Chapter Two

 

It started as an ordinary day for the dwarc in the Territories. This he would tell himself later. Always an early riser, Hambone had planned most of his morning already. It was off to market, hopefully for something good to eat, and then maybe a lazy stroll home to enjoy the weather.

Hambone’s path to market took him close to the Kilarne River. Often he would stop, skip a few stones across the dirty river, trying to make it to the other side, to Faldoa—the land of the humans. The bottom was never clearly visible because of the mud washing off the mountain. Hambone claimed the mud in the river helped with his stone skipping ability. His friends Dante and Grace always told him the claim was ridiculous.

Today, he was not interested in throwing stones. His stomach grumbled. The faster he got to the market, the faster he would get to eat. He jogged down the path, but something by the river caught his eye. There on the shore, something had washed up. A form, maybe a rock or just a tree limb. As he got closer, Hambone saw the nearby rocks draped with auburn hair.

Was it some kind of animal? Curiosity and concern got the better of him and he approached the thing. The form wore a dress that once might have been a pretty color, but was now a drab, dirty brown. The river had given it a mud washing. Slowly, he veered off the path and crept toward the body. When he was within a few feet, he could see a face.

He jumped back. “It’s a human!” But how could a human be in the Territories? Only non-humans like him lived here.

Hambone held in his excitement. Nervous energy rushed through his body and almost caused him to jump up and down. He had never seen a human up close before. Quickly, he looked around. Where there was one human, there probably were more. There was nobody else around. He picked up a stick and poked the body.

The human coughed.

Hambone jumped behind a tree. He peeked around the trunk and waited for the human to do something else. Maybe morph into something hideous or get up and swim away.

Silence.

The body lay in its original state. Hambone stared, ready to run if the human stood up. Everyone knew they were dangerous. The wicked tales told about humans could have been exaggerated when he was a kid, but some of it had to be true.

Slowly, he made his way from behind the tree. Each step brought him closer to the thing. A few more steps and he stood over the form.

What to do now?

 

***

 

As she surfaced from sleep, Kara could feel her damp, mud-sodden clothes clinging to her. Any little movement caused the cold wetness to seep further into her bones. Soft sunlight heated her cheek but that was the only part of her warm. Muck crusted her eyes, making them stick a bit as she opened them. Some dried dirt broke off from her lashes and blurred her sight.

Another coughed rippled her lungs, expelling the remaining fluid. Her head ached. Actually, Kara found her whole body ached from her battle with the river.

Where am I? Where is Birch? Why had she gone into the water? Her mind searched for answers, but her memories were hazy. Witch Guard, fire, her father. An uncle?

She blinked her eyes, clearing more of the mud.

Above her, a large hand with huge fingers reached for her. A monster!

“Ahhhh!”

The hand darted away. The figure jumped back and took off running. An echoing scream erupted from it.

Blood pumped through her body and forced movement. She rolled to her feet and stood with a cough. Pain throbbed in her head, causing her to stoop closer to the ground. All her senses were on alert wanting to know who that hand belonged to. She rubbed her eyes, clearing away the last of the mud.

“Hello?” It came out as a questioning but anguished cry.

The forest looked empty. The hand, the monster, whatever it was, was gone. Kara waited and listened, not sure what she’d do if something responded.

A bird chirped in the distance and the river waves made small sounds as they lapped upon the shore. And then, there it was. Snap! A small twig broke under a heavy foot, somewhere behind one of the trees to her left.

“Hello?” Kara tried to insert confidence into her voice.

Nothing answered back.

“I know you’re there! You might as well come out…slowly. I warn you. I’ve got a big stick and I’m not afraid to use it.” Her voice held command, but inside fear gripped her.

Kara glanced behind her at the river. The far shore was a good quarter mile away. A chill rippled her spine. Which side of the river am I on?

“Come out!” But her own voice betrayed her as it cracked. She had no weapon to defend herself with except a thin stick. And if this wasn’t Faldoa, then it must be the Territories and there could be anything on the other side of that tree.

A hand appeared around one of the nearby oaks, the same hand that had been reaching for her.

Her breath caught at the sight of it. Already, Kara could tell it was not human. The skin was a pale, pasty color. Five sausage-like fingers complete with dirty nails wrapped around the tree. Dark hair covered the muscular arm that wrapped the trunk.

Within a few seconds, the rest of the creature came into view.

Kara’s original gasp almost turned to laughter, but shock held her in check at the sight of the beast. Most people would expect the monster attached to that arm would be a horrible picture, but the arms were the worst of it. The rest of him was just plain ludicrous.

Dressed like a prairie farmer, giant overalls clung to the massive shoulders and a short, faded red shirt covered the rest of its torso. A hat made of some reeds and straw barely fit over its long locks of bark colored hair. A large mustache trailed under a large doorknob nose. A partially braided beard hung off its chin.

“I-I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean any harm.” The voice was gruff, but intelligible. It reminded her of the fat men in town when they talked.

Kara stared, not moving, still unsure of the sight before her.

“I’m…I’m Hambone.” the beast said, offering an out-stretched hand, but not daring to take a step closer. “Nice….ta…meet you?” The creature had an awkwardness to it that made it seem simple.

“What…umm? I’m…Kara.” Kara stumbled over her words. He didn’t look like anyone, or anything she had ever seen before. No doubt about it, she was in the Territories. It was a land of the non-human races, and this creature was about as non-human as they go.

“I’m a dwarc. Part orc and part dwarf.” Hambone seemed pleased by this fact. He relaxed a bit.

Her father once read to her about elves, dwarves, and fairies, but that was just childhood tales. Or was it?

“I’ve never met a…” Again, unsure of how to express anything, Kara’s voice sputtered out.

“I think I am the only one. Unique in a way. Mom called me her special Orc-kin. Dad was the dwarf.” He started to take a step toward her, but she immediately backed up.

“Stay there!” Water splashed at her ankles as she stepped into the river.

Hambone looked a little shocked by the fierce command.

“It’s okay. I understand. I look scary. I got my size from my mom, and hair and brains from my dad.” He turned his back on her and took a couple of steps away. “I’ll go now.”

“No…wait. It’s not…” Kara said uncertainly. She looked up and saw that the creature was listening intently. “Someone was chasing me….and I jumped into the river.”

Hambone’s eyes went wide. “Who would be chasing something as….small as you?”

“Um…” And Kara pressed hard to remember all that had happened in the last few hours. “The…Witch Guard?” Why was she so confused?

“The Witch Guard? They sound like a nasty bunch. Magic can be dangerous.”

“Magic? Don’t be silly. There is no magic in Faldoa.” Kara laughed.

“This isn’t Faldoa.”

Kara stared at Hambone, “Oh, no. I was afraid I was on the wrong side of the river.”

Hambone looked taken aback. “Um…it’s not the wrong side to me. It’s perfectly nice here in the Territories. Actually, Macada, if you want to get even more specific.”

It was Kara’s turn to look bewildered. “Macada?” Panic crept into her voice. But how will I get home?”

“I don’t know,” Hambone said. “Maybe you’ll have to stay here forever.”

“B-but…but t-that’s not…p-possible. I belong in Faldoa. My father is in danger, and I need to get home. Please, you must help me.”

 

***

 

King La’ard set his chalice of mead on the table and turned toward the opening door to the dining hall. A figure in sulfur black boots entered the room. An unmistakable hiss followed the footsteps.

“Master Kreitan.”

“Sire.” Kreitan dropped to one knee in front of his king.

The king waved him to his feet but held up one finger to stop further speech while he plucked another potato from the plate. Eerie silence hung as La’ard slowly chewed, savoring each texture and flavor. All the while, he fixed Kreitan with a penetrating glare. Kreitan did not waver in his stance under the scrutiny of his king.

La’ard took the cloth that lay on his lap, dabbed at a smear of grease on his face, pushed back his chair, and stood. The king was not the tallest ruler that Faldoa ever had, but he definitely had a commanding appearance.

“Master Kreitan, you know how I extremely dislike being disturbed while eating.”

“Yes, sire.” Kreitan remained still, not explaining himself. La’ard would ask the questions and get the information from his loyal servant, but Kreitan would not reveal anything more until asked. He’d make La’ard work for the answers.

“Walk with me and we will discuss this matter which I presume has been resolved.”

Kreitan fell in step just behind the king. He felt small next to La’ard. Then again, it could have been the crown La’ard wore everywhere. Kreitan thought that adornment unnecessary, making his king look like a fool.

“So the lead proved false?”

“No, sire. There were complications.”

La’ard stopped and turned toward his captain. Long silver locks of hair swished around the crown. The hair was a common trait among the Mathis royal line. No one touched the king’s hair. It seemed that no one needed to. La’ard relished how some servants whispered that his hair was magically enchanted, while peons from the town below the hill said it was wraith’s hair and that La’ard himself was an apparition in disguise. All utter nonsense, but the king did not wish to dispel the rumor, for it caused loyalty—or at least fearful devotion.

“Complications?”

“Yes, sire.”

“So, I gather you were not able to retrieve what I sent you for.” La’ard began walking again. Kreitan followed suit.

“No, sire.”

“Was the item even there?”

“Unknown, sire.”

La’ard pursed his lips and lapsed into silence. The two men entered a hallway corridor, where a servant quickly skittered out of their path.

“But I trust the baker and his family were brought in for further scrutiny?”

“The baker was, but the wife and daughter were not.”

La’ard stopped and looked back at Kreitan. “Escaped?”

“The daughter…yes. The wife did not…escape.” A small smile cracked the captain’s face. Kreitan only found pleasure in the death and misery of others.

“I see.” The king paused. “What should our next actions be, Kreitan?”

“I believe the girl knows something.”

“Continue.”

“She ran.”

La’ard looked at the man. “Of course she ran. Your Witch Guard are feared throughout the land. I’m sure Euphoria would….”

The king caught his words and paused a moment.

Kreitan waited. He knew the king’s weakness was his precious daughter. It was the reason for all the ‘chores’ Kreitan had to do. He decided to provide a little more unasked detail to hide his delight.

“When using the daughter as leverage, the baker cracked even more so than when using his wife. When he found out she escaped, he clammed up.”

La’ard continued down the hall. Kreitan had to take a hurried step to catch up. “The bond between father and daughter is a strong one, more so than wife and husband. Of course, he would crack more when the child was threatened.”

“The girl also escaped from three of my Witch Guard with help from a Mordock.”

The king stopped in his steps and swiftly turned. “A Mordock? Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be from my men’s descriptions. He claimed to be her uncle.”

La’ard hesitated. “Was this man brought in?”

Kreitan hesitated a moment, a definite sign of weakness. La’ard would criticize him for this. “The Mordock also escaped. My men claimed magic, but I believe it was a simple smoke bomb that confused them. They have been dealt with.” A slight smile hinted upon his face. La’ard cringed.

After a moment, captain and king began moving again.

“Where is the girl now?”

“She jumped into Kilarne River and was pulled down stream.”

La’ard cursed under his breath.

Turning a corner and descending stairs, the castle façade changed—mood, temperature, and light. A smell of defeat hung on the air. At the bottom of the staircase, a door opened.

Tyr, the chief dungeoner stood on the other side. Tyr was darker than the absence of light and larger than any column of marble used in Euphoria’s room. His hands were two huge boulders themselves that had crushed many a man’s skull. Muscle and flesh that served La’ard.

“Sire.” Tyr’s deep voice greeted him. La’ard visibly shook each time he heard Tyr’s voice.

Kreitan watched, apparently amused. La’ard knew he enjoyed Tyr’s demon vocal cords placed in a behemoth of a man. His voice rattled the prisoners to madness and their hearts to despair.

“Bring me the prisoner.” La’ard commanded.

Tyr struck the floor twice with his mighty poleaxe. The sound reverberated off the stone walls. Within seconds, a smaller guard appeared at Tyr’s side.

“Prisoner.”

The guard wasted no time on his mission. Within a minute, Kara’s father crumpled on the floor before La’ard.

The baker struggled to look up. Shackles weighed down his arms. His eyes widened as he recognized the king.

New strength allowed him to scramble forward and reach out for the king’s boots. “Your majesty….please….”

Tyr raised one foot slightly and stepped down on the baker’s arm. The prisoner howled in pain as a bone snapped.

“I heard you have not answered my questions satisfactorily. Now, why would you want to make me angry?” La’ard said.

The sniveling heap of a man looked up again. One eye, half-closed by swelling, and a burn mark on his left cheek marred his face. Life had melted away from the baker, seeped into the walls, and escaped.

“But…” A raspy whisper through the pain.

La’ard nodded to Tyr, the slightest of nods. The poleaxe, pole side, smacked the prisoner under the chin, lifting his whole form up off the floor only to fall back again. His face slammed into the hard, stone floor.

Master Kreitan watched from the side, showing no outward signs of enjoyment.

“I am a patient man.” La’ard said. “But you are spending that patience quickly. Your daughter will soon be with us. And perhaps your Mordock brother, as well.”

“What? No.” Even through all the pain and hurt, the concern came through.

“Then tell me what I want to know. Where is the shard?” The king’s anger reared its ugly head.

“W-why….”

La’ard barely heard it. “Why, you ask? You stupid, stupid man!” La’ard turned toward Tyr. “Make the prisoner stand.”

Roughly, the dungeoner hauled the baker to his feet using one huge hand. Slowly Kirt’s legs firmed enough to hold him upright without support from Tyr.

The king kept his eyes focused on the prisoner, but held out a hand. “Kreitan, your sword, if you please.”

Kreitan pulled his sword from its scabbard and handed it to the king.

La’ard admired the blade, turning it over in his hands. “Your daughter will die today for your stupidity, baker. I am only asking for information about a simple object, yet you refuse to tell me what I want to know. What if I take your precious little girl away from you? Maybe I will bring you her head and see if that….”

The prisoner lunged at the king. “You wouldn’t dare, you tyrant!”

Tyr’s strong hand crushed the prisoner’s shoulder. The baker cried out and fell to his knees. The dungeoner coaxed him back to a standing position.

“I grow weary of your blatant disrespect of your king.” La’ard approached and laid the blade against the baker’s neck and pressed just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. “Last chance.”

From the left came a squeal of laughter and clanging chains.

An emaciated man in manacles ran straight at the king. La’ard ducked as a chain whipped by his head. It struck the baker in the forehead, knocking him to the stone floor.

Tyr’s large black hand shot out and grabbed the escaped prisoner by the face and flung him back against the wall with a crack. The assailant fell to the ground, unmoving.

The king screamed in anger. “What is the meaning of this? Do you let your prisoners run free?”

“Sire, Jenkins has an uncanny ability to escape.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t do so again!” La’ard turned away from Tyr and saw the baker was out cold. He bent down, grabbed the prisoner by his hair, and shook him. “Where is it? I was not going to kill you today! Where is it?” La’ard shook him again, but there was no response.

He shoved the prisoner away and glared down at the unconscious man.

“I tire of this charade, Master Kreitan. We were close this time. Very close.”

Kreitan did not say anything, but kept his eyes locked on La’ard’s. The king looked away first.

“The girl, then?” Kreitan’s voice held but a simple twinge of delight. Delight for the future prospect of telling the girl that her father was imprisoned, probably.

La’ard rubbed at his temples and then ran his hand through his hair. “Do you think she knows something?”

“She did run.”

“That does not mean she has the shard. Like I told you before, you do tend to scare children with your tactics. Roughing up their parents isn’t a suitable way for saying hello.”

The king turned to Tyr. “Take the baker away. Lock him in a cell with that thing.” La’ard gestured to the slumped form of Jenkins. Tyr barely nodded. “Oh, and next time I visit, please make sure the guests are properly restrained.” A weak smile graced the king’s face before he turned to Kreitan. “Bring me the shard.” La’ard whispered. “Do it quickly, Kreitan. I don’t know how much time she has left.”

La’ard proceeded up the stone steps slowly, wearily. So much at stake. He slowly turned to look at his underling. Kreitan rubbed his hands together. Something about that worried the king.

Guards unceremoniously dragged the baker away. A trail of sweat, grime and even a little blood marked the path. In the corner, a rat scurried by. Kreitan bent down and snatched it by the tail. It squeaked a horrible sound as it fought to be free of the hands. Kreitan caressed it.

A shudder passed through La’ard as he watched the scene. Doubt crept into his mind about the captain’s involvement.

“Take care of my prisoner.”

Master Kreitan turned and casually tossed the animal over his shoulder. The rat hit the stone floor. Its feet found purchase and it darted away.