28th day of Ready'reat, 565 CY
5 miles north of Gryrax
The Principality of Ulek
Mogan turned around.
"Dwarven patrol," he announced. "Let me handle this."
Elrohir nodded, although his acquiescence stemmed more from impotence than from a calculated agreement. Their hired guide had stated emphatically that once they had left Gryrax in search of whatever wilderness lair the outcast Dumotherain Darkeye might have established, any dwarves they encountered should be addressed in their native tongue. Elrohir did not know the dwarven language and although Aslan did, the paladin's strange Aardian accent might raise more questions than they were willing to answer. The ranger could only hope that Aslan could follow the forthcoming conversation along well enough to ascertain that Mogan did not intend to betray them.
Not that there was any rational reason to expect such an outcome. True, the man who called himself Mogan was willing to work cheaper than any other scout they had spoken with about tracking down Dumotherain, but that simply might mean that he had fallen on leaner times than his peers- or that he just wasn't as good.
But Elrohir simply couldn't get their recent experience with Sir Corvis out of his mind.
Yet thus far Mogan had been true to his word. The man, a Gryrax native, knew both the geography and the cultures of these lands. He had even fashioned his own considerable beard in the local dwarvish style; multi-braided, with golden plugs. Elrohir had never seen that look on a human before, but he had to admit Mogan pulled it off well.
"Hugla! Haw aru tauu?"
The dwarf who seemed the leader (although for no obvious reason that Elrohir could ascertain) of the fifteen-strong patrol nodded his head in a minimalist response to Mogan's greeting as they came within speaking range. He grunted a short reply in dwarven that the ranger suspected translated as "What do you want?"
Mogan and the dwarf went back and forth for a bit, starting with what Elrohir assumed with formal introductions, including bloodlines. He tried to follow along, but his eyes were drawn to the patrol's symbol on their battle-flag; a black eye in front of a dwarven double-headed warhammer.
The Aardian ranger turned around to see if his three companions had noticed this as well, Argo had a look of keen expectation on his face that clearly indicated he had, while Aslan was staring at the dwarven leader, apparently deep in the task of trying to follow the conversation. Only Tojo, ironically, showed no apparent interest.
Elrohir had just started the turn back to Mogan when he heard the sound of multiple crosshows being cocked.
Guess I'm not the only one who sometimes says the wrong thing, the ranger thought as his heart dropped into his stomach.
Fourteen crossbows were now aimed squarely at the party, while the patrol leader now held in his hands a dwarven warhammer that could have just leapt off their standard. A scowl firmly in place, he barked something short at Mogan, who turned and indicated Elrohir.
"They already seem to know about the necklace," their guide stated with a wry look.
And they don't like what they know, added Aslan in Elrohir's head. Unnecessarily, the ranger thought.
"Captain Kilbin Darkeye," Mogan stated, indicating the dwarven leader with his eyes. "He and his lieutenant speak Common. I told him you're the leader." He followed that up with a shrug.
Elrohir took a deep breath and stepped forward, but before he could get the first syllable of greeting out, Kilbin spoke up.
"You must leave this area," the dwarf spoke without preamble. "Now."
Elrohir swallowed hard.
"We have no wish to trespass on your clan lands, Captain Kilburn," the ranger said, putting as much of a bow into place as plate mail would allow. "Our quest is born of necessity, not avarice."
"Fine line between the two for you humans."
This line came apropos of a second dwarf, whose crossbow seemed to Elrohir to be ready to fire a bolt right between his eyes, should Kilburn give the signal. This dwarf's voice seemed somehow different to Elrohir, and it was not without effort that his face smothered the shock he received that this dwarf was in fact, a woman. Her beard, a glossy black, was no less full than that of her captain.
Elrohir bit back a retort. Everyone knew that it was dwarves, not humans or elves, that all too often succumbed to greed, but then he remembered that such individuals appeared only in stories told around the latter two race's campfires, as far as his personal experience went. An image of Tesken the jeweler appeared in his head as the ranger took another deep breath, trying to clear his heart of prejudice as much as his head from hastiness.
"We wish only to remove this necklace from your lands and your people," Elrohir continued, addressing Kilburn again. "Does not such a desired outcome unite us?"
Kilburn seemed to consider this. An almost non-existent hand gesture, that Elrohir only recognized in that he had once taught it to his own party, caused the patrol's crossbows to lower, although they remained in hand.
"That necklace has brought great woe upon my clan," the captain said, his stern expression not wavering.
Elrohir frowned. "In what way?" Does Dumotherain still possess it?"
"That is no longer his name!" The statement was spat out by the woman, whom Elrohir guessed was Kilburn's lieutenant. "He lost possession of it when he betrayed his family and his clan. He is now only Dumovar."
That name marks him as an outcast, Aslan telepathically explained to Elrohir, who hoped his nod of understanding would be taken as commiseration by the dwarves.
"His betrayal predated his acquisition of the necklace, however." Argo Bigfellow Junior, with his usual willful ignorance of the social niceties, had stepped forward and joined the conversation. Elrohir wondered for a moment how Argo could have known that before the conversation with Tesken came back into memory.
"True," grunted Kilburn, who had apparently decided to respond to the big ranger's intrusion with only a second's worth of disapproving silence. "He put his own interests in front of others."
That statement, vague and non-informative as it was, pretty much summed up the reason any dwarf might ever have for being named an outcast; at least as far as Elrohir understand dwarven culture. A quick glance over to Aslan's face confirmed his suspicion.
"But the necklace," continued the party leader, letting his voice trail off.
Kilburn hesitated.
"Dumovar has stolen valuables from his kin," the dwarf said. "Our efforts to capture him have resulted only in the loss of two of my finest warriors."
"He murdered them?" Elrohir could not keep the surprise off his voice. Even for a dwarven outcast, that was so rare as to be almost an impossibility.
The dwarven lieutenant however, shook her head.
"Accidents," she said, her voice now cold as ice. "Bad things happen to those who cross the outcast- and his necklace."
Elrohir, Aslan, Argo, Tojo, Mogan and five dwarves stood outside the cave.
The Aardian ranger didn't know if Captain Kilburn had wildly overestimated the abilities of his soldiers when he assigned only four of them to accompany the lieutenant, whose name was Hardeth, on the two hour trek to Dumovar's now-abandoned lair, or if was Elrohir and his friends who were the ones with a false impression, but it didn't matter. They had finally managed to persuade Captain Kilburn to permit them to examine the outcast's home for some clues as to where he might have gone. The patrol leader had pronounced it a waste of time, but allowed it- under escort, of course.
The word cave, in retrospect, seemed too grand a description. Aslan recognized it at once as a coal vein that had been dug into from the surrounding hillside. They were common back in Gravoland mining country; miners and farmers digging out just enough coal to last them for the winter. Dogholes, they were called. Most, like this one, ran only a few yards inside.
The paladin stepped inside. Mogan made to follow, but Elrohir stopped him with a restraining hand on his shoulder. Mogan frowned but made no comment. Of the dwarves, only Hardeth followed Aslan inside.
This was just as well, because more than two people in this cramped space would have made any meaningful examination impossible. As it was, as he searched Aslan often had to move awkwardly around Hardeth, who made no move to get out of Aslan's way. No smile, apologetic or otherwise, appeared on the lieutenant's face.
At first glance, or even second, the scarcity and common nature of the few objects present here would have seemed to confirm Captain Kilburn's skepticism. A fur blanket, makeshift cooking ring, mundane utensils and chamber pot seemed the only evidence of Dumovar's existence.
Kilburn however, had made mention of the remains of a smashed stone tablet which might have once contained writing. The patrol leader explained that dwarves only carved upon such surfaces for ceremonial purposes- invitations and announcements of great import.
"Urvan," Mogan had murmured thoughtfully, and Kilburn nodded.
"Moradin's Grace that we should be so fortunate," the dwarf stated, his face about as close to a sneer as Elrohir had ever seen upon a dwarf.
"It means End of Life in Dwarven, Elrohir," Aslan explained in response to the ranger's questioning look.
"You mean a suicide note," put in Argo matter-of-factly.
Aslan, unable to think of either a reprimand or a more accurate translation, had simply sighed and nodded.
"You speak our tongue."
Only the confined quarters of the doghole prevented Aslan from whirling around so rapidly that some limb or another might have come into contact with an always-nearby stone wall.
Hardeth was gazing at him, her eyes as dark as any in her clan. She apparently took the paladin's hesitation as a denial.
"You were following Kilburn and Mogan's conversation." A statement in Dwarven, not a question.
"This is true," Aslan replied. "Mogan is far more knowledgeable of both your people and your tongue than I."
That drew a long silence, in which Aslan carefully maneuvered around so that he was standing above the pile of rubble and dust that had once been Dumovar's tablet.
In a process made slow and laborious by Aslan's plate mail, the paladin began to scoop up the debris and lay it out on a basalt ledge that Dumovar had apparently used as a table and general work surface.
Hardeth made no move to help, but her expression moved from one of suspicion to curiosity.
"You are an Earth Dreamer?" she finally asked in Common as Aslan poured the last of the stone fragments onto the ledge and began to shape them into a rough, compact mound.
Now it was Aslan's turn to hesitate.
"I cannot speak to the stone as your Dreamers can," he said at length as he cupped his hands around the of debris and closed his eyes. "But I can see when this one was whole."
And Aslan let his Talent flow.
Reading the tablet was extraordinarily difficult, not only because Aslan had always found the spoken dwarven language easier to comprehend than the written form, but also because the tablet was in constant motion in his mind's eye.
Dumovar was finishing carving the tablet even as Aslan was reading it.
Even worse, the only light was that of twilight, filtering in from outside. Aslan had not considered the possibility that the darksight-endowed dwarf might have carved the entire thing in what would be to Aslan pitch blackness. He breathed a quick prayer to Odin and concentrated.
READ THESE WORDS, MY LOVED ONES! WOE ONTO MY SOUL, FOR I AM SET APART, NOW MORE THAN EVER! THESE ACCURSED ELF PEARLS- THEY SEEMED MY SALVATION; MY RETURN TO CLAN AND FAMILY; THE END OF THE MOSGRIM DUMOVAR AND THE REBIRTH OF DUMOTHERAIN DARKEYE! WHY OH WHY COULD I NOT SEE THAT THEY WERE TREACHEROUS STONES? EVEN THOUGH MY EVERY ENDEVOUR NOW SUCEEDS, MY WORRY, SADNESS AND PARANOIA GROWS DAILY, UNTIL NOW I DARE NOT CRAWL FROM THIS WRETCHED CAVE, NOT FROM THE FEAR OF WHAT IS, BUT FROM THE FEAR OF WHAT MIGHT BE; AN ENEMY NO DWARF CAN FACE, FOR IT SPAWNS IN HIS OWN FEVERED MIND!
YET PERHAPS FINAL SALVATION IS AT HAND! THE PEARLS WHISPER THAT I SHOULD RETURN TO GRYRAX AND ROB IT OF EVERY COPPER BIT. WHILST I WEAR THE NECKLACE I WILL ALWAYS BE SAFE, SO IF I YET DIE WHILE WEARING THEM, THEIR INFERNAL PROMISE WILL BE BROKEN, AND THEY CAN DO NAUGHT BUT SHATTER! OF COURSE LUCK, ACCURSED LUCK ALWAYS KEEPS ME ALIVE DESPITE THE FOOLHARDIEST DEEDS I ATTEMPT, BUT A SURE DAGGER TO MY HEART CAN HAVE NO MISHAP, IF I ONLY HAVE THE STRENGTH TO-
Aslan never was able to read the rest as, with a cry borne as much of agony as of effort, Dumovar raised the tablet above his head and smashed it to pieces on the stone floor beneath.
As his object reading faded, Aslan came back to the here and now to find Hardeth staring at him, a new expression, concern, now resting on her grizzled face. That expression did not fade as she followed the heavily breathing paladin back outside.
Aslan knew his three friends could read bad news from his eyes, hard enough as they were to see properly inside the help of telepathy.
"Aslan-" Elrohir began, but the paladin cut him off with a raised hand.
"We've got to get back to Gryrax," Aslan said, his words directed as much to Mogan, Hardeth and her followers as much as to his companions. "The Pearls of Hamakahara have driven Dumovar insane. They seem to be driving him to acquire limitless wealth, and with unstoppable luck as his ally, he may be able to do just that- at the cost of the countless unlucky souls who try to stop him."
As they moved southwards over the cold, hard plains, Aslan couldn't help but notice that the face of Yanigasawa Tojo had lost its blank veneer of the last week and had now assumed a hard, grim, cast.
Aslan didn't need his helm to tell him what the young samurai was thinking.
He's wondering even if we can get the Pearls away from Dumovar, will he be able to handle their power- to resist the lure of unlimited luck?
And if he can't, the paladin thought with a sickening jolt, what do the rest of us do then?