The Panacriph

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER SIX: Dark Elves

Lord Darlan was a stout dwarf, but not fat. He looked like a strong man. A heavy-looking warhammer leaned on his seat. Two guards in gilded armor were standing on each side. His face looked severe. His beard was short and his hair dark. He greeted the travelers coldly and asked them to state their business. Marcus nudged Arhyld. The boy cleared his throat and spoke carefully.

“My Lord, I am a Paladin of Dawn. I have been sent by General Derron to investigate a matter in the lower caverns of Stormkeep and Mount Pyr. I would like your approval to enter these caverns and…”

“Spare me the story, Paladin. What do you want there?” Darlan asked abruptly.

“My Lord, I am not allowed to speak of this matter. I only ask for your trust in the name of the Order of Dawn and…”

“Pah! You Paladins are all the same. You think you have the right to go wherever you please, don’t you? I know how Paladins uphold their “honor”. I’ll let you know that I don’t intend to let you through! Your kind corrupted the once great city of Valdar!” Anger seemed to flow from the dwarf’s eyes and in an instead he stood up and picked up his warhammer. Arhyld stepped back. Marcus clinched ready for battle. Thrandor drew his axe and Skip jumped in front of Arhyld, his hand already grasping a knife up his left sleeve. Arhyld acted quickly and grabbed Skip’s arm and gestured to his companions to stop.

“My Lord, I meant no offense. I know what you think of the Paladins and you are mostly right. However, we Paladins of Dawn strive to maintain our honor. Please. Let’s not shed blood here.”

The dwarf smiled bitterly and put down his hammer.

“I know, boy. Brodden told me of Derron and his Order. I was merely testing you. Forgive a dwarf’s quirks, but one cannot be too careful in such times. I shall grant you access to the halls below, but only after you prove yourself.”

Arhyld’s companions put back their weapons and Arhyld asked the dwarf what he would have him do.

The dwarf spoke in a severe voice. “I never liked Elves. They are arrogant and think themselves superior. They tried to take us over one time, long ago. We dwarves refused to trade with them since. It wasn’t a good move for our economy. Our mountains hold no silver this side of Storm’s Pass. Silver is an important metal in the process through which we obtain Mithril. Elves have plenty of silver, yet they long for gold to make their precious jewels. We could trade with them, but we do not want to. Dark Elves, however, are even worse. They have a village on the other side of Storm’s Pass, about halfway towards the exit out of the Mountains. We heard rumors that they might have silver, but none of the scouts ever returned. Some nights you can hear horrible screams coming from those directions. The Dark Elves must be fierce warriors to take on armored and well-trained dwarves. I want them eliminated. A troop of twenty of my best warriors will attempt to take them by surprise today and destroy the evil creatures forever. If you wish to prove yourself, Paladin, you must accompany them. I will not ask you to die for me as a dwarf would. But I want you to fight for me. Do you accept?”

Skip blurted out. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No way in…”

“Yes.” Arhyld said. “I shall do this. You don’t have to come with me, Skip. Nor do you, Thrandor. Or you, Marcus.”

“Hmph. A Tegarian doesn’t fear battle.” Thrandor grumbled.

“I shall come with you, Arhyld. You show courage or foolishness, but those are a true hero’s attributes.” Marcus spoke, smiling.

Skip looked around nervously.

“Paladin pal…Big T…Marc…I…what if we don’t return? This is not how Skip would die. Skip wants to die of old age, surrounded by beautiful women and knowing that he has left dozens of children behind.”

Marcus put a hand on Skip’s shoulder.

“Gold and glory. It is what you became an adventurer for, Skip. Remember? Live or die, what does it matter? I know you are not afraid, only cautious, but try to remember when the three of us ever lost a fight. And now we will have a Paladin and twenty elite dwarf soldiers with us. Are you coming or are you not?”

Skip took less than a second to make up his mind.

“When you’re right, you’re right, Marc. Singers shall sing songs of this songworthy battle we shall fight. Let’s go. For gold and glory!”

Darlan smiled.

“Well, I see that you all made up your minds. The troop shall await you outside the castle. May Vall guide your way, brave warriors.”

They retreated from the Lord’s Chamber and as they paced through the grand hall, Marcus noticed that Arhyld was still having trouble walking properly.

“Arhyld! Whose feet are those?” Marcus asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer me.”

“Mine.”

“Well, make them listen then. Let them know who gives the orders. Force your own will upon them.”

Arhyld tried to concentrate and after a few minutes, he seemed to walk more easily, almost normally.

“Hey…this actually works!” Arhyld said, jumping into the air with happiness. The boots once more propelled him up and he landed flat on his back. Marcus helped him up.

“Practice more as we walk to the Dark Elves’ camp.”

The troop of dwarves met them outside. They were all wearing golden suits of armor and were armed with warhammers. They gathered in formation and started to march towards their goal. The four travelers followed behind. It was noon. The sky was covered with thin gray clouds and the air was chilly. No one spoke a word for an hour. After that, the troop of dwarves stopped and one of them gestured for the travelers to approach. One of them spoke in a low voice.

“This is where their village is.” The dwarf said, pointing towards a narrow pass with stairs dug into the stone, which led into the cliff and upwards. “We have to follow this path.”

One of the dwarves laughed.

“I hear the Dark Elves skin their captives alive.”

“I hear they take their eyes out and make them walk towards the edge of the cliffs.” Said another.

“Balderdash! They tear out your entrails with their own claws and rip your limbs away from your body.” Said a third.

“Quiet!” Barked the officer. “Let’s go.”

The path led them on for about twenty minutes. After that, they carefully emerged from the stairway, onto a vast plateau, surrounded by tall peaks. It was like a castle’s yard, surrounded by walls. On the plateau they could see a lot of simple-looking huts and one large one. A tunnel was dug into the mountain wall on the other side. Arhyld walked ahead of everyone else and was suddenly attacked by something from the shadows. He grabbed the creature that was hanging onto his back and threw it on the ground in front of him, drawing his sword at the same time. His eyes widened. It was a small boy. But his face…his forehead looked like it had caved in, and his nose looked like a stump. His eyes were small and narrow and far one from another. He whimpered. One of the dwarves yelled and jumped towards the boy with his hammer raised to strike. Arhyld stopped him just in time.

“Stop it, you fool! He’s just a boy!”

“Aye! One that will grow to be as cruel as his parents! I lost a brother to these wretches and I’ll be damned if…”

“Paladin Pal! Bigmouth! More are coming!”

The dwarves all saw that Skip was telling the truth and prepared for battle. Fifty people approached. They all looked like humans, but with long pointy ears. They were ragged and seemed scared. One’s face seemed to have been bitten off by half. Another was missing a right hand. A woman was hunchbacked and had a massive chin. All of them with no exceptions seemed to have a horrible disfiguration. Arhyld felt pity for these people. They gathered around the fallen boy and a woman picked him up. The dwarf that tried to kill him went for his hammer again.

“Come on! Let’s send these creatures to the land of Chaos!”

“Stop!” Arhyld shouted again. “Do these look like fierce warriors to you? Do they look like they could have killed trained warriors? Do they look like they are carrying weapons? Put down your hammer, dwarf!”

“Quiet, human whelp! We were sent to exterminate the Dark Elves and that’s what we’ll do! They killed my brother!”

“*Something* killed your brother, and you’ve been sent to destroy what did that, but I doubt that these poor souls had anything to do with that, you foolish dwarf!”

A soft raspy voice spoke from behind him.

“You are right, Arhyld of the Paladins. We had nothing to do with the killings.”

Arhyld was surprised. How did this man know his name? He turned to face him, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
 

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER SEVEN: Menace in the Mountains

Ready to draw his sword, Arhyld turned around. He was facing a lean elf. He had crooked teeth and a broad chin. The right side of his face was badly burned. He drew his sword and held it low, ready for battle.

“Who are you and how do you know my name?” Arhyld asked the elf.

The elf grinned showing his crooked teeth. He raised his hands to show that he had no weapons. His fingers bore silver rings. Upon closer inspection, Arhyld realized that most of the elves wore silver jewelry. The tall one spoke.

“Don’t be angry, Arhyld. It’s my job to know things like these. You can see that we are unarmed. Please, let’s be civilized and talk in my hall.”

Arhyld let down his sword. The dark elves scattered and the one that Arhyld assumed to be the leader, led them to the large hut they had seen earlier. Everyone followed. The dwarves were a bit wary but they followed cautiously. Inside the hut they all sat down around a large table. The elf looked towards them and smiled. If it could have been called that.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the current leader of the Dark Elves. You may call me Scorch. Before anyone says anything, yes, it is my name. We Dark Elves receive names adequate to our…conditions when we arrive to the community. I know what you must think. That we murdered your precious dwarves. Well, my good sirs, let me inform you that your scouts never made it to our village. They were abducted and savaged by ogres from the Wilderness of Artana. Some of them found a cave from their camp to a place nearby. They don’t even need to go on the roads to get here. They go under the mountain. Your battle is with them, not us. We’re just a poor community of beggars.”

Arhyld eyed the elf suspiciously.

“How do you get your food? How do you manage to live in this barren land?”

“Arhyld, you of all people should know that in dire times, one relies on his skills to survive. What skills would an ugly elf have, you might wonder. Well, let me explain where we come from. The elves. The elves are arrogant. The elves think themselves superior. The elves want to be forever beautiful and “perfect”. The loved elves. The wise elves. The cherished elves. You want to know how they maintain their precious beauty?” The dark elf seemed almost angry. “They decide who marries who. They plan families. They even inbreed! The rejects, the less-than-perfect are cast out. This is where they arrive. We are their trash and their filth. We are the unlucky followers of their perfect civilization, unworthy to live amongst them. However, we still know the elves’ way. We can lurk in the shadows, we can use the nature around us for shelter and we can hide where you don’t know one could hide. We sell information and we know everything that moves in Artana. If times are tough, we sell silver. It’s abundant in the mines we found on this side of the pass…”

A dwarf’s eyes glinted. “You have silver?”

“Master dwarf, advise you not to think of taking our only resource. We’ve made sure that no one but us can enter the mines.” Scorch grinned. “However…if you’d take care of our common problem, I will consider a trading contract with your people. As you may have noticed, the stairway that leads up here is too narrow for an ogre to go through, but they sometimes stalk the bottom to get the foolish and the unwary. Get rid of the ogres and then we’ll talk. Do we have a deal?”

The dwarf captain sat for a moment, thinking and then nodded.

“Aye. We’ll return once we’ve gotten rid of the foul creatures.”

“Excellent! You’ll find their cave across the pass from our village. There’s a group of a dozen ogres in there. If you can find a way to seal off the cave, that would be good too. Ensure that reinforcements don’t come back.”

“Fine, elf. But don’t try to trick us. Lord Darlan wouldn’t like that.”

“Do not worry, master dwarf. I honor my promises.”

A half an hour later, Arhyld, his companions and the dwarf troop were at the mouth of a cave. Arhyld had seen neither the cave nor the stairs to the village on their way to Stormkeep, but it had been dark. A foul smell came out of the cave. The dwarves prepared to enter, but Marcus halted them.

“Have any of you ever seen an ogre?” He asked. The dwarves shook their heads. “Massive brutes. They are almost eight feet tall and use tree trunks and large stones as weapons. Ogres are simple-minded by nature, but fierce in battle. They wear no armor, but their flesh is thick and hard. Try to get them in the knees, or, if you can reach that high, their eyes and their throats.” Marcus smiled looking down at the dwarves. They grumbled, obviously not amused, and they prepared for battle. Marcus pulled Arhyld aside and measured him with his eyes. Arhyld was already beginning to control the boots.

“Arhyld…those boots can be a valuable advantage in combat, but you need to use them accordingly. Tell me, is there anything that requires agility and that you are good at?”

Arhyld blushed and looked to the ground.

“The teachers at the academy in Idyll always told me that I’m the greatest dancer they ever saw…but I hardly think that will help.”

“On the contrary, Arhyld. As we fight, I would like you to be careful and avoid danger, but if need be, use your dancing skills to your advantage.”

“Marcus…are you joking? I don’t think this is the time to do this…”

“Dancing requires balance, agility, skill. It’s not something anyone can do. Trust me.”

Arhyld nodded and took out a torch. He led the others through the cave after lighting it. The path was straight and easy to walk. After a while, they came to a large section of a cave. Fires burned there and dried bones and pieces of armor were scattered all over. The stench was unbearable. For a few seconds. After that, the smell became their least worry, as twelve gigantic ogres ran into the hall. The dwarves took out their warhammers and charged. Skip whimpered and jumped for cover as he drew a few daggers. Thrandor was already shouting a battle cry and he leapt into the fray with his axe. Marcus drew his broadsword and calmly paced towards the ogres. Arhyld drew Justice and the Assassin’s Dagger. He gathered all his will and tried to make the boots propel him over the line of dwarves. He was successful. In fact, he almost hit the cave roof with his head. Landing in front of one of the ogres, Arhyld stumbled to his feet. The beast was running towards him with a gigantic club. He remembered Marcus’ advice. Balance, agility, skill. He took a deep breath and crouched as the ogre came closer. The ogre started to run and Arhyld quickly lunged between its legs and emerged behind the beast. The ogre turned around groaning and raised the club. Arhyld rolled out of the way and spun around, slashing at the creature’s legs. The ogre yelled and stumbled onto its knees. Arhyld took advantage of the opportunity and slashed at its throat. A thick dark-red blood splashed out and Arhyld jumped out of the collapsing beast’s way.

The Dwarves had split up in groups of two and three and started to attack the ogres. They used the great hammers to crush their knees, bringing them down so they could kill them. An ogre managed to grab a dwarf and tore him apart. Another dwarf was crushed by an ogre’s weapon. The ogres seemed not to care that they were in a fight. One of them picked up a dead dwarf and started to devour its leg while attacking another one.

Thrandor had started to swing his axe around and killed two ogres by reaching for their heads with the axe’s blade in with fierce raging blows. The ogres stood no chance, though one almost managed to blow Thrandor’s head clear off his shoulders. Skip chose not to get involved in close combat, but he managed to kill one of the ogres with two knives aimed towards the eyes. Marcus seemed not to care about the battle. He was calmly hacking at one of the ogre’s neck after he had brought it down. They were winning. After long minutes of battle, four dwarves had died, but none of the living ones had been wounded. The leader took off his helm.

“These savages were eating their captives alive. I recognize these helms. They used to belong to dwarven scouts. The dark elf was right. Lord Darlan must hear of this. Come, let us bury our dead.”

Arhyld glanced towards the gored corpses, feeling sorry for the poor dwarves. He agreed. Marcus, however seemed to have a different opinion.

“We should not linger here. More may…look out, Arhyld!”

Arhyld turned around and saw an ogre larger than the rest charging towards him. Before he managed to react, a lightning bolt hit the beast in the chest, sending it to the ground. As Arhyld turned around, he saw electricity crackling at Marcus’ fingertips.

“How did you…”

“No time now, Arhyld. I hear more of them approaching. Run!”

And they ran through the cave, retracing their steps backwards until they emerged from the foul lair. Marcus turned to face the cavern mouth and started to speak an incantation. The words were spoken louder and louder, until an explosion of fire hit the wall of the mountain, causing the cavern to cave in, trapping the ogres inside. Marcus wobbled on his feet. He was tired. Arhyld helped him walk back to the dark elven village.
 

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER EIGHT: Enflamed

Arhyld woke up in his chamber at Stormkeep. Lord Darlan was pleased to hear about the Dark Elves agreeing to trade with them and agreed to their terms. Dwarves were not admitted inside the village. Trading was to take place in Storm’s Pass at the bottom of the stairs. The dwarves would trade food, clothing and other goods in exchange for silver. They had returned before nightfall. The storm began shortly after they arrived back to Stormkeep. The Dwarves mourned their fallen ones, but rejoiced when they heard that the ogres had been dealt with. Lord Darlan told Arhyld to return to the hall first thing in the morning. It was time.

He was descending the stairs and thinking about what Marcus had told him last night. Marcus was a mage. He kept it secret for a long time, even to Skip and Thrandor because Thrandor didn’t trust magic and Skip was too…talkative. Marcus did not like to draw attention upon himself and thus only used his magic in dire situations.

Thrandor, Skip and Marcus were already waiting for him in Lord Darlan’s chamber. However, the dwarf refused to let anyone but Arhyld enter the Forbidden Gallery. Father Brodden had told him to trust the Panacriph while he descended. As Arhyld asked where the Forbidden Gallery was, Lord Darlan led him to the back of the hall and showed him a large stone door with a circular slot on it.

“We never managed to open this door, but we intersected the gallery with other mining tunnels. However, it collapsed often, so we decided that it *wants* to be left alone. Well, good luck, Paladin. Brodden told me to leave you be after I show you the way. May Vall guide your path.”

Arhyld nodded and thanked the dwarf. As Darlan walked back to his chamber, Arhyld took out the Panacriph and inserted it into the slot. It fit perfectly and it clicked into place. The gray gem started to glow and the door opened with a loud rumble. Arhyld stepped through. He took out a torch from his pack. He only had two left. He lit it and started down a long stairwell. The steps were finely carved into the stone and not treacherous as Arhyld thought they would be. From time to time, Arhyld would see the places where the dwarven mines had once intersected with the stairway. All that remained were piles of boulders sealing the gallery from the rest of the mines. The stairs went on and lower for an hour. Finally, Arhyld reached another large stone door, exactly like the one back in Stormkeep. It had gotten warm. Rock piles suggested that the dwarves had reached this door, but their tunnels suffered collapse once more. Arhyld took a deep breath and again placed the Panacriph into the slot. The door opened and he went through. A wave of warmth and light hit Arhyld’s face. He grasped the Panacriph in his hand. It seemed to absorb some of the warmth. A strong stench of brimstone was in the air. As Arhyld’s eyes became adjusted with the light, he saw that he was in the very heart of the volcano. The crater opened hundreds of feet above him and released smoke into the gray sky. The red pool of flowing lava took up most of the cavern. Several stones spread pretty far apart one from another led to a tall stone pillar rising from the middle of the pool.

A rumble. Arhyld turned around. The door was closed. Panicked, he raced back to it and saw the slot on the door. It was a circle with a spike coming out of its lower right corner. He placed the Panacriph into the slot but it fell out. Arhyld resigned. He wasn’t going to be allowed out until his work there was done. He looked at the stones. Too far apart for one to jump. However, he had a pair of boots made by Drent the Nimble. He approached the edge of the pool and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He crouched and concentrated. As he threw himself into the air, he closed his eyes and braced himself for landing. He fell on hard ground. He was on one of the stones. Giving a sigh of relief, Arhyld stood up. He looked at the next stone and jumped for it again. He fell close to the edge. His foot slipped into the lava, almost knee-deep. He held his breath and for a moment he thought he was doomed. He drew his leg out and gave a breath of relief. The adamantine was unharmed. In fact, it was still cold. Arhyld continued towards the pillar, leap by leap, until he finally reached it. He looked at the surface. The jagged bits sticking out of the stone were perfect for his goal. He started to scale, using them as he would a ladder.

Arhyld had experience in climbing. Many a time had he climbed to the top of the Forbidden Cliff back in Idyll. Though, back then he didn’t fear falling into a pool of molten lava. Ten minutes later, he was atop the pillar, standing on top of a wide platform. A small stone obelisk stood in the middle. As Arhyld approached, he started to feel heat emanating from it. The obelisk bore a slot just like the one on the door. A circle with a point emerging from its lower-right side. Arhyld placed the Panacriph into the orifice. The ground started to rumble and the obelisk became so warm that Arhyld had to shield his face. The stoned turned bright red and then back to its initial colour. The air cooled down. Arhyld was wary touching the Panacriph, but the amulet was cold. As soon as he touched it, one of the points of the symbol, the lower-right one, which bore the symbol of Fire emerged once more.

Arhyld took the Panacriph and wore it around his neck. He turned around to head for the exit and found himself face to face with a living flame in the shape of a man. Its blazing eyes watched Arhyld as it grew a sword out of its hand and chopped the air in front of the boy’s head. He quickly raised his arm, parrying the blow with his left bracer. Drawing his sword he slashed at the flame, but his blade went right through and left his opponent unharmed. Another parried blow. Arhyld rolled out of the way, thinking of how to defeat a flame. His thoughts went back to Idyll. To his friends and to his family. Back to Myter. He had entrusted him with a mission. He couldn’t fail. Not now. Not like this. His sword was starting to glow in an orange shade, but Arhyld didn’t notice. The flame approached again and raised its sword. Arhyld was on his knees and vulnerable. Derron, Myter, Marcus, Skip, Thrandor, his parents. He had to live. For them. He raised his sword and just as the fire came slashing down, Justice burst aflame. The swords collided. Sparks flew. Arhyld gasped. There were legends that some paladins could make their swords ignite, but he thought it was only a legend. They said that only the purest, the bravest, the best of paladins could do it. Why him? He was but a boy of sixteen. Arhyld got up to his feet and dodged another blow. He brought down his flaming sword and cut off the figure’s sword arm. It and the sword dissolved into thin air. The boy spun around and thrusted the sword right into the flaming man’s chest. Fire against fire. The flame screamed and took the shape of a red-orange beam before flying into the Panacriph. The impact threw Arhyld back. He stood on his feet.

The fight was over. The small obelisk turned red again and Arhyld didn’t think twice before sheathing his sword and leaping from the pillar. A wave of red fire swept the platform a mere second after Arhyld jumped. He landed in a crouch on one of the stones below and lunged towards the exit. A few leaps later, he was placing the Panacriph into the door. He started to feel warm. The door opened up and Arhyld ran through. His skin started to feel hot. As he dashed up the stairs, his mind became clouded, his vision blurry. He couldn’t think straight anymore, but his legs carried him onward. Arhyld felt his blood starting to boil. His skin starting to crack. The door was so close. He felt like he had been running forever. The pain was excruciating. The door was a few steps away. His skin felt like it was peeled from his bones and the burning pain stopped as he collapsed in Lord Darlan’s chamber. He saw smoke rising from his body and his eyes closed. He heard a faint voice crying out his name and everything went black.

END OF PART ONE
 

[Silverbolt]

PART TWO: WATER

CHAPTER ONE: Retribution

Arhyld felt well the next morning, though the pain of the burning death was still alive in his memory. He felt death by fire, he was sure of it. His friends told him that smoke was rising from his body as he dropped down to the floor, but his body was unharmed. The flaming man had been the Fire Wizard’s spirit. Arhyld was sure of it. The pain he felt was the pain the wizard felt when he died. The wizard’s spirit was part of the Panacriph now. And the Panacriph was part of Arhyld. He understood now, although one thing was unclear. Had he caused the sword to burst into flame, or had it been the power of the element of fire?

His friends had been overjoyed to see that he was alive and well. Even Thrandor had smiled. Lord Darlan and Father Brodden had wished the four the best of luck in accomplishing their goals as they left the dwarven castle. Arhyld’s deeds had not gone unnoticed among the common dwarves either. As he walked past they no longer looked at him untrusting as they once had. Some smiled, some cried out his name and those of his companions. Marcus leaned over to Arhyld and whispered in his ear.

“While the attention is not something we really crave at this moment, I must say that you’ve done much for this community, Arhyld. Stormkeep and Storm’s Pass will surely thrive over the coming years.”

Arhyld blushed at hearing Marcus’ words.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Marcus. Or without Skip and Thrandor. We’ve done it. Not I.”

As they walked back the now familiar path of Storm’s Pass, Arhyld took out a map of Artana trying to figure out where they would go next. As they left the mountains and the pass, Thrandor interrupted Arhyld’s ponderings.

“Marcus. I hope we’re going to Iss’a now, no? Or does the little prince have another errand to run?”

“Ah! Yes, Thrandor, I suspect it is time to go to Iss’a and inquire about the dragon hunt, is it not? Arhyld…I trust you will agree to this?”

Arhyld agreed. “Sure. I’m in no big hurry. Plus, I always wanted to see a dragon. So, where to?”

“To the Dragon Flame Inn, my companions. We are sure to find information on this dragon hunt there. Let us go.” Marcus gestured.

It was mid-morning when the ogres had ambushed them at the exit from Storm’s Pass. They were vastly outnumbered and had no choice than to surrender. As Marcus had once stated, the ogres were not the brightest creatures in Artana. They had tied them up, but had left their weapons, and did not stay close to them. Two ogres watched them from behind while the rest led them east. They followed the mountains in that direction and after a while they saw the river on their right. Thaw River it was called, for flowing from the icy land of Iss’a. As the space between the Mountains and the river started to narrow, they knew that they were reaching their destination. Arhyld remembered the place from the maps he had seen of Artana. The Ogre camp. The four gathered close to one another as they walked. Skip was struggling with his bonds.

“Can anyone reach these blasted knots, fair companions? Being eaten today strikes not my fancies. These Ogres, dumb as they may be, tie one hell of a knot. This usually poses no problem to me, but I just…Open up, you damn knot!”

Marcus nudged Skip to let him know he was too loud.

“Listen to me. We can escape this predicament if we use what we know of ogres. They are idiotic and easily flattered. They fancy themselves as being fine and gallant. Now, I want everyone to ponder on a way in which we can defeat these beasts.”

Arhyld tried hard to think of a way to outsmart the ogres. He attempted to reach his weapons, but to no avail. Thrandor was looking annoyed as usual. Skip, however, started to smile. He had a plan. Arhyld was sure of it. As they approached the camp, he was horrified. The ground was red with dried blood and the ogres’ rough homes were decorated with human remains, bones and rotting flesh. Arhyld’s eyes widened. He glanced over at Marcus, but the mage seemed as indifferent as ever. In the middle of the camp there was a lit fire. Several ogres were sitting beside it. As the patrol party approached, the others stood to their feet. Arhyld noticed that one of them was larger and bore many necklaces. “The leader”, he thought. Counting all of the ogres he saw that there were about twenty. Far too many to fight by themselves.

One of the gigantic beasts shoved them in front of their leader. Ogres could speak, Arhyld knew, but they spoke the human language quite hard. The leader peered down at Arhyld.

“You humans kill ogres. Crash ogre caves. For this ogres are eating humans. We ogres be proud and smart and do not like humans kill ogres.”

Skip cleared his throat. Arhyld turned his head to him and saw Marcus nod at Skip. The little thief stepped forward.

“Your giant ogreness. A word if I may. I wish to tell something of Paladin Pal.”

The ogre eyed Skip and told him to approach.

“What, puny human?”

“Why, your largeness, words have reached my ears of the refinement and culture of ogres. You see…Paladin Pal over here is a master, a grandmaster even, of dancing. I think that only creatures of your intelligence and taste could appreciate my friend’s art. Please, before you eat us, let him dance a last dance before you. People all over the world will envy you for what you have seen.”

Arhyld was confused. How would dancing help them? He glanced over and Marcus and saw the mage approve. The leader of the ogres thought a bit and then ordered one of his subjects to untie Arhyld.

“Don’t try anything. We ogres can’t be outsmart by stupid humans. Now dance, puny boy.”

Arhyld rubbed his wrists as he felt them free and looked at Marcus again. The man just nodded and said “Dance.” And then Arhyld understood. He felt silly dancing without a partner, but still, he started moving smoothly, spinning, sliding, swaying, and slowly moving closer and closer to the ogre leader. Marcus’ words came back into his mind. “As we fight, I would like you to be careful and avoid danger, but if need be, use your dancing skills to your advantage.” he had told him before the battle in the caves. “Dancing requires balance, agility, skill…” and so did battle. It was all clear now. The ogre leader was mesmerized by Arhyld’s smooth moves. The boots were helping him, Arhyld knew. And he moved one step closer.

A swift move, a swooshing sound, a collective gasp of surprise and Arhyld was hanging from one of the leader’s shoulders, his sword trust upward through the roof of the beast’s mouth and emerging from the top of its head. Arhyld withdrew his sword causing blood to erupt from the leader’s head. He kicked the dead body, propelling himself back next to his friends as the ogre collapsed. All of this happened in less than a second. Before anyone realized what had happened, Arhyld was drawing the Assassin’s Dagger and traced the runes on the handle. It went dark and then his voice cried out “Cover your eyes!” His friends did just that and a flash of bright light blinded the ogres as Arhyld untied his friends’ bonds. And the battle began.
 

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER TWO: The Dragon Flame

Fighting half-blinded ogres, while exhausting, was not too hard or dangerous. The beasts stood no chance against the four companions. After the battle was done, Arhyld gave a cheer and met Marcus’ curious eyes staring at him.

“I see you have come to terms with murder, Arhyld?” the mage inquired.

“What do you mean?”

“A few days ago you killed a Tegarian in the marketplace. You were devastated. Now, however, you seemed to enjoy the slaughter.”

“What? No, it’s not like that, and you know it! These were bloodthirsty beasts. Evil creatures. We did the world a favor here!”

“And who are you to judge that, Arhyld? You say they were ‘evil’ creatures. What is evil? To them it seemed perfectly normal to eat human flesh. To them we were the ‘evil’ ones. And we lived up to our reputation, did we not? However you look at this, what we did here was a massacre.”

Arhyld took a second to consider all the mage had said. It couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t, and yet…it made perfect sense.

“They were going to eat us, Marcus. We had no other choice.”

“Oh, I agree, young Paladin. It was kill or be killed, but that still does not make us ‘good’ and them ‘evil’. That is why I told you to get used to killing back at the marketplace. If you are to be an adventurer, you will have to deal death quite often. It does not matter if you will kill men or women, if you will kill goblins or orcs, or ogres or dragons. Killing will be killing. However, do not think that it makes you ‘evil’. You will learn that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ do not exist.”

“What? What do you mean? Good and Evil don’t exist? But that’s…”

“…a lesson for another time. Come, now. It is past midday and we have to reach The Dragon Flame by evening, or our Tegarian friend shall bear you a grudge that will last for years to come.”

They walked back, following Thaw River downstream. They reached the road that ran north from Storm’s Pass. They crossed the bridge and followed the road north until they reached the crossroads. Skyreach Tower, or The Forbidden Tower as the people of Artana called it, was watching over them from the north. The road west, Arhyld knew, led back to the market, The Weary Wanderer and Valdar. The road West led into the wilderness. This crossroad was where someone saw fit to establish an inn for “adventurers”. In fact, The Dragon Flame was the exact opposite of The Weary Wanderer. Scum from all of the corners of Cerylion gathered here to take a break before heading on: brawlers, thieves, bandits, murderers, tomb raiders, assassins, mercenaries and more. They all gathered at the Dragon Flame when they had business in Artana. And now there were rumors of a dragon here.

The inn was overcrowded and Arhyld felt eyes upon him as he entered. He loosened his weapons in their sheathes and tried his best to look dangerous enough to be left alone. Someone groaned as Arhyld passed by and the boy made the mistake to give him a look that might have been interpreted as threatening. The large man who had groaned stood up and shoved Arhyld. Arhyld turned to him and looked into the man’s eyes. He was a massive brute, bald and wearing a short beard. Arhyld didn’t notice any weapons on him and by the man’s silent stare he could gather that he didn’t speak Artana’s tongue. Arhyld noticed that everyone’s eyes were upon him, the man was beginning to lose patience and his friends were getting nervous. He pondered his options, sighed and took out his sword. The man roared and tried to hit Arhyld with a massive fist. Arhyld ducked out of the way under the man’s arm and kicked him on the back of his knee. The man fell and Arhyld knocked him out with a swift blow on the back of the head with his sword’s hilt. He stepped over the man and attempted his coldest stare as he glanced about the room. Everyone went back to their meals and drinks. With luck they would think twice before trying to give him trouble. Too bad the big oaf had to pay for that. The four walked up to the bar, Arhyld constantly shrugging off the tavern wenches that had been impressed by either his courage, or his rich-looking clothes.

The barkeep and tavern owner was an old man with a face full of scars and a missing eye. They asked for rooms and the man started looking for keys.

“Bah! Adventurers, again?” he barked when they introduced themselves. “Off to kill the dragon, no doubt? You and every single soul here! It’s all I’ve been hearing lately! Bah! Dragons. Back in my traveling days I used to battle beasts twice the size of a normal man, but dragons…dragons are different. You don’t just kill a dragon, dammit! I fought a wyvern once and I lost an eye. And that was when I used to travel with an entire party! They all died, I lost an eye. And now you lot claim you want to *kill* a *dragon*.”

Thrandor puffed and spoke in a haughty voice.

“Giant lizards do not scare me, old man. We will kill that beast!”

The barkeep opened his mouth to reply, but Marcus cut him off.

“We are not going there to kill, Thrandor. We are going to investigate.”

“Whatever. Give me the key to my room, innkeeper.”

The man grumbled, reached under the bar and took out two keys.

“I only got two rooms left but they have two beds each.”

Thrandor snatched the key and tossed the money to the innkeeper.

“Marcus, I won’t sleep in the same room as Skip again.” The Tegarian said.

“Well, it is not like he actually slumbers in his own room ever, but I do suppose that when his…ahem…affairs are over he comes back.”

“You have no idea. He talks in his sleep!”

“Oh, dear…fine then. We shall both share a room and our friend Arhyld will share with Skip. Is that alright with you two?”

Marcus glanced over towards Arhyld, but Skip was not with him. Looking through the bar he finally noticed him flirting with a barmaid. Marcus sighed.

“Arhyld, could you perhaps tell Skip of the lodging changes?”

“Sure, Marcus. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Take care around the bar. I would not advise you to stay here for too long.”

Marcus and Thrandor walked up the stairs to the room while Arhyld approached Skip and told him where their room was. Skip raised a tankard of ale and pointed it at Arhyld.

“Dearest Mirinna, this is my brave companion. We triumphed in a few battles already and have only known eachother for a few days. Join us for a drink, my friend.”

Arhyld smiled, noticing how Skip’s manner of speaking changed radically in the presence of women. A tavern wench winked at Arhyld from behind Skip. The boy smiled back and blushed, although such women disgusted him.

“No thank you, Skip. I’m tired and I need my sleep. Enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, you can bet your life and gold on it.” Skip said grinning.”

Arhyld went towards the stairs, already feeling drowsy, but stopped when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to face a man wearing a gleaming chainmail suit of armour. He had dark skin, black hair and eyes and a smile that made Arhyld feel uneasy. He opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger introduced himself.

“I am Syrill from Shal’Kar, boy. I heard you were off to kill the dragon. Give up. My party and me are already doing that and we simply *hate* interruptions.”

“We’re not going there to…” but the man walked away before Arhyld could finish his sentence “…kill. We’re going to investigate.”

The man was probably insane and Arhyld felt too tired to argue with a madman. He just shrugged and went to his room. It was small, dirty and the beds were ragged, but he had expected it. Arhyld sighed and went to bed.