’s anger.

“Premier and his creatures will run rampant across all of Northern Shala if you don’t help them,” I said.

Another dwarf said, “They won’t breach our defenses.” Many of the dwarves nodded in agreement. Even the female dwarf who had first spoken up looked thoughtful.

I looked around the table. I needed something more to convince them. “Alexandria would pay you whatever you ask. They’d owe you for saving their kingdom. Whatever you want, Alexandria would give you.”

The older dwarf I had been arguing with raised an eyebrow. “Are you an ambassador for Alexandria, that you could promise such things?”

I wasn’t, but hoped the princess would understand. “No, but I—”

“Then why are you promising them? Hmmm?”

“You're forgetting the treaty, Om,” Jastillian said, interrupting me before I could respond. Thank the gods. “We're pledged to help Alexandria against the Wastelands if they need us.”

“I know the treaty you speak of. It requires our help if they request aid. No such envoy has come. While I appreciate Wizard Hellsfire’s desire to shower us with the riches of Alexandria, he wasn’t sent here in an official capacity.” He put his hand up before others could respond. “This sounds more like internal strife with Premier. We shouldn’t get involved in Alexandria’s politics.”

“You don't honestly believe that?” Artesia asked.

“It doesn't matter what I believe. That's what it is.”

Before Artesia or Jastillian could respond, the dwarf who had stared at me throughout dinner said, “What about Premier?”

Jastillian's body tensed, and he pushed his shoulders back to make himself look bigger. “What about him, Gort?”

Gort gave Jastillian an intense look. “How are we to deal with Premier? Whether he already holds the city or not is not the point. We need a wizard of our own to beat him.”

“Weren't you paying attention? We already have one.” Jastillian nodded in my direction. “Hellsfire already went up against Premier and lived. He's going to do it again.”

Gort snorted. “He's young, and you still embellish your stories. Sounds like he got lucky to me.”

I almost rose, but Jastillian beat me to it. “Are you questioning the lad's bravery, skill, and
honor?”
He slammed his hand on the table.

Gort stood up too.

“Boys, I will not have you arguing here,” Lenora said. Gort and Jastillian slowly sat back down, still glaring at one another. Lenora turned to me and said, “Hellsfire, I need to know if you can defeat Premier.”

All the dwarves' eyes turned towards me. I grew hot under my collar from their intense scrutiny. I stared at my empty plate, remembering the spells I had cast at Premier. They were quick and easy spells, true, but they meant nothing to him. He was a fully trained wizard who had managed to insinuate himself into the court of a king who hated wizards, and had influenced the king’s mind to such an extent that he had become the true ruler. If I hadn’t gotten lucky and caught him off guard with the door, he probably could have crushed me to a pulp.

Now wasn’t the time to tell the dwarves that. I couldn’t be honest with them the way I could with King Sharald or Princess Krystal. They wouldn’t respect that. They’d think me weak. I had everything to lose by being honest. So I tried something I wasn’t good at—I lied.