CHAPTER FIVE
The sun was still clinging to the horizon when they left the village behind.
“Be careful!” Melly called out. She’d gone nearly a mile beyond the village bounds before finally coming to a stop while they continued on.
The road was empty and the day cool, at least at first, and mile after mile passed in quiet. Firnous was not one for idle talk, Amra soon realized, and that suited her fine. She wasn’t either.
Imoen made up for the both of them, anyway, spinning stories she’d heard (or invented) as a child in Candlekeep. Many of them were rather dubious, all of them amusing, and none about Imoen’s foster father or brother.
Auravahinue and Sparrowchaser were kept at an easy trot and Firnous had no trouble keeping pace with them even as the morning sun rose higher and higher into a clear sky. Even so, Amra had them halt a few times an hour to let the horses get their rest. The tactic didn’t fool anybody, but they didn’t address it, either.
“We’re not far from Tempus’ Tears now, I think,” Firnous said late that afternoon.
“What’s that?” Imoen asked. “A place he lost a brawl with Tyr?”
Firnous shook his head. “An ancient ruin. There was a war there, a long time ago, one so bloody that even the Foehammer wept at the carnage. There are strange stories about it now.”
“Like what?” Imoen prompted.
“The ordinary sort. People who go in never come out again, or are found dead with looks of terror on their faces. But stranger ones, too. They say a mist covers it day and night, a mist the wind can’t break. I’ve heard travelers say the mist is spreading. I’ve heard other travelers say its shrinking. Maybe both at the same time.”
“Sounds cheerful,” Imoen concluded. “What do you think?” she asked, turning to Amra.
“I think it’s a place best left alone, if it can be avoided.” She in turn looked to Firnous.
“It can’t. Not if we keep to the road, at least. It sits astride Thundar’s Ride a stone’s throw from where it meets the Skuldask road. We can go around it, of course, but unless we go well out of our way, we’ll at least see it.”
“Then let’s hope the mist isn’t hungry,” Amra said with a faint smile on her face.
Imoen made a face.
“More than that, I remember Hadarlas spoke of the Tears once or twice. I think he thought something important was hidden in them,” Firnous said.
“Ah ha!” Imoen snapped her fingers. “The Stone that Speaks. I remember hearing about in in Candlekeep. It’s an ancient relic that... speaks...”
“It may be worth a detour, then, at least to see if Hadarlas’ trail took him there,” Amra said.
However far the Tears were, they didn’t reach it that evening. Amra decided it was no place to be near after dark if it could be avoided.
Another early morning, a quick breakfast and a ride into the red sunrise.
An hour after they broke camp, they came across a tall standing stone in the center of the road. Letters had been carved into the broad face of the megalith and some enchantment made them look as if they’d been chiseled in just yesterday instead of unknown centuries ago.
Here was peace this day made.
Let Tempus cry bitter tears.
No more our dead we’ll parade
And live cloaked in waiting fear.
“That’s... really cheerful,” Imoen said quietly. She looked around and then pointed south into the sparse trees. “There. That’s it?”
Firnous followed the line of her arm. “That’s it.”
Amra looked, too, and easily spotted both crumbling stonework -- walls and buildings -- and a faint mist here and there. Distance and the trees, few as they were, combined to foil Amra’s elven vision. She couldn’t make out any details of the masonry.
She dismounted and guided Auravahinue and the others in closer. It was quiet here, unnaturally so. Birds and beasts of the field stayed away.
Amra kept a tight grip on the hilt of her sword as she picked through the broken ground littered with crumbling chunks of stone.
Whoever had fought here, for whatever cause, they’d been very thorough.
After just a few minutes, Imoen whistled softly. Firnous and Amra drew in closer to the young enchantress. She was next to a large pile of fallen stones. “Something magic is here... an effect or an object.”
Amra’s sword gleamed in the morning light. “Let’s see what it is, then.”
CHAPTER SIX
10 Uktar, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR)
Amra, Firnous, and Imoen, along with their steeds, Auravahinue and Sparrowchaser, discovered a ruined stone city along the track of Thundar’s Ride...
Exploring the ruins, Imoen detected magic at work amidst a pile of fallen stones...
As Amra considered the tumbled stones, the image wavered for a moment. In the shadowed space beneath, she noticed a cheery wooden door, angled down into the earth, that she hadn’t seen before. Imoen and Firnous didn’t seem to have spotted it.
Amra walked over towards the door and studied it more closely. “Look here,” she called out, waving her young companions over. “This may be what you sensed, Imoen. There’s a door here.”
Imoen tapped it with her knuckles to see if that broke the illusion.
To Amra, it was clear there was a door. And with some debate – “There’s a door.” “No, there isn’t.” “Yes, there is.” – eventually, the others could make out its outline, too.
Amra smiled faintly and steps back, sword raised. “Firnous, if you would... Imoen and I will be ready for whatever’s beneath.”
“Because I have the spare hand. I see how it is...” Nonetheless, Firnous complied, giving the door a tug. The door swung back, upward and outward, revealing a neat set of stone steps leading down into the earth.
“More because you have no armor,” Amra noted. She peered down the stairs.
The passage seemed both well-constructed and well-maintained. The stair steps were flat pieces of stone, laid upon indentations dug into the earth. The spacing of the steps suggested that the builders were of shorter than elven stature, and indeed, small footprints can be seen on some of the steps.
“Dwarves, perhaps.” Amra started down, her blade gleaming faintly before her.
Firnous moved to the back. “Ladies, first,” he said.
Imoen stuck her tongue out at him before following after Amra. The horses, meanwhile, waited patiently.
The steps led down into a low-ceilinged entrance hall of sorts. Wood and stone columns supported the ceiling overhead, and lanterns hung from pegs and metal rings worked into the columns. The environment seemed rather homey, despite forcing everyone to stoop. And then Firnous whispered “I can hear movement... that way.” He pointed to one of the branching corridors that leads out of the entrance hall.
Amra nodded and headed that way as quietly as possible.
She moved into the hallway and spotted a female gnome, intent on some piece of cloth she was embroidering. A cat dozed nearby.
Amra stopped and a flicker of disappointment at her failed guess crossed her face. Then she lowered her sword and smiled at the scene. She scuffed one boot on the floor, loud enough to be easily heard by the embroiderer.
The cat stirred first, hissing, as the startled gnome turned and promptly screamed.
“No, no! I’m sorry.”
The gnome woman stumbled back, embroidery needle falling to the floor. “Now I hear more movement,” Firnous announced as a handful of other gnomes swarmed into the entrance hall and then rushed to their kinswoman’s aid.
Amra stood very still. “My apologies, friends,” she told the gnomes. “I did not know this place was occupied.”
An older gnome woman pushed her way through the gathering crowd and spoke up. “How did you get in?”
“I found the doorway above.” Amra nodded back the way she came. “I was searching for someone who passed this way.”
This provoked murmurs of dismay among the gnomes. “You can’t have found the door!” insisted one gnome man, his head adorned with a lavish and colorful round hat.
“It was very well hidden.”
“Very well hidden,” the hat-wearing gnome muttered irately in a stage whisper. “Evidently not!”
“It was,” Amra said sincerely. “Even my companion Imoen didn’t spot it at first, and she has no little skill in the Art.”
Imoen smiled proudly, enjoying the accolade for her newly-gained magery.
“If you will put aside your weapons, we may speak more freely,” the elder gnome woman stated.
“Of course, good mother.” Amra sheathed Iralenmaska.
“And give me sword and sheath alike. And the rapier. And your sword, too, boy.”
Amra raised a golden eyebrow. “You know, my father would flay me for this. But my father is very far away.” She slipped the silver-gilded sheath off her belt and passed it to the waiting gnome.
Imoen and Firnous warily followed Amra’s lead. The weapons, once handed over,were passed back through the crowd of gnomes, disappearing from sight into the low hallways.
“Thank you,” the gnome woman said. “I am Maester Eriss. This is Maester Jantick.” (She pointed to the gnome in the hat.)
Amra bowed low. “Good day, my friends. Again, I apologize for our trespass.”
Eriss nodded. “If you will follow me?” The crowd opened to allow passage, and the elder gnome, accompanied by Jantick, led them to a side room with a table and gnome-scale benches. “Please sit.”
Amra took a seat and tried not to let her legs get tangled up.
Imoen did the same, while Firnous merely pushed the bench back against the wall and sat cross-legged on the floor.
“What is your name, elf?” Jantick asked.
“Amra Amariya, Maester.”
“Hmph,” Jantick replied. Imoen, meanwhile, introduced herself and nudged Firnous to do the same. “You said you were searching for someone?” Eriss asked.
“Yes, Maester.” Amra told them of the missing elf and how his trail lead them here. “We thought perhaps he had ventured into the ruins above, for whatever reason.”
“You are not wrong,” Eriss said.
“Oh? Is he still here?”
“He is not,” Jantick answered. “Not for many days now.”
“I thought as much. Fate is rarely so obliging. At least he left here in good health.” Amra smiled. “May I ask why he came, and what he was seeking?
“He could still be in the ruins,” Eriss mused, more to Jantick than to Amra and her companions. “Then he is no doubt d–” A look from Eriss froze Jantick in mid-sentence.
“No doubt...?” Amra prompted. “My apologies once again, I don’t wish to upset your situation, but I am sworn to find him.”
“This was the elf Hadarlas you seek?” Eriss verified. “He passed through here perhaps two tendays ago. As you surmise, he expressed an interest in the ruins. We tried to dissuade him.”
“Why? What peril is there?”
Eriss and Jantick both spoke at once -- with completely separate answers. “The ruins--“ Eriss began. “The dwarves--“ Jantick said.
“I see...”
“We do not shut our doors to traders we know,” Eriss said, “but as a matter of policy, we discourage exploration of the ruins. Do you know the history of this place?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. There have been many battles here, and I had thought few but humans dwelt here. But apparently that, at least, was wrong.”
“This was indeed a human city, long, long ago. The people who built the city are poorly remembered, but fire-wielding humans from the south came and laid siege to the city, ultimately reducing it to the rubble you have seen. A standing stone speaks of a truce. ‘Let Tempus cry bitter tears,’ it states. And so the merchants who visit this place, if they speak of it, name it Tempus’s Tears. Dwarves came to quarry the stone, and we craft goods for them and the merchants they draw. But there is uncontrolled magic still left in the ruins, and they are not safe. We gnomes know that there are places none should go.”
Amra listened attentively to the lore. “And Hadarlas went to seek out the magic? Or something else within the ruins?”
“Drawn by reckless foolishness,” Jantick muttered. Eriss frowned sternly at him. “I do not think he was drawn by magic or treasure, per se. From what he told us, he seemed to have an interest in old places.”
“I wonder. His task seemed urgent... but perhaps this is connected to it?” Amra mused. “Do you know any more of where he might have gone here?”
“Maybe Hadarlas wanted to add something to his book of history,” Firnous interrupted. “Although when I was with him, he was interested in elven ruins, not human ones.”
Amra thought for a moment. “Perhaps an elf dwelt here once.”
“Perhaps. The ruins are quite old, and, as you can see, not inhospitable to other peoples. The boy’s tale is plausible to those who scarcely knew this elf,” Eriss agrees. “Jantick, I believe, showed Hadarlas an entry.”
“May we see it as well, Maester?”
Jantick began to spout a stream of excuses -- “Too busy,” “No telling if the elf really entered there,” and the like -- when Amra sensed sudden agitation in her bond with Auravahinue, above and outside.
She stood up suddenly. “Something’s wrong. Above. Please, I must go.”
“Do you want us to come with you?” Imoen asked, not wanting to offend the gnomes nor desert Amra.
“No – yes – as you wish,” she said, hastening to the door.
“She’s no help,” Firnous said. “Excuse us, please, Maester,” Imoen said, carefully standing to follow. “Come along,” she told Firnous.
Amra rushed back to the surface, not even realizing she was unarmed until she neared the entrance.
When Amra climbed back up the steps to emerge on the surface, beneath the pile of fallen stone blocks, she found the horses gone from the entrance. A quick sweep of the surrounding landscape revealed them – being led away by a party of dwarves.
Amra stared in dismay. Then she whistled sharply.
Auravahinue’s ears perked up. He shook his head, pulling the leads from the hand of the dwarf – supposedly – guiding him. He trotted a short distance away, just out of reach of the dwarves, and wheeled to face Amra.
Amra smiles. “Captured by dwarves, my friend? Did they offer you an apple?” she asked in Celestial. “Stay, stay.” She started towards the dwarves, hands held out in the universal “I am unarmed” gesture.
The dwarves, still leading Sparrowchaser, also turned to face Amra. Two chased after Auravahinue, who easily eluded them. “The gnomes have hired mercenaries!” one of the dwarves shouted. “Little traitors!”
“Stop!” Amra called out to her steed and to the dwarves. “We are not mercenaries. We’re merely travelers.”
“Of course, they’re going to deny it!” the accusing dwarf called back to his apparent leader, a steel-bearded dwarf in dusty leather garb, a sharp-headed pick slung across his back.
Amra felt her soul sigh. She offered a smile, though. “Please, masters, permit me to explain this.”
“The gnomes owe us,” the leader said gruffly. “Two horses won’t make us even, but they’re a start. Your explanation isn’t going to change that, girl.”
“But they aren’t the gnomes’ horses.”
“You came from the gnomes’ burrow, girl. It’s clear whose side you’ve chosen. Next time, pick more wisely.” He looked over his shoulder to the dwarves leading Sparrowchaser. “Keep going.”
“A woman may lodge with someone without choosing sides. Or in this case, she may spend five minutes in the company of unexpected locals and emerge to find her horse being stolen without choosing sides,” Amra said.
“We don’t steal, girl. We have our honor. But we demand restitution from the gnomes. The last elf we saw was in league with the gnomes. Together, they killed four of my lads.”
“The gnomes slew your men?” Amra asked, astonished.
“The elf did,” the dwarf leader stated flatly.
Amra gave him a startled look. “That’s – strange,” she said.
“There’s not much love lost between your people and mine, but I wouldn’t have expected that sort of betrayal from elfkin.”
“Nor would I. There must have been something, some mistake on his part,” Amra said slowly. “Can you tell me more about what took place?”
In the background, Auravahinue was enjoying blocking the path of the dwarves trying to lead Sparrowchaser away. Sparrowchaser, uninstructed to resist, good-naturedly played along.
Amra gave her horse a fond look.
“If you’re not with the gnomes, then come back with us to our delving,” the dwarf said. “We can talk there... without the little wizards eavesdropping on our every word.”
“As you wish. May we leave our friends here?” she asked, nodding at Auravahinue and Sparrowchaser.
“Bring them. I’ll have my men roll up a water barrel. We may be able to scrounge some fodder for them.”
“Thank you.” Amra headed towards the dwarves.
Imoen and Firnous came along after. The dwarves led the trio and their horses on a winding both through the crumbled and blackened stones of the ruins, until perhaps a mile away, the lead dwarf entered a partially collapsed building.
Unlike the gnomes’ door, the door to the dwarves’ delving was visible in the dim shadows of the building interior, but was heavily secured with metal bars and locks. The steel-bearded leader produced a ring of heavy keys from his belt and set to work, unlocking the locks one by one.
Amra watched with polite interest, and also to note which key opens which lock.
Neither were these details lost upon Imoen, who gave Amra a sly wink as the dwarf goes about his business.
Amra didn’t quite smile.
Firnous made sure the horses were properly tethered outside. (Auravahinue tolerated this for show, so as not to alarm the dwarves.) Then he joined the two women. The dwarf leader threw the heavy door open with a loud slam!. “Come on.”
Amra followed, again missing the blade usually at her side, and studied the dwarves and their dwelling.
The dwarf dwelling was worked completely in stone. Whether it was originally a basement of the building above or an original work of the dwarves was unclear, but it had a much sturdier -- and consequentially colder -- feel than the gnomes’ comfortable burrow. Glowing coals in braziers cast a red-orange light through the halls that led to a large square table, surrounded by chairs.
“Mercifully, the ceilings are higher here,” Firnous opined.
“But you’re still so short,” Amra teased. She took a seat.
Firnous smiled the smile of the verbally burned.
“All right,” the dwarf leader said, seating himself along one side of the table. “You want to talk? Then talk.”
“I had hoped you could tell us more about what befell you with Hadarlas and the gnomes... I can only say that I came here in search of him, and I certainly didn’t expect this sorrow.”
“My men saw your elf, an elder of your moon-kin -- that’s your Hadarlas? -- being led by one of the gnome wizards into a section of the ruins we don’t go into, gnomes or dwarves neither, by old agreement. The gnome saw him in, then left....”
Amra nodded and waited for him to continue.
“Some of my boys decided to follow. Gnomes have no right breaking the old rules, sending their hirelings where they shouldn’t. So in goes the elf. Behind, in go my boys. And the elf must have got the better of all of ‘em, for it’s been two tendays, and none ever came back out.”
“I see,” Amra said, much relieved. “May I offer an alternate theory?”
“The gnomes are working around our deal, and getting outsiders to do their dirty work. What other theory is there?”
“That since Hadarlas himself is still missing, whatever happened to your kinfolk also happened to him.”
The dwarf was incredulous. “You expect a murderer to come around and greet us in the morning, like all is fine?”
“Of course not. Unless he was very clever. But I meant the gnomes have no knowledge of his whereabouts. And what seems more reasonable? That he was struck by something lurking in the ruins – ruins you yourself say are shunned, there must be a reason – or that gnomes who have never troubled you have suddenly taken to hiring passersby to slay you in ones and twos?”
Imoen leaned to Amra’s ear and whispered, “Jantick did say something about danger from the dwarves. This dwarf could be trying to frame the gnomes.”
Amra nodded and waited for the dwarf’s answer.
“If the gnomes are up to no good, they’ll lie to us, they’ll lie to you, to cover it up. They could have found something in the ruins, something they want to keep for themselves. Don’t be too quick to trust them,” the dwarf said.
“I have no part in your dispute, master. I merely want to find Hadarlas,” Amra replied. “But fate has thrust me into this, and I would help find a solution if I can. It seems as if there’s a misunderstanding here, one that can only be resolved by finding Hadarlas and your missing kin.”
“And how do you plan to do that, girl?”
“Going into the ruins and tracking them down.”
“You’ll just dance your way in, with your girlfriend and the urchin? I’d like to see that. You won’t last half a mile.”
Firnous bristled at “urchin.”
“What dangers are there?” Amra said after giving Firnous a warning look. “We are not unfamiliar with such things.”
“Whatever war was fought here did a lot of damage. Some of the weapons, some of the spells -- they’re still dangerous. The areas you can get to were swept for treasure long ago. Now there’s nothing left but stone and risk.”
“Regardless, there is no other way.”
“And we could show you a thing or two!” Firnous added, his pride injured. “Maybe you can’t find anything any more, but we could!”
“If you value the lad’s tongue, you should shut him up,” the dwarf responded.
“Firnous, please,” Amra said. “I’m sure the good master can tell us quite a bit about what specifically lies in the ruins if we give him a moment to recall them.”
The dwarf frowned. “Like I said... there are spells. And weapons. ... And monsters! There are monsters, too. Certain death for outsiders. Your elf friend only survived because he had gnome help!”
“What kind of monsters?”
Put on the spot, the dwarf’s face got red. “What do you mean what kind of monsters? Big! Claws, teeth! What kind of monsters....” He shook his head.
“I see. Terrifying.”
“Maybe to you. Dwarves have courage, see. But we’re also smart. We know when the risk outweighs the reward.”
“I have heard that said. Please, though – was it a dragon? Perhaps a greenscale? They often dwell in forested lands. Or a bugbear?”
“All teeth and claws, like I told you. Bit off a few of the boys’ arms and legs, and earned itself a good axing for its trouble. But where there’s one, there’s usually another.”
“Why don’t we make a wager?” Firnous proposed.
“Which was it, then?” Amra asked pointedly.
“I didn’t ask it its name, sweetie. I took an axe and killed it.”
“Yes, but lacking your skill and style, I must know what I face.”
The dwarf was clearly getting rattled. “Which part of ‘certain death for outsiders’ escaped those pointy ears?”
“Wager?” prompted Firnous.
“Between the three of us, I’m sure we can match a dwarf as skilled as you...”
“Two girls and the urchin... right! Where’s the challenge in a bet like that? You’ll leave, get yourselves eaten, and I’ll still be sitting here, drinking my ale!”
“There are worse days to end your day.”
“If you prefer to refuse the challenge, I understand,” Firnous said. “A man like you needs to keep an eye on his money, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely,” Amra agreed.
“What?!?” the dwarf sputtered. “Fine! If you go in, find out what happened to my boys, and return, there’s a reward waiting for you. But you’ll never live to collect.”
“I’m sure you’re right, of course.”
“We’ll want to know where the elf and your missing kin entered the ruins, of course,” Imoen added.
“Fine, fine,” said the dwarf.
Amra said “And we must collect our weapons from the gnomes. We would hardly be good sport without cold steel in our hands.”
The dwarf sighed. “The gnomes not being your friends and all. I see it right clear, I do.”
Amra shook her head. “If they were our friends, they wouldn’t have collected our weapons before speaking to us.”
“Whatever. Go get your gear, come back here. If you don’t see me, tell the lads to find Wulfgar. That’s me.”
“Thank you, master Wulfgar.”
“Time’s a-wasting, ladies.”
“That it is.” Amra nodded and departed gracefully.
Spooky, mysterious ruins? I like it!
Another excellent chapter :)