Darkin: A Journey East (9 page)

“Good enough. I look forward to getting another taste of the food you’ve brought for us, and a fresh pipe,” said Erguile.

“Come, let us hasten lads. I expect you two to be able to at least keep up with an old Vapour!” goaded Krem, and with that he broke away in front of them, increasing his speed to a mild run. Adacon and Erguile were quick to compensate for the difference in speed, and they caught up.

“I wish for a steed in this hour, and for the rest of our journey,” panted Erguile.

“Perhaps before long you will have one,” Krem said softly, and then winked at Erguile. They continued at a grueling pace farther into the Solun.

The sun now seemed to be in its last stage of life in the sky, and the desert finally began to change its climate. The dunes were lower now, Adacon noticed, and the sand seemed to be whiter; the dunes soon turned hard and firm. They pushed on, and the desert ran flat—the yellow sand had turned white and level. Up in the distance far ahead, very faintly, could be seen mountains. The distinguishable peaks in the fading light were shrouded in mist, and at least two weeks march away, Adacon guessed. It was comforting anyway to see a change of scenery, and for that matter an entirely novel sight.

“They’re beautiful!” exclaimed Adacon.

“Enormous!” gushed Erguile.

“I assure you they’re much bigger, should you stand in their foothills. They are known as the Angelyn Mountains,” said Krem.

Before them was a vast plain, stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see. The plain was a great whitish-green lawn of grass with shrubs cropping up throughout its expanse. Here and there were patches of broad-leafed trees, though they were few, and in the distance were several emerald mounds.

“We’ve reached the Vashnod, and it has been too long since I traveled north,” Krem sighed endearingly.

“And what are in those mountains?” asked Erguile, who hadn’t withdrawn his gaze from the Angelyn Range.

“Many great and curious creatures—and cruel rock trolls—and also the home of the Reichmar,” said Krem gleefully as they marched onto the plains. The sky dimmed further.

“By all means old man, what are the Reichmar?” asked Erguile.

“The Angelyn are beautiful to behold—ancient and massive in all their splendid glory—and as such they are fit to house the Reichmar. Alas, the Reichmar are the secluded dwarves of the north, a noble and proud people, though in this dark age they are despised and hated by most all.”

“Dwarves! Ah, I will go mad on this journey for certain,” hooted Erguile.

“It’s fascinating. Why are they hated by most all, Krem?” asked Adacon.

“That answer you can find for yourself Adacon, I’m sure. Ask yourself who is
most
with the power to enforce hate in this age?” asked Krem. Grelion, Adacon thought to himself.

“Then they are oppressed the same as us?” Adacon questioned further.

“Surely they are. More so than slaves maybe, at times—a dwarf is tortured and executed without reasoning, should he be found away from the mountains. Grelion does not even respect them enough to grant them slavery, and so they have enclosed themselves deep within the mountains. It is their only safety; and even the cold stone of the Angelyn Mountains weakens with each passing day, as Grelion conspires to expose their cavernous city to his minions.”

“So they are well hidden? Do they interact at all with the outside world anymore? Have they gone to total retaliation against anyone passing through their mountains?” asked Adacon.

“Well hidden, certainly, but Grelion has discovered their secret entrances by now. I’m sure that mistrust among the dwarves has escalated since last I heard news from the north, and I doubt they would take friendly to anyone not born of dwarven blood, especially a human. They are forced in this dark time to keep constant watch over their borders, and, rightfully enough, kill anything unrecognizable as a dwarf on sight.”

“Might we chance gaining their partnership?” asked Erguile. “Often, in the lore I’ve read about dwarves, I’ve heard them to be a strong and courageous race: bold—and with battle axes just as bold.” Erguile unsheathed his sword jokingly and swung it in the fashion of a battle-axe. “I still can’t believe dwarves and elves are real. I will need to see one before I commit to belief in them.”

“I don’t think it would be wise to step upon their range, not yet anyhow. Eventually we may need their strength, along with the strength of all not tainted by Grelion’s vile sway,” Krem responded.

“Good enough, though I would love to see for myself how marvelous their city is,” Adacon said.

“I have been to the Reichmar city thrice in the past twelve decades, but not once in recent times. In the elder ages I frequented the city often; it was indescribably breathtaking, and the people were only the kindest sort,” said Krem. Adacon felt awe once more at Krem’s extreme age.

“And this city should be considered more beautiful than even your home, Krem? I don’t know if I can fathom such a place. What is the city’s name?” asked Erguile.

“Dwarfton, you could call it, as most humans do. It has a dwarven name also, which is Ascaronth.”

“I would most like to visit Ascaronth, when the time comes that we are able to do so,” said Adacon.

“And certainly enough we might, when that time arrives. But now you must turn your eyes to the far right of our path; for it is to that opaque shadow on the horizon you both have failed to see that we must now cut our trail toward.” And with that Adacon and Erguile gasped in unison, as their heads turned to engage the silhouette of the Tower of Ceptical. It was a menacing spire to the slaves, standing as the tallest unnatural structure either of them had ever seen. The sky was darkening and the tower was blending into deep grey clouds. Both of them felt a great sensation of fear in their hearts upon seeing the prison.

Some miles to the right of the tower was the dim shape of an enormous granite faced wall that flattened out at the top like a grand table in the sky, high above the Vashnod floor. It was long and tapered off to the south, away from them with no end in sight.

“And what is that high ground?” asked Erguile.

“The Rislind Plateau, and the only way north save through the Angelyn Mountains,” responded Krem.

Adacon shuddered again as he returned his gaze to the Ceptical Tower. He pointed at it and spoke.

“
That
is what we must sack?” Adacon said in a shaky tone.

“Indeed—and we shall by tomorrow, lad. But the tower is still a half day’s march. Do not fret; we will be forced to make camp tonight on the plains,” spoke Krem.

“These plains will do fine enough. There is never enough rest before battle. Where do you think we might find a fitting spot?” asked Erguile, eager to have more food and sleep before assailing the tower.

“Perhaps we could make camp near a patch of trees Krem? We would be more concealed than out in the open plain,” proposed Adacon.

“And by the trees we shall camp then, but not before we march until the moons are ripe to fall,” said Krem, and with that he checked the face of his Relic. He seemed to grunt something to himself and then they continued. Adacon and Erguile marched in awe of the mountains and the foreboding tower jutting in the eastern sky. The yellow dunes were fast behind them and out of sight.

They walked on without affair until the moons reached their limit in the black cradle of the sky, and Krem spoke the first words in a seemingly long forever:

“It is time we had some stew fit for our lagged muscles; what do you think, Erguile?” asked Krem, humor in his voice for Erguile’s amusement.

“You have my mind, Krem. We’ll set camp then, and look at that,” Erguile said pointing off to a small hill covered with trees. “Is it not perfect for our purpose?”

“Wonderful!” shouted Adacon, and he ran ahead to look at the emerald hill that rose from the Vashnod floor. The other two caught up to him, and soon Krem made camp and had a fire going, above which sat a small pot, in which was boiling a delicious smelling stew of spiced meat and vegetables. Erguile sat nearby and puffed contentedly on his pipe. Adacon stood alone at the edge of the hill, staring off in all directions, mesmerized by the foreign landscape. In a moment Krem started to pour the stew into clay bowls.

“Come on lads, dinner is served,” called Krem. Adacon came and they gathered around the fire. Each sat with a bowl in hand but did no more. No one spoke—no one dared. Finally Krem seemed pleased enough at their discipline, so he spoke.

“We shall give homage to Gaigas in our own minds from now on, for from our pondering of her can we learn much about this journey of life,” Krem said, and the three fell to complete silence. An eerie tranquility overtook the atmosphere.

Adacon immediately fell to his own world of thought, forgetting to give homage to Gaigas. Just a few days before, he had been inside his own prison, a part of the unending oppression; now he was completely free. Life would be completely unlike anything he had experienced before, and it seemed that each new day was bringing more excitement than the last. His mind flourished with a thousand fascinations and fumbled with a thousand questions. It was almost too much, but all of it was beautiful.

Erguile seemed content enough after a few seconds to begin feasting, but he held back. It was only after Krem opened his eyes at last that they began to eat. The stew was extraordinarily good. The slaves gorged themselves and when it was gone they wished for more; but there was no more stew, and the night had grown colder.

“Now that we are properly full it is time to settle into our comforts for the evening. I will be our watch for this night; I do not feel a need for rest just yet,” Krem said, and they went about making the site as comfortable as it could be. Soon Adacon slipped into fantastical dreams, and Erguile fell into a dreamless slumber, while Krem kept watch over the dark plains.

*                  *                 *

It was still the middle of the night, Adacon knew, as he opened his eyes and saw a star-filled sky above him; the clouds had cleared, allowing a view of glittering space dust. Why am I awake at this hour, he wondered, realizing he should be sleeping. The reason became apparent in a moment; noises drifted through the air behind his head. It was not very close, but near enough to hear. Adacon rolled to his side quickly, seeing Erguile still sleeping peacefully. Then Adacon froze—he recognized the noises to be voices—one of them was Krem’s.

In a state of alarm, Adacon first acted as if he were still sleeping, but he carefully raised his head to peer in the direction of the talk. He was taken aback at what he saw. Standing next to Krem was a swirling aura of light, something that vaguely resembled the shape of a human. The aura was scarlet and gold, flickering slightly. The form seemed twice as tall as Krem, and it appeared to be having a conversation with him. Although Krem’s voice could be clearly made out, when the form spoke it seemed only to hiss in a syncopated rhythm, and Adacon could not make out a word. Krem seemed to understand at any rate, and the two were chattering on.

Adacon tried edging closer to hear Krem better, nervous of being seen or heard. He wriggled quietly, leaving Erguile alone. Finally—either by wriggling closer or by being fully awake again—Krem’s words could be understood.

“Be it may that your power has been accelerated Zesm, I would ask you to remember our last meeting,” Krem said in a cold tone, one unlike any used with the slaves. A syncopated hissing came in response, and Adacon turned his head up and around once more to catch a glimpse of the form, only this time the form was gone, and in its place stood a tall, hunched human. The man was built of threaded muscle, wrapped in greyed bandages, with spotty leather armor hanging off here and there. On his head was a dirty type of turban, and on his side was sheathed a bloodied broadsword. Adacon rolled back to his mock sleeping position: the thief, he thought in shock. He continued to eavesdrop intently, and the hissing noises of the thief’s voice had been replaced with a heavily accented voice in the common tongue.

“You may have defeated me once before Krem, but even then you failed to destroy me. Behold—now I am of a different vein than before, and you ought not anger me, and rather do as I command. Return south whence you came, and keep with you the minions of Grelion you have taken,” said the mysterious voice.

“I will do no such thing,” responded Krem.

“Krem, I did not wish for it to come to this,” returned the voice.

“So it
is
Grelion you aid once again, and no doubt his power that has restored you. Let black magic pour through you, and even still you will find no ground to stand on against me, poor Zesm—Zesm the Rancor,” goaded Krem. “Black magic will not win out against Vapoury in a duel; even you should know that.”

“Alas, it is not Grelion that I aid, but
Vesleathren
himself,” replied Zesm.

“Liar,” Krem struck back angrily. “It cannot be; Vesleathren was killed at the end of the war.”

“He is well and brooding, Krem. Know his power, and mind your route back to the desert,” Zesm said. “Vesleathren still commands the Feral Brood!”

“Impossible, it’s not true. He died long ago. Flaer Ironhand slew him ere Aulterion ended the Feral War,” contested Krem.

“So goes the tainted lore of your brethren—Flaer gained nothing more than Vesleathren’s blade in that war, and Vesleathren fled north long before Aulterion’s blast,” said Zesm. “Hear me now, Krem, feeble sand hermit—Vesleathren unmasks his purpose soon for all to see, and you ought to return to hiding. I’m afraid if you do not I shall return tomorrow night, and all three of your lives will be ended: this is my master’s bidding.” With Zesm’s last word a violent rustle sounded and Krem let out a gasp. It seemed the stranger had disappeared, but Adacon dared not stir to check. Krem’s footsteps could be heard returning toward the campsite. Adacon remained wide awake for some time, his mind racing, trying to make sense of anything he had heard. What he soon felt was an ominous shadow of darkness covering their quest; after an hour of worried thoughts, Adacon decided he had to bring it up with Krem in the morning. If anything, their lives were preserved for one more day, as Zesm had ordained.