Demonkin (28 page)

“And Zynor has lived in the woods for so long that I think he has forgotten what a coin is,” chuckled Kalmar. “In fact, when he first came to my shop in Herinak, he had no gold at all. I kicked him out of my shop.”

“That is hard for me to believe,” smiled Valera. “You do not seem capable of turning anyone away.”

“I was a different person then,” Kalmar said with regret in his voice. “Gold meant everything to me. Its luster was so bright in my mind that it blinded me to the real values in life. I have Fakir Aziz to thank for saving me from the false path I was heading down.”

“Too bad he has not been able to do as much for Theos,” Valera said softly as she glanced at the Tyronian mage. “There is something inside of him that is eating his soul.”

“I would have thought that his brush with death at Smirka would have changed him, but he is as bitter as ever. There is a great anger inside him.”

Eulena approached Kalmar and smiled at him when he noticed her.

“I would like to start a healing clinic in the morning,” she said. “Would you care to help me?”

“We were just talking about that,” Kalmar replied. “If we are staying a few days, I would like to start making some potions and ointments. Do you know what Fakir has in mind for us?”

“There is no fathoming the mind of the Mage,” answered the elven healer. “I suspect that we will be here for some time, although that is just a feeling. Fakir Aziz has said nothing to me. Potions and ointments would be a great addition to my healing. They give off no magical vibrations, and they can help scores of people at the same time. Plan on getting an early start in the morning.”

“Then I should get some sleep,” Kalmar replied as he looked up at the darkening sky. “It will be a long walk back to an area of the city where I can buy supplies.”

One by one, the mages settled in for a night of rest. The local people looked at them curiously, but no one bothered them. Sometime during the night, the blind man passed by once again, his unsteady gait causing him to zigzag along the sidewalk. In an unfortunate move, the blind man tripped over the sleeping form of Theos. Theos awoke with a start and leaped to his feet, sending the blind man sprawling into the street. The loud cursing coming from Theos woke everyone up. Eulena raced to the groaning figure sprawled in the street. The blind man’s face was badly scraped, and his foot was twisted at an odd angle. The elven healer decided to tend to his foot first. Kalmar arrived at her side, and he twisted the foot into the proper position. The patient screamed in pain, but not for long. Eulena immediately cast a healing spell on the man’s ankle.

“That should do it,” Eulena eventually said with an air of confidence. “Carry him to the intersection, Kalmar. I need more light to tend to his face.”

Kalmar gently lifted the man and carried him towards the intersection where the moonlight was not blocked by the buildings. He gently sat the man down on the street and Eulena knelt next to him.

“I am really sorry,” apologized the blind man. “I didn’t mean to start no trouble.”

“It is not your fault,” soothed Kalmar as Eulena began healing the scrapes on the man’s face. “I guess we are sort of camped in areas where you are not expecting people to be.”

“Still,” the man continued apologetically, “I usually am good about testing the way before me. I am sorry for waking you all up.”

“Be still,” Eulena said softly. “Try not to move your face.”

By the time Eulena was finished, everyone was back asleep except Kalmar. She stretched as she stood and then looked down at the blind man.

“Your face and ankle are healed,” Eulena said softly. “You might want to just rest a bit before moving. Sometimes the healing takes away the feeling for a while. As soon as your foot feels normal, you can walk on it again.”

“Thank you so much,” the blind man said. “You are all very kind to me.”

Kalmar and Eulena returned to their sleeping spots and went back to sleep. A short time later, everyone was awoken again by a cry of pain. Eulena sat up and stared towards the intersection. The blind man was cowering beside the wall of a building with his hands covering his head. Eulena blinked in confusion, wondering if her healing had gone astray. That was when she heard the noise of a stone hitting the pavement. She whirled towards Theos and saw the Tyronian mage preparing to throw another stone at the blind man.

“What are you doing?” the elven healer shouted at Theos.

“I am keeping him away,” snapped Theos. “I will not be woken up again by that blind fool.”

“Maybe you should move your sleeping spot,” suggested Kalmar. “That man has probably been walking this street for years.”

“That is not the point,” snarled Theos. “The fool woke me up once, and he is trying to do it again. He didn’t even apologize for the last time.”

“He did so,” scowled Eulena. “He was very sorry for the accident. He told me so himself.”

“He didn’t apologize to me,” snapped Theos, “and until he does, I will not allow him near me.”

Fakir Aziz appeared out of the narrow alley. He placed himself between Theos and the blind man and glared down at the Tyronian mage.

“One can never demand an apology,” stated the Mage. “An apology is something given by one’s own free will to another. Now that you have demanded an apology, you can never truly have one.”

”What are you babbling about?” scowled Theos. “I can and do demand an apology. He is surely capable of giving one.”

“To give you an apology now would not be apologizing,” clarified the Mage. “It would be acceding to the demands of a tyrant. Your selfish demands have stripped that man of his dignity. I will not allow that to continue.”

“You will not allow?” raged Theos. “I am not your slave, Fakir Aziz. I shall behave as I want. There is nothing you can do about it.”

Fakir Aziz glared down at the Tyronian mage. Theos glared back defiantly. The Tyronian mage’s hand suddenly started to turn against his will. The fingers of the hand uncurled, and the stones that had been held in his fist slowly tumbled to the pavement. Theos looked up at the Mage in terror as he tried to control his own hand. Finally, the Mage released his spell.

“Do not try me, Theos of Tyronia. If you wish to leave this group, you may, but you will leave with what you started with. It is a long walk back to Ur.”

Morro woke to the sounds of running boots slapping hard in the corridor outside the sleeping chamber he shared with Karicon. He sat up and stared towards the doorway. Karicon was lit by the torchlight in the corridor as the dwarf stared at the other dwarves running by.

“What is going on?” Morro asked groggily.

“They have ceased tunneling in the north,” Karicon replied. “King Drakarik is sending people to defend the tunnels should something go wrong.”

“I don’t understand,” Morro said as he got to his feet. “Why send soldiers if they have stopped digging?”

“Because they are going to puncture the wall of the valley,” answered Karicon.

“I thought they were supposed to stop short of cutting through?”

“They are not cutting an opening for the door,” explained the dwarf. “They will just drill a small hole to peer through. This procedure normally requires no defensive stance, but there is a fear this time because there is a possibility of the valley being magically warded. The king will take no chances. We will prepare for an invasion before they drill.”

“Can we watch?” asked the elf.

Karicon turned and frowned at Morro. “Not now. The tunnels will be very crowded, and things will be rather tense. It is best if we remain here for now.”

Morro walked to the door and stood watching the dwarves racing by. Each of the dwarves was dressed for battle. They carried battle axes instead of picks and shovels, and their bodies were covered in mail and armor. Morro’s eyes widened as the steady stream of dwarven warriors continued unabated.

“How many men is the king sending?” asked the elf.

“Over a thousand will form the first line of defense,” answered Karicon. “Most of those will probably be unneeded even if we are attacked, but magic could sway the battle against us. We do not know the kinds of magic the humans might use. It is better to be safe with too many warriors.”

“It doesn’t seem wise to fill the corridor with warriors,” frowned the elf. “They will get in the way of each other.”

“They will not be in one place,” explained the dwarf with a smile on his face. “Perhaps we should take a walk north after this stream of warriors ends. I will show you how the dwarves defend the mine.”

Morro smiled, nodded and turned away from the doorway. As Karicon’s sleeping chamber was a fair ways from the kitchens, Morro had made it a habit to stuff his pack with travel rations. He sat on the low table and rummaged through his pack for something to eat while he waited. He poured a mug of ale from the small cask on the floor and started to think about the early days of the Dielderal. He couldn’t imagine the elves fighting a well-armored enemy like the dwarves. While the elven archers could strike accurately from a great distance, the armor worn by the dwarves would deflect most arrows.

“The worst place to attack the dwarves is in their mines,” Karicon said, interrupting Morro’s thought. “The best would be out in the fields when the dwarves are traveling, especially in the heat of the day.”

Morro looked at his dwarven friend with shock. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I would be thinking the same if I was in Elfwoods watching your archers shoot,” smiled the dwarf. “I guess it is natural to think about our troubled past. I would not mind traveling to Elfwoods if I get the chance. I would like to see how the elves live and fight.”

“I would be pleased to take you,” Morro smiled in a friendly manner, “but right now that would be a foolish venture. Could you imagine what might happen if the Federation saw a dwarf?”

“The Federation will see plenty of dwarves soon,” grinned Karicon. “I do not think they will be pleased with what they see. Anyway, I am not afraid of being seen in Elfwoods. Any Federation soldier that sees me will not live to tell about it. I am more concerned about how your fellow elves will receive me.”

“The past history of our peoples is a tragedy,” frowned Morro. “We never should have been enemies in the first place, but people of every race are slow to adapt. I would like to think that my brethren will be as accommodating as the dwarves have been to me. You have really made me feel at home here. Everyone has. I shall be sorry to leave Tarashin when the time comes.”

“Kalina explained the errors of our history,” Karicon responded. “I do not think it was as hard for us to accept it as it might have been for the elves. Since we were enslaved on the Isle of Despair, the humans took the place of the elves as our main enemy.”

“Maybe the dwarves are more forgiving,” sighed Morro. “We have been enslaved for just as long, yet we still considered the dwarves as our enemies.”

“Elves were still being captured until recently,” countered Karicon. “Each new batch of elven slaves reinforced the old hatreds. From what we have learned from Kalina, the empire must have given up enslaving dwarves after King Drak staged our mass suicide.”

“I wish the Dielderal had the guts to do what the dwarves did,” responded Morro. “We have lived like sheep for generations.”

“That time is in the past,” smiled the dwarf. “The Dielderal will not be slaves much longer. Let’s go check our defenses.”

Karicon led the elven thief out of the chamber. They headed north through the maze of old tunnels until they reached the spot where the new tunnel began. Karicon stopped. Morro stopped, wondering why the dwarf had halted.

“What do you see?” asked Karicon.

“This is where the new tunnel starts,” answered Morro.

“And?”

The elf looked around in confusion. Besides the new tunnel and the old tunnel they had just passed through, there were two other tunnels heading left and right. Morro gazed down each one but could see nothing. He shrugged.

“Let’s go to the right for a ways,” suggested the dwarf.

Morro nodded and walked beside Karicon as they turned to the right. Morro gazed ahead at the torch-lit corridor, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The torches in the dwarven tunnels were spaced far apart, creating zones where darkness reigned. It was from just such a dark zone that the dwarven voice came forth.

“What are you doing here, Karicon? You and the elf should not be here.”

Morro instantly halted. Karicon stopped after a pace or two.

“Sorry,” Karicon apologized. “We will turn around.”

Karicon was smiling as he turned around. Morro turned and walked beside him as they headed back towards the main corridor. Before they reached the intersection, Karicon halted again.

“Look at the wall on your right,” Karicon said softly .”Do you see the small hole?”

Morro looked at the wall but could see nothing. He shook his head.

“I forgot that the eyes of the elves are not used to being underground,” teased the dwarf. “Step closer.”

Morro moved close to the wall and peered at it. Eventually he noticed a small vertical slit that looked as if you could put four fingers into it. “I see it. What is it?”

“It is a secret door,” explained the dwarf. “On the other side of the door is a narrow corridor paralleling the new tunnel. There is also a flight of steps that leads to a crawl space above the new tunnel. As we walk along the new tunnel, keep your eyes open for slits in the rock face. There will be arrow slits on both side walls, and there will be slits above which can be used for pouring boiling oil into the new tunnel.”

Morro’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to imagine an enemy trying to make progress through the tunnel without knowledge of the defenses. He was sure the losses would be innumerable.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” the elf asked. “I doubt that King Drakarik would approve of you revealing such secrets.”

“I am a good judge of character, Morro,” smiled the dwarf. “Besides, I like you.”

“I like you, too, Karicon, but there is more to it than that.”

“True,” conceded the dwarf. “I figure it this way. We both know that our peoples have suffered greatly from the false histories. Hopefully we have learned from our past mistakes, but the truth is, if elves and dwarves ever fight against each other again, there will never be another reconciliation. One of our peoples will be wiped out. Perhaps both. I know that I will be a voice of restraint should any dwarf seek such a war. I suspect that you will do the same for the elves. By showing you how hard it is to attack a dwarven mine, I think your voice for peace will be rather loud and stubborn.”