Chapter 50

Day 193-200:

John had a problem, and Dulgan was its source. Oh, the Dwarf was a fine traveling companion. After departing the camp, the Dwimar led them to a well-concealed entrance back underground. The Obsidian Peaks were honeycombed with passages and caves where far more Clans than John had figured made their homes. They zig-zagged their way between Dvergyr and Dwimar clan areas, never moving in a straight line. At first, Dulgan’s inquisitive nature charmed John while they walked. The Dwarf was an active listener, a core skill for building rapport. He’d turned that on John and before the warrior knew it, John had parted with practically his entire biography.

“Canna go that way.” Dulgan remarked, the first time they made an abrupt detour. “Big clan o’ them unscrupulous ones I told ya bout.”

They rested each night with a different clan, which is where the trouble started. Dulgan truly was a famous Dwarf. No sooner had they sat down, after being granted instantaneous access without issue, than the clan’s Masters would monopolize Dulgan’s attention. They presented various items, weapons, armor or other enchanted things that they begged him to examine and render his opinion. Their conversations descended into the minutia of the craft, held in the mathematically-oriented Dwarven tongue. Dulgan was tutoring John on it, and making some headway, but these discussions were so far beyond John’s understanding that they might as well have been speaking Martian.

For his part, Dulgan treated this activity with an excess of humility. Arrogance wasn’t one of the Dwarf’s failings. From discussions between them as they traveled, John gleaned that Dulgan’s mentor had taken the young crafter under his wing when the lad first showed great promise. Dulgan called this man his ‘uncle’, but from the way Dwarves seemed to speak about clan and family relationships, John didn’t think they quite lined up with how he understood them.

From practically the first time he’d picked up a tool, Dulgan had crafted only masterwork items. His uncle, seeing the arrogance of both youth and instant, unwarranted success blooming, taught Dulgan that his ability didn’t make him any better than another crafter. Dulgan understood that the ‘Master’ titles bestowed on him weren’t earned the way everyone else had. Yes, Dulgan’s Sight gave him an advantage over decades of hard experience, but it didn’t mean he was their superior. Knowing for himself how difficult pounding that particular lesson into a young person’s head was, John’s respect for Dulgan’s uncle shot through the stratosphere.

Dulgan always courteously requested permission to guest with a clan. He treated the inevitable crush with gracious respect for the Dwarves who’d spent decades honing their craft. Never showing impatience, or weariness for the nonstop questions, he held court like a true gentleman. He rarely interrupted when someone was speaking, and when the Dwimar did so, it was always apologetic. One benefit of the attitude was that their payment for food or drink was always refused, though Dulgan tried repeatedly every time.

No, self-promotion wasn’t the issue. Though he’d called himself ‘Duin’ to John’s ‘Ringean’ in private, Dulgan never made reference to that pair when speaking about John. Unfortunately, that was the only heroic implication he avoided. Dulgan seemed to have developed a serious case of hero-worship for John. Whenever talk turned to Dulgan’s own background, the Dwimar immediately changed the subject to the ‘amazing’ and ‘fantastic’ things John had done.

The problem was, Dulgan thought John walked on water, and knew exactly how to talk about him in a way that stirred up the other Dwarves to think similarly. By the fifth stop, John found himself a center of attention from the clan warriors. They wanted to know if he’d really done three Challenges, finishing the hardest Tasks. Had he traveled halfway across the world using special rocks he carried in a pocket? Which was the toughest foe: giant, golem or orc? Apparently, there were no orcs this far south, so that race rivaled giants (which had their own cousins in the area) for reputed martial prowess. Also, could they touch his boots? Did Duin really, honest-to-whoever reside in them?

At night John went to sleep with the most enamored still admiring the footwear, and woke up in the morning to find them decorated with all manner of bracelets, anklets and necklaces. Some were enchanted, while others were just valuable. Dulgan wouldn’t let him return them either.

“They gave us hospitality.” The Dwimar announced. “Be ungrateful ta turn it away, now that we’re leaving.”

John’s pack was going to get really heavy, at this rate!

Two clan warriors presented themselves when Dulgan and John prepared to leave.

“Take us with you.” They begged.

Both were very young, though adults by Dwarf standards.

At no point had either of them mentioned their actual destination, by prior agreement. Apparently, the closer they got to the Undead Swamp, the more likely it became that word would leak and make their attempt more difficult. If they told these two, they might as well have a sign made up announcing it.

“Why would you wanna do that?” Dulgan asked.

“You’re famous!” One declared.

The other nodded excitedly. “You have all sorts o’ adventures! We kin help!”

Dulgan stepped close to the pair. “Do you know what an’venture is? Tis bein’ hungry, tired an’ havin’ hordes o’ enemies tryin’ ta kill you. For every person standing here, there’s ten, twenty lyin’ dead behind. I idn’t no warrior, you know that ta be true. But from what Jin here says, he’s seen more death than’ny three Legion invasions. I’ll not steal yer clan’s best warriors away. The Chief know yer plan?”

Both looked chagrined. Heads dropped and shook silently.

“Do yer duty.” Dulgan finished. “An’ if the time comes that we need help, I’ll be happy ta ask fer you by name. Fair?”

They drew up and saluted.

“Jashul.” One barked.

“Uykkum.” The other said.

“I’ll ‘member you.” Dulgan promised. “Now, off with ya.”

The two darted away, leaving John to share a knowing look with the Dwarf. They chuckled quietly and departed.

John put it out of his mind as they set out. Dulgan warned that they were only a few more days from needing to go back above ground and enter the swamp. Their route became more linear, prompting John to ask why when they stopped for a brief lunch.

“No other way.” Dulgan replied.

The Dwarf pointed one way, at right angles to their travel path. “Only a few leagues that way lies the kin-stealer’s domain. Canna go that way. When he makes you leave, ya better stay gone. Or ‘lse.”

He pointed the opposite way. “Only a pair o’ ridges that way lies the end o’ the swamp itself. If’n we continue this way, there’s a short extension that juts out inta the swamp an’ gets us closest ta the Bone Dragon’s Ziggurat.”

Dulgan drew in the dirt. His first diagram looked like a yin-yang symbol.

“Ya know this rune? Tis the one for balance. Too basic fer enchanting tis-self, but tis the basis for many o’em.”

“I’ve seen it before, yeah.” John acknowledged.

“The Ruby an’ Bone Dragons be like that. Balanced against each other, both figuratively an’ physically. Golems have some form o’ anti-death enchantment added ta ‘em. An’ rumor is, the Bone Dragon’s best guards have Dwarf-made weapons an’ armor.” Dulgan pointed at one comma-shaped side’s widest part. “This be the kin-stealer’s domain.” He drew a crescent outside the circle’s edge cupping the Ruby Dragon’s area and extending the crescent top point into the boundary between the Ruby Dragon and the narrow tail for the other half, cutting that tail short. “This be where we’re now. We’ll go’s far’s the end o’ the mountains an’ head right into the swamp. Tis the shortest, easiest route I know.”

“How many more clans in this direction then?” John wondered.

Dulgan nodded approvingly. “Only two. One Dvergyr, one Dwimar. An’ both’re known fer bein’ too friendly with the Vampyr, an’ liches an’ the like.”

“So, we avoid them.” John guessed.

“Canna do that. They control all passages I know o’ outta the mountain.” Dulgan denied. “Hafta guest with each. Tis the only way.”

“Damn.” John frowned.

“I doubt they’ll do anythin’ ta us when we’re with ‘em. Bad for their reputations, ‘s bad as they already are. But after, we gotta move fast. They’ll send word, no doubt.” Dulgan urged.

According to Dulgan, the land below dropped away in elevation, making the mountain range comparatively higher. They were at several thousand feet’s altitude currently, and needed to descend before they could exit into the swamp. They stopped by the Dvergyr clan first, since it was at the same basic height. No sooner had they stepped into the clan area than John realized exactly what Dulgan referred to. The clan’s name, Blackrock even hinted at their unsavory character.

Cold, appraising gazes evaluated them everywhere they went. Conversations hushed as they passed by, then resumed afterward. John’s hearing told him most were only questioning, but he caught more than one reference to the price on his head. When they reached a common area, and found a place to have some dinner, a bare handful of Masters came to meet with Dulgan. The items these showed were wicked, twisted things, making John’s Sight ache to Look at.

Dulgan, for his part tried to be politic, but after watching his open dialogue with previous clans, John knew even the Dwimar was uncomfortable. They played up being tired, and Dulgan’s enumeration of John’s heroic qualities was conspicuously absent. Even the hard-headed, engineer-thinking Masters sensed Dulgan’s hesitation. They cut the conversation short, thankfully leaving the pair to finish eating in peace.

The creepy scrutiny from everyone, and sidelong glances thrown their way made John realize how precarious their situation was. Dulgan was correct, they needed to be wary and move quickly when they left. They’d just wrapped up, and were ready to find a place to sleep when a team of clan guards stomped into the room. They dumped two other Dwarves at John and Dulgan’s feet.

“They belong tuh yuh?” A guard demanded.

The two warriors from that morning looked up at them fearfully.

“Dammit.” John muttered.

Dulgan sighed. “We know ‘em, yes. Guested with their clan, Coldstone last eve.”

The guard looked grim. “We caught ‘em sneaking around, tryin’ tuh get ontuh the descending stairs. That yer intention as well? Goin’ down tuh Onyxhart next?”

“Twas, though we ne’er tol’ these two that.” Dulgan admitted.

The guard kicked Uykkum. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Uykkum looked from his tormenter to Dulgan and back. “Our Chief tol’ us too keep an’ eye on ‘em. Make sure dey got wherever dey’s goin’ all safe an’ such.”

“Gut proof o’at?” The guard wanted to know.

Jashul held up a small cylinder. The guard snatched it from his hand. There was a click, and one end glowed blue. A thin sheet of metal was pulled from within, like a scroll unrolling. Whatever it said seemed to verify the young warriors’ story.

“If’n yer protectin’em, stick tuh ‘em.” The guard spat, tossing the unrolled item onto their heads.

“An’ don’ cause no trouble!” Another guard hissed, as they departed.

The pair gave Dulgan puppy-dog eyes, but the Dwimar was unfazed. He pointed at their metal scroll.

“Let me see.” Dulgan demanded. “An’ be quiet.”

They turned it over and the Dwimar read it carefully. He did something to the end, and the sheet rolled back into the metal cylinder case with a snap. Dulgan tucked the item into one of his many pockets.

“We’ll discuss this later.” He threatened. “Time to sleep.”

They were a good hour’s time into their walk the next morning before Dulgan broke their silence. An early rise, followed by a quicker departure put them on the steps leading down to the Dwimar clan, Onyxhart. Feet scuffed quietly and both older men kept a sharp eye out.

“What lyin’ story didja tell yer Chief?” The Dwimar hissed, finally.

“We didna lie!” Jashul protested. “Yer not travelin’ with a Fey fer nothin’. If’n yer’n plannin’ ta just take a tour, den we’d go back home once ya turned back. But if’n no, we wan’ta be dere first an’ such. Representin’ ur clan and helpin’ ya do it.”

“Yer no’ takin’ a tour, ‘re ya?” Uykkum asked. “Yer goin’ inta the swamp.”

“Why do you ask that?” Dulgan turned his head to give the youngsters a hard look.

“Cause yer talkin’ bout Chief Jin’s war skills ‘n such.” Uykkum replied. “If’n yer jus’ doin’ a tour, you’d be all bout craftin’ an’ such.”

“Why ‘ould we be goin’ ta the swamp?” Dulgan pushed.

“Ta do dey Bon’ Dragon’s Challenge, o’ course!” Jashul announced.

Dulgan sighed and John laughed.

“Where’d you get that idea?” Dulgan demanded.

“Ey!” Uykkum protested. “We’re young, no’ stupid! Ya mention’d Jin’s doin’ three full Challenges more times ‘n we cou’ count!”

And there was the source of the problem. Dulgan, for all his redeeming qualities, couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it came to John. If these two could figure it out, others had too no doubt. Which was proven that night when they guested with the final clan. If the Blackrock Dwarves were cold and indifferent, the Onyxhart were outright hostile. Haggling for food was intense, the first time John saw Dulgan’s skills in that area. The Dwimar was no pushover when it came to price.

The foursome, because that’s what they were now, found themselves a table in a cramped corner and ate there. Only one Master visited, and his questions were more challenging than inquisitive. He fired one after the other at Dulgan all during their meal, openly scoffing at most of the replies. The Master gave one last “bah!” and made himself scarce when the room filled with clan guards.

A group of ten mixed Dvergyr and Dwimar, wearing different style armor, from each other as well as Onyxhart, were forced into the open at sword-point. One trio, armed and armored similarly and familiarly all dropped to one knee when they laid eyes on John. They bowed heads together.

“Fey Nord, for your aid, Grimaker Chief Odak sends you our three blades, to use as you see fit.” One announced.

There was a ripple, and the other seven raggedly copied the Grimakers.

“Mine too!”

“I’ll guard your back, Chief Jin!”

“The Man-King better watch out!”

Dulgan chuckled at that last one. John shot him a quelling look. He stood up, but one of the clan guards stepped forward.

“Do you accept their service?” He asked, somewhere between skeptical and angry.

John sighed. “I do.”

The guards all tensed, while ten pairs of eyes lifted to his, hope-filled. The one questioning him glanced back at the room’s entrance, so John followed with his Sight.

Standing in the shadows was a cadaverous Dwarf, draped in a hooded cloak. Something ugly and menacing pulsed behind the Dwarf’s face. Red-tinted eyes regarded John’s own as he spoke.

Pointed teeth flashed briefly. “The east barracks, secure them there. In the morning, they depart that way.”

The instructions had been too quiet for the rest to hear, but the guard saluted and repeated what he’d been told. The cloaked Dwarf nodded once before turning away.

“All right.” John motioned for everyone to stand up.

“Point us the way, we’ll cause no trouble.” He told the guard.

They were led for a good way, down increasingly less smooth passages into a cluster of tiny rooms with only one entrance. Several guards were posted there.

“At night’s end, you depart.” The guard informed them. “Until then, you must remain here. Any found elsewhere will be executed. Understand?”

John nodded. “No problem.”

The newcomers threw angry glances at the guard as he departed. Hands rested on hilts and eager looks fixed on John.

“Thank you for coming.” He began. “We will all talk tomorrow, once we leave. Until then, assume the walls have ears.”

Eyes turned nervously to examine the rooms.

“Give me your names, and then get some sleep.” John finished.

The Grimaker trio were first.

“Kalgem Grimaker.” The first saluted.

“Kalgem, first watch.” John instructed, saluting back.

Kalgem nodded and moved off to the entrance. John was sure he’d seen the veteran before.

“Botrak Grimaker.” Said the second. John got a good feeling from this Dwarf.

John continued handing out watch assignments, making sure there were two on each shift. He repeated each Dwarf’s name, a trick he’d picked up for remembering them.

“Gamdyk Grimaker.” Where the first two had been sword and shield warriors, this one was a scout, dressed just like Odak had been.

“Hemdur Redfist.” A Dwimar warrior, with scarred and pockmarked cheeks.

“Bokhir Coinraker.” A Powry scout who seemed to glide from place to place.

“Jaduut Ambereye.” A Dwimar crafter carrying more tools than a Craftsman set.

“Hekruik Gemshaper.” A Dvergyr warrior with a giant burn slashing across his face.

“Safruim Gemshaper.” Hekruik’s brother (or cousin, they used both terms almost interchangeably), another warrior.

“Deznaek Magmacask.” A Dwimar scout who rivaled Dulgan for ‘most number of weapons tucked about his person.’

“Fokruum Magmacask.” A Dwimar warrior, with such a baby face that John wondered if his parents knew where he was.

A group of Dwarves that John would never forget.

“Well met.” John spoke up. “We’ll make more assignments come morning.”

Day 201:

They were escorted to a large gate in the morning by a force double their size. The iron barrier rose up into the ceiling as they walked beneath.

“This way is barred to your return.” One of the guards, a different one that the previous evening said.

They followed the tunnel beyond, with John in the lead. His eye caught several slots in the walls and roof, which he judged to be murder holes. After another couple hundred yards, the cave ended under a thick jungle canopy. The scent of decaying plants filled their nostrils, and to John’s Sight the trees were barely alive. Gnarled and twisted trunks rose to enormous height, coated with pale brown, drooping leaves.

“Gamdyk, Bokhir and Deznaek, you’re all scouts?” John asked.

He got affirmative nods back.

“Give me a look, no more than one hundred paces out.” He instructed.

The canopy above blocked sunlight, so on the ground plants were sparser. He could see for thirty or forty yards in the dim morning’s light before the accumulated foliage blocked him. The three scouts dashed off, signaling each other silently as they spread out. By whatever means scouts choose such things, they elected Deznaek as their leader. He took the middle route. The rest John waved to him.

“Make a circle, facing out.” He said, then watched.

Kalgem took one look at the mess they were beginning to make, and spoke up. He moved Jaduut, the crafter to John’s back, then stationed the others around until he’d made a tight, round formation. Kalgem took the point-man position for himself. The only Dwarf he exempted was Dulgan, who visibly resisted leaving John’s side.

“Do you want to scout ahead too?” John asked his friend.

Dulgan demurred. “I fear I ‘ould do a poor job o’ it.”

“You did well, keeping out of sight when you were tracking me.” John accused.

“In the mountains, yeah.” Dulgan clarified. “Here, no’ so much.”

John filed that away. Maybe he could get one of the scouts to give Dulgan a hand.

“Well,” John remarked, “it looks like Kalgem’s the squad leader. That all right with everyone?”

No one spoke up.

“Okay, first thing,” John sighed, “when I ask a question, I expect an answer. You’ve all decided to put me in charge, right?”

Kalgem looked back. “Yes, Chief.”

The others copied him belatedly.

“That’s better.” John announced. “From now on, this is your position. We might spread out, since walking around so closely like we are ain’t very comfortable, but when I say to ‘form up’ this is what I mean. Got it?”

Once again Kalgem led the, “Yes, Chief.”

The others were closer to being in sync on that one.

John turned to regard Jaduut. “Jaduut, you’re our tail end. Keep an eye on our six—I mean back trail. Dulgan, can you help him with that?”

Jaduut turned around. “I don’ un’erstan’?”

“Sure!” Dulgan replied happily.

He stepped up and turned Jaduut around, whispering in the Dwarf’s ear.

“You know to use your shield to protect the Dwarf to your left, yes?” John asked.

Kalgem beat his shield with a fist.

“Yes, Chief!” He rang out.

The others copied him, after John nodded and patted the Dvergyr’s shoulder.

“Once we’re like this.” John continued. “You don’t break ranks. Hold your spot, unless I or Kalgem say so. That rule’s the most important. Say it: I stay in my spot!”

Kalgem leading loudly, the others were in unison by the last word.

“Now, that’s what I expect of you. Here’s what you can expect of me: I will look out for you, so you should do the same for each other. Even those from other clans. If we’re gonna survive out here, we have to do it as a team. Hear me?”

“Yes, Chief!”

“Also, if you’ve got something to say, say it. Unless we’re fighting and it’s about something unimportant at the moment, just speak up. I want to hear what you’ve got to say. Your eyes all outnumber mine, if you see it don’t assume I have too. Give a holler. Sound reasonable?”

“Yes, Chief!”

Deznaek faded into view about twenty yards away. He motioned them onward, but John waved him back. John pulled the lead scout into the circle, so everyone could hear the conversation but anyone farther away wouldn’t know what they’d said.

“How’s it look?” John asked.

“A few small animals, all undead and no threat.” Deznaek said. “We can move without fear for one hundred paces.”

“Great, thank you.” John complimented him. “Where do you think we’re going?”

Deznaek shrugged. “Either cutting across this part of the swamp to reach the Endless Sands, or along the river to the Night Ports. Or else you’re planning to try for a Challenge.”

His voice told John that the final option sounded like the most interesting.

“We’re gonna go Challenge the Bone Dragon.” John admitted. “Anyone who doesn’t want to do so needs to tell me now.”

The murmurs that greeted his announcement were universally excited.