Roland's Path Page 18

  Roland stumbled near the creature. He tried to focus his eyes on the thing but it seemed to elude them. The only thing Roland could see clearly was the bastard sword the thing held, and ‘Roland’ inscribed on the blade in the high language of the gods.

  “What are you doing?” Eldryn said with great concern. “Who are you attacking?”

  “It is there, on the ground before me,” Roland said, fear creeping into his voice. “Do you not see it’s blade?”

  “Roland, are you feeling ill?”

  “I see it too,” Ungar said. “It is not plain to normal sight, but the heat from its body is still there. Even with dwarven or elvish eyes they’re hard to see when they move. It is a demon more of shadow than of our world. One that crosses from plane to plane at will. That is your name burning on its weapon, is it not?”

  “It is,” Roland replied.

  “It is a Soul Stalker,” Ungar said. “They are demons forged to be assassins. They are sent after one target. It is very rare that one does not complete his mission.”

  Ungar looked at Roland.

  “How did you defeat it?” Ungar asked.

  “I saw him just before he struck down with his weapon,” Roland said. “My reflexes took over from there.”

  “You saw him?” Ungar asked.

  “Yes,” Roland replied, tapping his helmet.

  “That is a powerful item indeed if it allowed you to see that creature. There are helms that see into the dark, and helms that see both before and behind a warrior. But a helmet that sees into that plane is a helm to be treasured. Would you favor me with the story of how it came into your possession?”

  “I would prefer to tell that story before your king,” Roland said. “Please understand. I know your people will need the tale, but I am tired.”

  “Very well.”

  Ungar and Eldryn went back to their make shift beds as Roland stood and stared at the dissipating figure laying on the ground in front of him. He was dangerously beginning to doubt his own sanity. If Ungar had not also seen the Soul Stalker…

  Roland was scared. He took up the blade the Soul Stalker had been wielding. He walked to the nearest tree and stabbed the blade several inches into the solid wood. Roland then grabbed the hilt in both hands and bent it sideways until the weapon snapped. Roland hurled the hilt and partial blade far out into the night.

  The sun began to push against the dark in the east and Roland began putting breakfast together for the group. He woke Ungar and Eldryn and the three ate in silence, Ungar and Eldryn taking turns to look at the scorch marks on the earth where the Soul Stalker had burned into the ground. They all examined the violated holy symbols that were left traced into the dirt and ash.

  “From here I must blindfold you,” Ungar said. “It is not a sign of mistrust, it is simply a precaution of our people.”

  Roland and Eldryn gathered their equipment and saddled their horses. Once they were in the saddles Ungar took the reins to their horses and passed them the blindfolds. They removed their helmets and tied the dark cloths in place.

  Roland and Eldryn both attempted to keep a mental track of their route but Ungar had done this before. Within the first ten minutes of the trip neither of them had any idea of where they were. They traveled like this for more than four hours when Ungar finally brought them to a halt.

  “From here we must walk,” Ungar said. “I will help you dismount and then I will stable our mounts.”

  Ungar helped each man down, and then took up the reins to the horses and led them directly toward a rock face. Once there, Ungar whispered something to the rock and it developed stony legs and arms and stood. The stone elemental took two ground trembling steps away from the cavern and Ungar led the two horses and his mule into underground stalls. Each animal was fed grain and then led to the stone water trough.

  Ungar returned to an uneasy Roland and Eldryn. They could hear the grinding of stone, but took some small comfort in the fact that their horses didn’t bolt from the area.

  “Rest assured, friends,” Ungar said. “All is well.”

  Ungar joined Roland and Eldryn’s hands and then took Roland’s hand. The two warriors staggered behind him in darkness as he led them up a narrow path. Ungar arrived at sparse brush growing out of the rock and tugged on it hard and to the left. A panel of rock slid away and Ungar began down the tunnel it revealed.

  The group twisted down a short corridor before being confronted by the outer guard.

  “What dwarf steps in these halls?” The challenge came from the dark within the mountain.

  “It is I, Ungar, son to Frumgar, grandson to Studor.”

  “Enter the halls of the Stonebeards, your home.”

  “I have brought two outsiders,” Ungar said. “They wish to see Vigorr, our king.”

  “That you must take up with the King’s guard. You may enter.”

  Ungar led Roland and Eldryn past the two outer guards and then removed their blindfolds.

  “From here you may see,” Ungar said. “You will witness the glory of the dwarves.”

  Roland and Eldryn placed their helmets on their heads. Roland had to remain in a crouch most of the time, and Eldryn had to duck occasionally.

  They made their way past rich veins of silver and gold, and through hallways skillfully carved with the history of dwarven warriors. Finally, they entered a large hall lit with torches and lamps where Roland could stand to his full height at last.

  Over one hundred dwarves ate and drank at long oaken tables arranged along the large hall. Roland’s attention was drawn to the table at the head of the hall where a dwarf in fine mercshyeld armor sat with a gold, gem encrusted goblet before him.

  Ungar led the way to the table. The dwarf setting next to what Roland presumed was the King spoke.

  “Ungar, we recognize the renowned warrior, son of Frumgar, grandson of Studor. We also understand that you have brought the precious wheats and grains we need. What business do you have before the king?”

  “My companions wish to speak with the King,” Ungar said.

  “We have no business with a man so tall who is clad in such arrogant armor,” the dwarven general said. “He is a boy of those that angered the gods and separated us from Roarke. I’ll wager that his father does little more than defile the gods and keep whores. Or do the tall walkers keep boys such as him for whores now?”

  “I have been insulted far too much,” Roland said as, it seemed, his limited patience reached its end. “I am Roland, son of Velryk of the lands of Gallhallad. I come here as a friend and have made no judgments of the Stonebeards nor any other dwarf. I come here bearing gifts for the dwarves, but have been treated worse than a slovenly servant.”

  At this all the dwarves in the hall rose to their feet. The King himself stood and eyed Roland dangerously. The visual threat had all but the desired effect on the tall man. Even if Roland’s sanity had not been at its brink, his temper would still have been a volatile thing.

  Roland drew the ancient dwarven axe from his weapons belt.

  “Vigorr, King of the Dwarves,” Roland said. “I come to give this axe as a gift back to the people whose skill crafted it. I come as a friend and fellow warrior. However, if I am to continue to be treated like a rogue and dishonorable man then I shall begin to act as one. I would have this axe find its home in your revered armory, however, it may find its home in your skull!”

  Roland held the axe high and every dwarf in the room drew in a quick breath. Eldryn felt every muscle twitch with the feeling of certain death. Roland extended the hilt of the weapon toward Vigorr who took it gingerly, as if afraid it would turn into smoke upon his mere touch.

  “Roland, you come as a friend and truly you are one to all dwarves,” Vigorr said taking the weapon and examining it. “You have my apology. As one warrior to another, will you accept that apology and forgive our manners.”

  “I will,” Roland said.

  “This weapon belonged to one of the first three kings of the dwarves,
King Vech,” Vigorr said to Roland as much as too his people. “He traveled to Nolcavanor with his friend of the Great Man race, Lord Ivant, in the days before the Battles of Rending to set right the wrongs of the Great Men. He did not return. This axe is an artifact of my people, a holy item! This axe is a legend!”

  Roland recounted the story of Nolcavanor, leaving out the part about the holy book and the hourglass, for the dwarven king. He was certain to include the contributions of King Lucas and their friend, Ashcliff. All in the hall sat silent, absorbing his every word. Although many mugs sported fine ale, they sat stilled.

  Roland came to the end of his story at the point where Ungar had blindfolded them. Roland was not a conversationalist. In fact, he was quite terrible at it and usually left that to Eldryn. But, when it came to telling a tale, he was very skilled. One would think the two talents connected. One would be wrong.

  “Let this be heard by all,” King Vigorr said. “Roland and his friends, Eldryn and Ashcliff, shall be known as friends to the dwarves in all lands. King Lucas and his house of Thorvol shall be our trusted allies. They shall receive all of the hospitalities our people can offer until the end of their days.”

  A great roar went up from the crowd of dwarves. Vigorr showed the axe to several of his advisors and generals. Roland and Eldryn were bombarded with offers of ale and cooked meats. The supper gathering of the dwarven clan was transformed into a spontaneous celebration almost immediately as dwarves who had been absent were receiving the word and pouring into the hall. Roland and Eldryn only understood about half of what was said, neither of them spoke the dwarven language with much aptitude. They did gather, however, that they were being welcomed and cheered.

  The celebration continued well into the night. As dwarves stumbled off to bed or lay on tables snoring, Roland and Eldryn were led to an emptied storage room.

  “The King apologizes for the room, but it is only our Great Hall and a few storage rooms that men like you can stand up in.”

  Roland and Eldryn were given plush mattresses and heavy blankets. They stripped their armor and laid their weapons close at hand. Roland gave his sword and remaining axes a second look as he pulled the blankets up to his chest.

  “Roland, what is it?” Eldryn asked.

  “It’s in my dreams El,” Roland replied with a quiver and an unusual weakness in his voice. “It has been more than two weeks now since I have slept more than ten minutes at a time. The nightmares that come are not like the dreams of a child. These seem so real that when I awake, they continue to tear at my heart and gnaw at my sanity. I didn’t tell you, but I was greatly relieved when Ungar saw the Soul Stalker too. I was scared that it was all in my head. I thought I might really be losing my mind.”

  “Ungar said that he thought you might be cursed,” Eldryn said. “He said that if an enemy has a token of yours, a piece of jewelry, an old shirt, or some sort of personal item they can curse your dreams. He said that he has seen it drive brave warriors mad.”

  “Did he say if there was a way to stop it?”

  “He did,” Eldryn said. “You must find the enemy and kill them. Does anyone have a token of yours? Can you think of anyone that could do this?”

  Roland thought back and then his gaze steeled.

  “A lock of hair, that could be used as one of these ‘tokens,’ could it not?”

  “It could.”

  “Dawn cut a hand full of hair from me when we battled in Nolcavanor, when she cut the chinstrap on my helmet. I must find a way to stop this. If she torments me from a distance, she will drive me mad without ever having to face me.”

  An idea burst in Eldryn’s mind and showed through to his face.

  “What is it?” Roland asked.

  “Lord Ivant. You remember the stories as well as I do. The Great Man that was a warrior who worshiped in Bolvii’s church before and during the Battles of Rending. The legend said that he carried a Shrou-Hayn that he called Swift Blood, and that his armor was the color of smoke.”

  “So?”

  “The stories said that he wore a green gem on his brow. The fallen champions could not harm him with certain magics. Many of his men lost their senses under the mental attacks of the fallen and other demons, but Lord Ivant was somehow immune to those attacks. What if it was because of the lexxmar he wore in his helmet, in the helmet you wear now.”

  “Now that you say it, I realize that none of the dreams or visions have come to me while I have worn it,” Roland said. “You really believe this was Lord Ivant’s armor?”

  “It must be. He traveled with King Vech. It was King Vech’s axe you found there, and the armor and sword match the descriptions of those that belonged to Ivant. Try sleeping in your helmet this night and see if the dreams are warded off.”

  “It is certainly worth trying. I would do many unspeakable things for one good night of sleep.”

  Roland pulled on the helmet and buckled the chinstrap. It would be uncomfortable, but not too much so. Roland fell to sleep with his hands still on the chinstrap. He slept a long and dreamless sleep that night.

  Eldryn noticed more color in Roland’s face the next day, and his eyes seemed much sharper.

  “Shall we see what the dwarves are having for lunch?” Eldryn asked.

  “Lunch?”

  “Yes, lunch. I have already shared breakfast with them hours ago. I thought that perhaps you could use the sleep.”

  “Yes indeed,” Roland said through a yawn. “El, I feel like a new man.”

  “Well, let’s get something to eat then. They are anxious to view the image of the axe but would not do so without you.”

  Roland and Eldryn made their way hunched over in the short tunnels until they reached the Great Hall where they received a hero’s welcome. Roland ate like no man ever had before. Even the sturdiest of the dwarves were amazed at his appetite.

  Roland was indeed a new man after the restful night, however, he would carry the new lines around his eyes and the gray streaks at his temples for the rest of his days.

  As Roland finished his fourth plate and third flagon of water, it would be water only for a while, King Vigorr stood and called for a silence in the Hall.

  “We gather together as clan and friends to share food and fellowship,” King Vigorr said. “We also gather for an event many thought would never come to the Stonebeards again. We gather to view the Line of the King!”

  At this a cheer rose from the crowd that shamed the great storms. Clerics, smiths, and generals gathered near the throne where a large mirror, about the size of two hearty dwarves, had been placed. Not a mirror of silver, Roland saw, but a mirror of pure Roarke’s Ore. It was finely polished and without flaw. Close by, four lamps had been placed and each burned with a different color of fire.

  King Vigorr held the axe while the others maneuvered the mirror and the lamps. The first lamp was brought up and a light of deep red reflected from the axe, to the mirror, to a wall of slate behind the throne. The light was the dwarven color of forging. Upon the wall was a marvelous image of a regal smith at work on a great anvil. Roland saw that the object of the smith’s work was a dwarven warrior. Those more educated in the matter saw the signs and symbols that indicated this was an image of Roarke crafting the first of their race. With an almost imperceptible movement, Vigorr adjusted the axe and the image moved. Roarke’s hammer struck again in the Hall of the Stonebeards. The Hall was silent.

  The lamp was lowered, another brought up, and the axe was tilted, slightly. The light of this lamp was of lush green, the dwarven color of growth or learning. The next image was of the same smith, Roarke, teaching the craft of smithing to the first of their kind. It showed seven dwarves at anvils, hammers in hand, surrounding a much larger anvil where Roarke worked. Eldryn noticed that each of the seven anvils had a different marking on it and among them was the symbol of the Stonebeard clan. Again, with a gentle tilt of the axe, the hammers of the first seven fell in unison with Roarke’s. Eldryn decided that the man in the shop in
Dolloth was wrong. This was magic indeed.

  That lamp was lowered, and the third lamp was brought up. This lamp shone in a blue hue, the dwarven color of life and propagation. The axe again was repositioned. The next image revealed a scene of a dwarf, Eldryn was confident it was the one from the Stonebeard anvil in the previous scene, at his work station with a much younger dwarf working at his side. The motion in this scene was the old dwarf talking while the younger nodded his head. A father teaching a son.

  The final lamp was raised, this time held up in conjunction with the rest. The combination of the lights shined as a white light, a holy color of Roarke. As this scene was revealed many of the dwarves around them began to weep. Concerned at first, Eldryn relaxed when he saw their tears streaming into their beards and around their smiles. This image was of the same dwarf walking past an anvil. The motion showed him young at one side of it, older as he worked at it, older still as he taught from it, and even older than that as he walked past it. The final motion of the image showed the same dwarf as he walked from his anvil into the workshop of Roarke where other dwarves, Eldryn presumed his ancestors, waited for him.

  This was no magic of the sort that moved objects across a room by thought alone, or that changed lead to gold. This magic was much more potent. This magic warmed the hearts of hundreds of the toughest race of the gods. This magic moved people to rejoice and sing. This magic caused brother to forgive brother and eased the grief of the widowed.

  This was no simple magic as the sort that could teleport a man great leagues or cast a bolt of lightning. This was the kind of magic that could heal a people and remind warriors what they fight for. This was the kind of magic that sparked love in its purest form. Not the love that a husband felt for his wife, but the love that a cavalier holds for his country. The kind of love one neighbor has for another that he has cared for. The kind of love that causes evil men to lay down their swords or good men to take them up.

  Eldryn, until the end of his days, would not forget this time with the dwarves.