Darkin: A Journey East (29 page)

“Sorry, I am, for the abrupt magic that bound you, that kept you from speaking your peace from the first. But that is a matter I cannot reverse. I can, however, make amends to you, by freeing you here and now. Of course there is one condition, for the Prophecy lives too firmly in our culture for me to completely overlook the fact that you so resemble the Key…” Terion went on.

“What is the condition?” Slowin asked, displeased.

“March with us tomorrow, to the Wall of Dinbell, to aid the failing militia of Erol Drunne, who single-handedly defend us now. Prove to us in battle where you truly stand in this great struggle of good against evil,” Terion said.

“That is exactly what I had planned to do—how strange that is,” Slowin lied, as he had heard nothing about the situation at Dinbell. After another moment of silence, he seemed to calm down from a state of inner fury. “Free me please, now that you know I am not your prophecy...”

“Guards! Fetch good Merol to release his bonds,” Terion ordered. “And one other thing Slowin, which I presume you wish to be called. . .” Slowin did not speak, only grunted. “Once the war is over, and Vesleathren is defeated, you must grant me an audience, so that I might obtain all the information I can about you, so as to truly invalidate you from the Prophecy, for no reason other than the security of my kingdom.”

“Once this war is over, I shall be returning to the Red Forest in peace, to live among the wilds. Follow me there, and you may then ask all you wish to learn,” Slowin replied. At that moment, a short dwarf draped in a black robe and a tightly fitted black cap walked into the King’s Chamber. The dwarf held aloft a cane that looked somewhat similar to Krem’s, though less extravagant. The dwarf’s face was filled with black and grey hairs that shaped a thick beard and mustache.

“Merol, please release the spell upon our prisoner’s shackles,” Terion ordered.

“But, your kingship,
he is the
Key
!” Merol retorted defiantly in a high gravelly voice that cracked in pitch.

“Do as I say Merol!” Terion commanded, scorn in his voice for the public questioning of an order. Merol groaned, but did as the king said, and Slowin once again was able to move unrestricted. Adacon realized it had been the black dwarf’s magic staying the might of Slowin.

“Now if you don’t mind, good king, I have a bit of catching up to do,” Slowin said. “We leave tomorrow morning, correct?”

“At first light, new friend,” Terion responded.

“Then you won’t mind if I go off to spend some time with my old friends,” Slowin said. Swiftly the silver golem stomped out of the chamber before Terion could answer, and Adacon and Remtall quickly followed after him.

“Pleased to have met you, King Terion,” Adacon called back. Remtall paid no such courtesy, and the three left of their own accord, out through the king’s corridor and into the main hall. Ulpo stood with Gaiberth and Iirevale, respectfully waiting for instruction from the king, who stood up from his throne. Merol waited patiently along with the others for Terion’s orders.

“Gaiberth, tomorrow we march to perhaps our doom, but I am heartened to have your valiant company with us,” Terion exclaimed. “Go, make use of my kingdom, take whatever you need so that your troop is ready for the journey to Dinbell, and the battle that is to come.”

“Great thanks, good lord,” Gaiberth said, and together with Iirevale he bowed. A dwarf guard came to escort them from the chamber. Once all the visitors were gone, Merol looked to the king, and after a brief moment of silence he spoke.

“Forgive me great Terion—but have you gone to madness? The scripture describes him perfectly, he
is
the key!” Merol pleaded.

“It would seem so, conjurer, but trust in your king is all that I ask from you in our hour of darkness,” Terion answered.

“Certainly I trust you, lord, but also in the Prophecy I trust,” Merol cracked.

“Me too, Merol, me too, but the situation is such that a greater priority is pressing us, and that is the invasion of our country,” Terion reflected.

“Some would say both matters equally concern the safety of our people, master,” sulked Merol, but the king did not respond, and Merol limped out of the chamber.

X: THE DINBELL WALL

Slowin, Adacon, and Remtall sat together at a slate table in a dimly lit tavern that was carved from the rock wall of the main hall. In the tavern were only two other patrons, and a lone dwarven bar tender who stood nearby cleaning mugs. Slowin had chosen a table as far as possible from the other customers, both because it was the only table big enough to seat Slowin, and because the other patrons would not overhear their conversation.

“Alright then Slowin—out with it,” Remtall said between gulps of dwarven ale. Adacon had decided not to drink—wishing to keep his wits sharp—as the coming day brought with it a great march, and possibly battle with the Feral Brood. After two painful hugs, Slowin began to tell his tale, and how he had come to survive the Kalm Ocean shipwreck:

“At the very moment when you and Adacon were thrown from the ship, it appeared as if time had frozen for Flaer, Erguile and me,” Slowin told. “I can’t say how it happened, but the entire ship was enveloped in a kind of bubble—just as it was cracking apart—but not before you two were both thrown from the rail. The next thing I knew, the ship was whole again, floating on calm waters.”

“Impossible!” Adacon cried.

“Not even Weakhoof was harmed. We talked for a long time afterward, whether we’d hallucinated the lightning and ice—only did your missing bodies tell us it was no trick of the mind,” Slowin went on. “Next thing we knew, we had anchored at a beach, set underneath massive cliffs, and we had no idea where in Enoa we were. A jungle was to our south, massive cliffs to our north, and a small trail that curled into a meadow formed between. We didn’t know that you two had survived. In fact, we mourned your deaths…”

“It must have been Krem! How else could that bubble have happened?” Adacon said.

“I wouldn’t doubt that…so we set forth on the trail, leaving everything behind but our weapons and some food. And then it happened,” Slowin said with a deep tremor of dread in his voice.

“What happened?” Remtall asked, as eager as Adacon to hear more.

“Trolls—Feral trolls—they sprang on us, completely surprised us. We had no idea that Vesleathren was already at work mutating them, let alone on the opposite side of the ocean! There was a whole legion of them, and we just walked right into their path. Some were riding enormous centipedes coated in gold armor—” Slowin said. Adacon cut him off:

“Warpedes—we fought one in the jungle!” Adacon cried. Everyone in the tavern heard Adacon and looked over at the strange congregation. Slowin shot them a cold stare, and they returned to their own business.

“Tell it later Adacon, let him finish,” Remtall chided.

“So being caught by surprise, we were scattered. Once we were separated, there was nothing to do but run. There were simply too many of them—I saw Erguile galloping away toward the cliffs, and I saw Flaer head straight into the meadow, slaying all that were in his path. I stood my ground as long as I could, but I was swarmed. I was forced to flee, and I was able to hide high atop a tree at the edge of the jungle. After the troop of Feral Trolls passed, unable to find me, they marched into the forest. I came down and took to the meadow, searching far and wide for Flaer or Erguile. I found no one, and so I ran south and found the Enoan road—and that was when that dreadful dwarven wizard cast his spell upon me,” Slowin groaned.

“Merol, from the King’s chamber?” Adacon asked.

“Indeed, that odd little man—his power is much greater than you’d guess by looking at him,” Slowin said, disgust in his voice.

Enthralled by the story, Adacon wasted no time in telling his side of the separation, explaining in vivid detail how Remtall and he were saved by the mysterious phantoms, how they had come to Carbal Run by way of the condors, and how the jungle had been attacked with giant fireballs. After everything that had happened was told to Slowin, the three decided that Krem must have been at work that day upon the Kalm, saving them from certain doom.

“Do you think Erguile is alright?” Adacon asked, thinking for a moment of his missing friend.

“I can’t be sure, Adacon, but if any horse is underestimated, it is Weakhoof. He was riding fast north, last I saw him,” Slowin answered.

“I hope he found some safe haven there. North is the direction of the Dinbell Wall, and the war front, the king said. Strangely, I am not worried about Flaer much, if at all,” Adacon said.

“That is not strange, for Flaer is no ordinary swordsman, and teamed with the Brigun Autilus, I wouldn’t be surprised to know that the Feral Army has retreated outright at the sight of him,” Slowin chuckled.

“Erguile will be fine, Adacon. I raised Weakhoof, and there is a not a braver horse in Rislind. If any creature of Darkin can carry Erguile to safety, it’s old Weakhoof,” Remtall comforted, and Adacon once more felt at ease in the company of his friends.

They talked late into the night, against their better judgment, as they knew the morning would come fast, and a long march would require good sleep. Adacon told Slowin about his love for Calan, though Slowin didn’t quite seem to understand the same way Remtall did. Finally, the three of them had relayed every detail of their journeys since splitting up, and feeling very tired, they were all instructed by the bartender to the location of their beds. They walked down the hall together, and a dwarf guard pointed them in the direction of a house where the elven troop was staying. It was a bare rock cavern, lined with matted fur beds on cutout ledges that were stacked, one above the other. Slowin decided to sleep on the floor near the entrance, as the beds were too small for him. Remtall waddled to the first open bed and fell into it, falling fast asleep. Adacon continued down the rocky cavern, looking at all the sleeping elves, passing one that he thought was Iirevale.

“Iirevale,” Adacon whispered to the sleeping elf. “Iirevale?” he whispered louder.

“Who’s there!” Iirevale sparked from out of a dream, sitting upright and gripping his sword, which lay at his side.

“It’s only me, Adacon.”

“Ah, what is it? I’m sleeping….”

“Sorry, where’s Calan?”

“I don’t know—now get to bed…” Iirevale grunted, and he rolled over again and turned back to sleep. Just then a noise echoed from behind Adacon. It was Calan.

“Over here,” she whispered. Adacon promptly hopped up to her ledge.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to worry now that we have Slowin with us,” Adacon reassured her quietly.

“I saw him walk past with you—how strange he is. He doesn’t look like any golem I’ve ever seen.”

“He isn’t. He’s as strong as fifty men, and we don’t need to worry as long as he’s here,” Adacon said, and he stroked her hair. She quieted, and together the two of them fell asleep on the cramped ledge.

*                  *                 *

It felt like but a minute before Adacon was awoken by the sound of a blaring horn, and soon the whole cave of beds was stirring, as elves hopped down from every corner of the rock wall. Gaiberth assembled his elves in the entrance to the main hall, and Falen sat away from the others and conversed with Slowin.

“It seems the stranger the folk, the better they get along, eh?” Remtall poked Adacon and pointed in the direction of Falen and Slowin. Adacon looked up from his preparations with an angry look on his face.

“No need to stab me,” Adacon said in response to the gnome who had jabbed his ribs to get his attention.

“Sorry, I sometimes forget the weak flesh of men,” replied the captain unremorsefully.

“They
are
the strangest looking ones here, might as well let them become good friends,” Adacon returned in good humor, and Calan approached from behind.

“Are you two ready for a march?” she said, sounding oddly upbeat for such a perilous journey.

“When is a gnome not ready for great deeds, my beautiful druid of the forest?” Remtall flirted.

“Hah! I’m no druid, little gnome. Nonetheless, be glad I am with you, as my legs outpace any man or gnome among us,” she boasted. They equipped their gear, and as they waited on King Terion’s orders to depart, they walked over to Falen and Slowin.

“Ahah!” laughed Slowin.

“What’s so funny, metal beast?” piped Remtall, interrupting Falen and Slowin’s conversation.

“I was just telling Slowin the tale of how you so valiantly took on a Gazaran…” Falen said in his deep timbre. Slowin began to laugh hysterically once more. Remtall stomped his foot and drew his flask, filled now with dwarven rock liquor.

“I’ll have you know, if it hadn’t been for my heroics, this whole company of Gaiberth’s would be no more,” Remtall boasted, drinking merrily.

“Still with your usual breakfast I see…” Slowin remarked, noting Remtall’s habit of drinking spirits first thing in the morning.

“Never mind a gnome’s breakfast,” Remtall said, dismissing Slowin’s concern.

“Speaking of breakfast,” Adacon said, smelling something delightful waft by his nose. He turned to see a group of elves feasting from what looked to be piping cauldrons of stew, each being rolled around by several dwarven guards. Adacon and Calan rushed over to eat, and Remtall stayed with Falen and Slowin.

“Well then, Falen, what do you make of this journey to the wall?” Remtall asked.

“From what I have heard, Vesleathren mounts his greatest force in the east country of Arkenshyr. It is there that he himself is commanding the Feral Brood. Rumor is that the dark mage,
Aulterion,
has been tasked with commanding the Feral army that marches south in Enoa. I have heard from the spies of the dragon kin that his evil stays the ground behind the Dinbell Wall, and while he assaults the jungles from afar with fireballs, he dually works to topple the Dinbell all the while,” Falen told.

“Pah! Destroy the wall? But I saw the wall from the road, it was at least as tall as these mountains that house us now,” Remtall railed in disbelief.