When the elves are gone, p.27
When the Elves are Gone, page 27
Hasivath nodded painfully, holding his eye with one hand and pointing a shaky finger northeast. “There,” he said truthfully. “Over there you will find the answers you seek.”
Chapter 28: The Secret Place, Fenwar, a Weapon, and Into the Mines
A penetrating darkness worked itself upon the companions as they trudged northeast through the filthy streets of the dead kingdom of Solinthilus. Agonni suddenly noticed that the sour stench of rotting garbage had dissipated, making way for the bitter scent of dark soil and charred wood that drifted past on an eastern breeze. He looked over his shoulder at Jaar, who was busy testing the air with his powerful nostrils at the rear of the companions’ lazy line. When Agonni looked ahead again, he met Hasivath’s bitter gaze, but the elf turned his head away, quickening his pace through the dark street.
The dwarf felt relaxed with Ninnel and Burrock escorting Hasivath to their final destination. The dwarf thought upon it as final, knowing the place held only answers to old questions and that final was by no means the end. This final place set his heart in motion. Answers would mean the end of the quest. Agonni tread softly upon the clouded notion, as if stopping were not an option. But the idea of a quest ending in answers seemed temporary at best, if not preposterous. He felt an itch upon his brow from sweat and wiped it with his shirt cuff. Traveling through Solinthilus had proven more strenuous than he had thought it would be. The place was larger than he had imagined and yet only a fraction of its size in former days. The dwarf resisted the temptation to be anxious about what lay ahead. He was confident that no cause on Solinth would be worth the slaughter of an entire race. He grimaced at his newfound knowledge. Gems? Steel? Bah. It was just rock, he huffed to himself, his welling anger shoving anxiety aside. The dwarf continued working himself up when Hasivath stopped suddenly in front of a structure made of thick wood and adorned with a large oval door. It clashed with the mud huts surrounding it, which seemed determined to melt in disrepair and rain damage. The door and wood walls of the place had been rubbed lightly with charred embers to give it a look of natural decay and age, but the soft bluish glow around the door handle quickly alerted them to the presence of magic. The companions drew near the door handle, despite the needlelike static brushing at the hair on their skin and generating an unnatural heat upon the surface of their flesh in its proximity.
They had reached the final place. Agonni looked to the others with pursed lips, then to Hasivath, who returned the look with expectant eyes. “We have arrived,” Hasivath said. “This place, as you can see, is guarded with human magic.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know not what lies beyond.”
Agonni spoke calmly. “Earlier, you claimed that you are no savage, as if it somehow refined the blemished features of your flesh to say it. Certainly, you are not ignorant of the fact that most savagery is rooted in necessity and opportunity, often sharing the same shadow.” He spat on the ground, unlatched Deceiver from his back, and hefted it high with both hands. He brought the weapon down hard upon the enchanted, blue-glowing door handle. The ax breached the handle like a sailing ship splitting calm waters. The handle fell with an unnatural thud to the ground. The companions watched it cool to gray in the dirt. The door swung easily open. Agonni grinned from ear to ear.
Hasivath’s eyes widened in disbelief and then fear as he looked toward the opening. “We should not be here,” he whispered, recoiling. “Dark things happen here.”
Agonni looked at the elf and then at the half ogre, “Jaar, you and Burrock stay with Hasivath,” he said quietly. “Ninnel and I will go inside. If the elf attempts to run or speak, kill him.”
Jaar nodded with an acknowledging grunt.
Agonni turned to Ninnel. “Are you ready?”
Ninnel nodded, placing her small hand upon the dwarf’s hand and then to her dagger. She stepped cautiously inside behind Agonni, who was already moving forward. Once inside the building, Agonni waited impatiently for his night vision to illuminate the darkness. The two moved forward a few feet to a long, straight stairway that appeared to descend several stories below ground level. The steps were formed from hardened clay, smooth and brown and unusually solid below their feet. The companions moved cautiously forward, penetrating deeper underground, intruding upon spiders and crawling things with each downward step. Agonni felt heavy moisture replacing the air in his lungs. The rising temperature added to the unbearable humidity laying in droplets upon their skin. Agonni stopped suddenly, squinted his eyes, and turned to Ninnel. “Do you see them?” he asked.
“Not much better than you do, I think,” she replied. She focused hard, shook her head. “I’m not sure, Agonni,” she whispered with reaching eyes.
Agonni nodded. “I can’t be sure, but they look like murder holes,” he said, outlining the small, open holes along the left side of the wall with his finger. “Six, I believe. I’m just not sure if any of them is manned.”
Ninnel sighed, daring to use words in the quiet space. “Well, if they are manned, then they already know we are here.”
“And if they’re traps,” he said, continuing her thought, “then they’ll find us here in the morning.” He stifled a chuckle. Ninnel looked at him, masking a smirk while shaking her head at him.
Agonni straightened his lips. “I will go first.”
Ninnel acknowledged with a nod. The dwarf turned and began to descend the shrinking staircase. With labored steps, the dwarf reached the first rectangular hole in the wall. He took a deep breath, slowly placed his hand over it and began to step again.
Nothing, he thought, holding his breath. The dwarf exhaled, removed his hand from the wall and placed it over the second rectangular hole just ahead of him. Uncertain, he continued his descent with careful steps, the muscles in his left arm so tight that it caused his hand to cramp. He passed the second murder hole, grabbed his hand, and massaged the strain from it. Sweat began to flow freely down the dwarf’s forehead and armpits. He scratched his forehead and then continued, instinctively shielding his body with his left palm over the third rectangular hole. Each step held the possibility that a blade or arrow would penetrate the soft flesh of his hand, shoot through the bone, and come out the other side. The thought left him feeling light-headed and vulnerable. Agonni continued methodically down the stairs, successfully navigating past all six holes before reaching the bottom of the staircase ten feet beyond. The dwarf turned around, motioning Ninnel forward with four fingers from his upturned hand.
Ninnel inhaled an oversized breath, then began gliding gracefully toward Agonni. She stopped suddenly at the first hole, feeling her legs seize and her arms become as heavy as massive stones. Agonni looked up at her, encouraging her with beckoning hands. She shook her head no. With exaggerated motions, Agonni nodded his head up and down.
Ninnel broke free from Agonni’s eyes and inspected the six rectangular holes once more. The sight of them caused her to swallow hard and made her body tremble. Agonni’s gaze never left her as he motioned for her to continue. The elf took one more breath and then clumsily placed a foot on the next stair. She knew there was no way for her to descend the rest of the way gracefully. She was lumbering on heavy feet.
Agonni ground at his eyes with his fists and shook his head hard enough for his jowls to sway. It was Sufara who moved painfully toward him. He saw dark blood seeping into her flowing white dress. Agonni grabbed for his wife, who remained just out of reach of his short arms but still moved toward him. The blood on her dress spread, turning her immaculate gown a dark burgundy. The dwarf attempted frantically to reach her, to save her. Sufara’s eyes showed black in Agonni’s hazy night vision, revealing callused pain as blood continued to soak her. He reached again, able now to grab her arm and bring her close.
Ninnel stared at Agonni’s teeth, exposed between twisted lips. His eyes were fixated on the madness of things that were not there. Ninnel’s voice defeated the quiet of the narrow place, prodding Agonni to confront the reality that Sufara was not there, that the arm he held tightly was Ninnel’s.
Agonni began to relax at the sight of Ninnel. He watched her mouth moving with silent words that slowly surfaced to a level of audibility.
“Agonni,” she whispered. “Agonni, can you hear me? I made it,” she reassured him. “I made it.”
The life began to flare back into his eyes. He nodded his head. “OK,” he said in a choked voice, confirming he was grounded once more. He released the fingers around her bruising arm and turned away from her to inspect the small door at the bottom of the stairs. He looked back as if the last thirty seconds had not existed, beckoning her closer with a movement of his head.
Ninnel moved the arm’s length to Agonni’s side. His eyes remained fixed on the door handle as he said, “I’ll pull it to see if it’s locked. Watch out.”
The elf stood back while Agonni lifted on the handle. He shook his head, released the handle, and tugged at his coarse beard. Ninnel moved forward and held her hands over the handle. Her lips began to move, inducing a whisper from her elvish tongue. She began blowing softly upon the handle. The dwarf attempted a look of disinterest but succeeded only in appearing overly curious when she grabbed at the now pliable handle, tearing it away piece by piece and balling it into her palm. She dug her finger into the hole until a dull-yellow light appeared. She turned around, gave Agonni a wink, and then peered through the hole into the room beyond the door. Satisfied, she pushed the door, and it swung easily open.
The two companions stepped inside and quickly realized they were not alone. They stared into the room at the human shadow staring back at them, not six feet away. The figure stepped closer. The top of his balding head was drizzled in soft yellow torchlight that trickled down his face, pronouncing the contours of his high cheekbones and long, sharp nose. The rest of the ancient human’s features were lost under an oversized, thick, brown robe, except for his long bony fingers, segmented with arthritic joints, which stretched past the point of normal.
Agonni felt no danger, thinking only that the robe was too big for the human. He watched, fascinated by the lazy cuffs of the massive robe as they whipped wildly with each overly pronounced step the old man took, surging as if each were a bird set to flight. A long thin rod swung lightly from side to side, clicking against the stone floor as he moved. The old human stepped within inches of the companions and scrunched his thin face, emphasizing the deep wrinkles on it. “You are early,” he said with closed eyes.
The two companions said nothing. They looked at each other and then back at the old man. As if not expecting an answer, the old human backed away from them and smiled, revealing foggy eyes. “Forgive me,” he pleaded, “but my lack of sight causes me to keep odd hours.” He chuckled. “Day and night mean little to an old blind man.”
He turned away from the companions, tapping his rod as he moved, stopping only when he reached the edge of a large, well-made wooden table filled with parchment, tools, and pieces of dark metal. He swiveled his head to face the companions. “I am Fenwar,” he announced with a short nod of his head, “acting head of engineering.” He bowed. “Although the qualifier ‘acting’ might seem a dispensable part of introductions, I assure you I am only the acting head and have been since the untimely death of head engineer Semar Grunhem some thirty years ago.” The old man continued rambling. “Of course, the king begged me then, as he does daily, to fill the head position.” He held up a long finger and wagged it back and forth. “But I must reverently decline and constantly remind him that I live only to serve.” He placed his hands passionately upon his heart.
Agonni watched the old man impatiently, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I can see that your service to the king of Argoth is invaluable.”
The old man smiled, opening his mouth wide as if to speak, and then he turned his back to the companions. Frustrated, the dwarf clenched his jaw and cracked his thick fingers as he walked over to the old man. The dwarf’s eyes fell to the array of things scattered upon the table and asked, “What is all this?”
The old man turned his head inches from Agonni’s face. His breath smelled like tea. “This,” he said wryly, “is the reason you are here.” His lips sagged as if his life’s work had been stolen from him. As if defending himself, he said, “This is the reason Argoth sides with your dwarves of Stone Deep. The reason you, we, have marched upon Solinthilus.” He spoke just above a whisper. “The reason the elves…” His voice trailed off; he could not finish the thought. He cleared his throat, straightened his unshapely robe, and said, “Forgive me. I had not heard the horns of your arrival. I would have had a demonstration planned. As it is, the others are long asleep.”
Agonni grunted. “The hour is indeed late, but I wish not to wait for a demonstration. A simple explanation will do.”
Fenwar looked toward the dwarf as if he could see him. “Where is Commander Rolles, Captain?”
“Commander Rolles is attending to a fire in the southern reach,” Agonni lied.
Fenwar shook his head. “Ahh. He could be gone awhile, then. The elves are horrible at keeping their own order.” The old man’s long fingers hovered over the objects on the table, eventually wrapping them around a small parchment set to the left of the others. He lifted it carefully with his right hand, directing it over Agonni’s and placing it firmly on his open palm.
“Fire stone,” Fenwar declared. “We call it fire stone.” His smile spread, exposing a rotten tooth between two black holes in his mouth.
Agonni unrolled the parchment, annoyed as he attempted to study the human script he was unable to read. He looked at the old man, at Ninnel, and then back at the paper. “If this were in dwarven script, it would be easy to discern,” he said flatly, surrendering the parchment back to the human.
Fenwar’s lips formed a tight oval shape as he breathed out a low acknowledgment. “Ohhh.” His fogged eyes brightened a bit. “I apologize, young dwarf. Allow me to explain it to you.” Fenwar took a readying breath. “As you may be aware, the Solinthilus mines are known to produce crystal salt and iron.”
Agonni grunted, prompting the old man to continue. “Some time back, another element was discovered deep below the volcanic layer—discovered quite accidentally due to poor direction and ignorant Solinthilus elves. The ignorant miners had cracked the volcanic layer and kept digging.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine? That’s when they came across the yellow rock, the rock we call fire stone.” Fenwar marveled at the memory, rubbing his hands together. He reached past the quiet dwarf and grabbed a fistful of darkness, brought it up to Agonni’s face, and opened his fingers, presenting a bright-yellow rock. Fenwar nodded excitedly, coaxing the dwarf with lifted eyebrows to accept the rock in his open palm. Agonni opened his fist, allowing the bright-yellow rock to drop lightly into his hand. He stared at the fire stone for a moment, curled his nose at the pungent stench emanating from it, and then handed it back to the old human.
Fenwar made no attempt to hide his smile, accepting the rock and placing it carefully on the table. He turned to Agonni. “You are the first dwarf to ever touch a fire stone,” he said, hiding his thin hands inside the cuffs of his robe. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, the mines. Where did you say Commander Rolles is again? Never mind; I shall never grow tired of telling the story,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “It is thought that Solinthilus is the only place on Solinth to contain this stone. Solinthilus lays upon the only shallow volcanic layer known to exist. But there is much of it. So much that the king decreed a continuous mining of it. Day and night, the elves labor to extract the rock from deep within the mines.”
Agonni looked at Fenwar in hopes that what he had just revealed had placed an ounce of pity in the old human’s heart. It had not.
Ninnel thought of her brother and the other males, toiling continuously, separated from all but the mine that produced the yellow rock. As if understanding her anger, Agonni placed his hand gently on her arm, offering compassionate eyes. Ninnel looked back to Fenwar, who seemed lost in elation at the thought of the operation.
“So, the king of Argoth has discovered a rare rock with which to make a fortune,” Agonni said flatly.
“It is indeed worth a fortune, dwarf,” Fenwar assured. “However, despite its special appearance and rarity, it holds an even more remarkable ability.” Fenwar extended his bony arm toward the lonely torch casting an orange flame against the wall next to him. “Please, hand me the torch,” he said.
Agonni grabbed the torch, twisted it free from its metal sheath, and handed it to Fenwar.
“You see,” he exclaimed, brushing the yellow stone with the flaming torch, “the rock is flammable!” The rock indeed began to create heat as it turned deep brown and burned away.
Agonni watched the stone. “Magic!” he said angrily, backing away from the burning stone and nearly tripping over Fenwar.
The old man laughed loudly, steadying the dwarf. “I assure you, the rock holds no magical properties, dwarf,” he said confidently. His laughter trailed off. “It has already been tested. It is pure.”
Agonni gathered himself, speaking quietly to mask his shock. “A rock that burns like a torch. Amazing. But that’s what oil and wood are for,” he scoffed, his face reddening.
“True,” Fenwar admitted. “Very true. Come, let me show you something else.”
Agonni and Ninnel followed the old man as he hobbled down a wide corridor, tapping his rod against the rock wall. They entered a larger room with air vents carved into the ceiling that spilled cool air around the room. In the center of the room was a table that stood out to the dwarf, mostly because it was surrounded by thick, comfortable chairs—an odd comfort in such a neglected place. Stacks of parchment lay upon the table, along with various tools foreign to the dwarf. Measurement devices and pieces of the bright-yellow stone were strewn about. At the end of the room were several wooden casks set on their sides. Heavy rods protruded from each end, creating a sort of spit for the casks. Fashioned on one side of each cask was a turning handle. Agonni inspected them. “What are these for?”
