CHAPTER 18
Over the hill, nestled in a deep valley ahead, the town of Dudje came into view. It was a wondrous sight to behold, gnome craftsmanship being what it was. Logan figured there had to be hundreds of homes in the town, and according to Bipp, each household contained dozens of family members living together.
Nearby to the west where the cavern ended, water foamed high up the face of a wall. A majestic waterfall roared there, forming the Green Serpent River at its base, which cut directly through the valley before snaking northeast. The gnomes had carved a massive face around the deep hole from which the water flowed, giving the illusion of a mighty crowned gnome roaring while frothing water poured from his lips. The waterfall was some distance away from Dudje, but from this vantage point, Logan could see it clearly, and it made the air misty, smelling like sea foam and sandalwood. At the falls’ base there was a large wooden water wheel slowly spinning in the flowing river.
Bipp explained that his people actually captured energy from the moving water, which they then funneled along the town in lines that were attached to the various buildings. Twinkling lights ran up and down the oddly winding streets, giving the place an amazing presence in the underworld. All along the river, barges made their way in and out of the trade port, transporting goods to a network of other gnome settlements.
The hill dropped into a steep decline, and the path became a series of carved steps. This was safer than the shale they had been traversing, which was slick from the spray of the waterfall, yet still tricky for a big-footed human to manage, the steps being carved for gnomish-sized travelers. The path came right down to the edge of the riverbank, before it cut sharply right, away from the water and into a wide, hand-carved tunnel, boring under the next hill. Dudje could only be accessed from the south by this route, and they had wisely built it in a such a way as to provide a natural barrier to their settlement.
Logan and Bipp made their way quickly through the burrow, and on the other side, the ceiling opened back up to the cavern. The walls widened slightly to the sides, and Logan was alarmed to see that overhead sat four armored soldiers, spears pointed down at them. From the top of the town wall in front of them, a blue-bearded guard shouted down.
“Whatcha be wanting, wanderers?”
Bipp raised his finger, ready to answer, but one of the soldiers overhead jubilantly interrupted him.
“Blimey, it’s none other than Brillfilbipp Bobblefuzz hisself, back from the dead!”
The rampart overhead filled with a gleeful commotion at the news. Two of the soldiers even dropped their spears and broke into a merry jig, twirling around each other with one arm locked in the other’s elbow. The third clapped his thick hands excitedly, carelessly dropping his spear to join in. The tip of it dug firmly into the ground between Logan’s feet. The gatekeeper roared with laughter, throwing the switch and opening the massive stone gates outward.
Bipp looked at Logan, down at the spear by his feet, then back up and gave a nervous chuckle. “Sorry about that. The boys can get a little excitable at times.”
Logan just shrugged.
No sooner had they passed through the gates than a small crowd of nearby gnomes scurried over to greet Bipp. Walking through the streets, they were swarmed by the little people, each making sure to greet Bipp, welcoming him home with pats on the back and questions followed by more questions. The children were the worse of the lot, but several women also assaulted Bipp with unexpected kisses, some more passionately than others. It would seem he had become quite the lady’s man, especially now that his story had spread through the town.
It went a little like this: Farmer Torkin ran back into town to alert the watch that Bipp had fought off a ten-foot roc-bat trying to steal their crops. He was said to have been battling the creature like a classic hero of gnomish myth when another twice its size swooped out of the air to carry him away. Apparently, Bipp bravely fought the bat hundreds of feet in the air, shouting, “For Thorgar’s glory!” before disappearing into the wilds, forever lost to his people.
Bipp laughed heartily at the ridiculous tale, which was currently being retold by the town barber. Logan noted that though his friend did not confirm the story, he also did not go out of his way to deny it. He looked to be having so much fun with all the attention that Logan could hardly fault him for it, especially after all the white lies he had told over the years.
While the gnomes of Dudje were surely excited and merry to have Bipp back among them, there were also many distrustful looks thrown Logan’s way. Even after Bipp’s retelling of his capture and rescue from the cannibal’s camp, most of the cheers were oddly aimed the gnome’s direction, celebrating the fictional tale of derring-do they preferred of his escape.
Not that Logan really minded, as entranced as he was by the architecture of this town. Once they were past the gates, the road was paved with cobblestones, periodically breaking into elaborately carved slate steps with metal railings fashioned in the shapes of slithering snakes and dragons, their scales serving a dual purpose of aesthetics and textured grip. The entire town was built upon stone hills, with roads winding up and down, curving around higher and higher to the tops of small rounded peaks.
All along the charming roads were strange structures. They were unlike the wooden cabins he grew up in or the buildings in Fal, which were carved from the very rock of the original mountain his ancestors had settled. Instead, the buildings of Dudje were made of brick and something Bipp called plaster. The sides of some held large iron wheels attached to old pipes entering and leaving the structures, creating a network that attached them all together. When he asked Bipp what they were for, he whispered, “The plumbing.” Logan found that somewhat gross to think about. Why would anyone want to relieve themselves in their own home?
Even more interesting, the houses were built on top of each other, like stacked piles of books set at odd angles. One shop sold radishes from a squat rectangular building, to the side of which iron rung steps spiraled to a home cropping out from the rooftop that was tall and narrow. Most of the area was covered with a type of sphagnum moss, which was apparently fantastic for growing flowers and attracted plenty of small cave finches of all colors.
Another spectacle he had never seen before were the colorfully spotted mushrooms that dotted the landscape of neighborhoods and shops. Some had wooden swings hanging from them or small gnomish children kicking a ball on top. The town was truly awe-inspiring with its merry residents and brightly lit streets.
The deeper they made it into Dudje, the less the town folk swarmed them, until they were finally left walking side by side with only a handful of Bipp’s friends and one woman who stared at him with a sparkle in her eyes. During their travels, Bipp had told Logan much of Clara, whom he had been chasing after for years now. Logan guessed the heroic tales Farmer Torkin had spun swayed her to see what she had been missing all this time.
“We are almost at the town hall!” Bipp proudly exclaimed.
The news sent butterflies fluttering in Logan’s stomach. There was a lot at stake here for him. If the meeting with Mayor Fimbas went well, then he would have a home again. But there was that lingering doubt that his request would be denied.
The rounded building that was the town hall stuck out of the scenery like the top of some buried Elder’s bald head. It was considerably larger than the stacks of homes surrounding it. The building was carved from a single massive block of stone and looked like it could withstand the ages right up until the end of time. The gray structure was flecked with mushroom-capped domes, and jutting guard towers rested all around it. At the top of a long series of steps, two statues of massive basilisks sat on either side of the entrance, as if left by the gods to guard the place for eternity.
Bipp’s retinue quieted to a respectful murmur once inside the hall. High above Logan’s head, a grand fresco decorated the rounded ceiling, and the interior of the structure was lined with finely carved cherry wood walls. Another set of wooden doors, again as t
all as the ceiling, sat closed in front of them at the end of a bright crimson carpet where the hallway curved around the center of the building’s inner circle, dotted with alcoves, each showcasing marble statues of different ancient kings and heroes of myth.
A group of heavily armored gnomes blocked the group’s path, spears pressed together to form a barricade. Their leader folded his thick, hairy arms over a chest of chainmail with animal skins poking out from the sleeves and glowered at them under a conical helmet that covered the top of his large head.
“Falians ain’t allowed in the mayor’s chambers, Bipp. You should know better,” the scruffy gnome informed Bipp from beneath his wildly unkempt salt and pepper beard and frayed eyebrows.
“Rest easy, Grubblefrop. This here is a good friend of mine,” Bipp said merrily enough. “Saved me from some cannibals looking to make themselves a gnome sammich.”
“I don’t care if’n King Ul’krin himself stepped out of the grave and escorted the man here, only Mayor Fimbas himself can give the order for entry to the human. And ye got a better chance of seeing me dance a jig than that happening,” Grubble growled, the scars on his face twitching.
Bipp moved to protest, but the gnome scowled at him with black pupils and shot Logan a dark look, as if his very presence offended the warrior. Bipp’s face grew red and he looked as if steam might shoot out of his ears.
“It’s okay, Bipp,” Logan said. “I’ll wait right here while you go on in and talk with the mayor.”
Bipp cooled off quickly, winking at Logan to signal his show of anger was only a ploy. “Fine, Grubblefrop, but my friend is staying right here in the hall.”
“Aye, all the better for me to keep an eye on the human anyhow.”
As Bipp approached the massive doors, Logan was amused to see a smaller, four-foot portal swing inward from the center. When it shut, not even the faintest hint of an outline remained.
Hours trickled past slowly in the great curved hallway, and Logan could only pace back and forth, patiently waiting for his friend to come out. The entire time, the warriors watched him warily, with Grubble not even trying to hide his look of disdain. Echoes of conversation from inside the chamber could be heard, but the words themselves were too muffled to make out.
When the bell gonged from the roof of the building, announcing the time for second supper had arrived, the soldiers took turns pulling out small parcels to eat. They supped on candied mushrooms, potato stews, and other richly smelling foods, while the rest kept their vigil over Logan, daring him to try some human trickery.
Finally, the small wooden door opened outward once more, catching one of the guards by surprise and knocking him face first into his companion’s stew.
“Send in the human,” boomed a voice from the inner chamber, leaving Grubblefrop with an expression of sheer bewilderment. The blood drained from his face and he began frantically looking from the open doorway to Logan.
A cocky smile spread across Logan’s face as he strutted past the rude little warriors. “Guess you owe me that jig, huh?”
Inside, the antechamber was much smaller than he anticipated. The ceiling dropped and the round room was dotted with doorways to other offices. Book-lined shelving circled half the room, and the floor was covered with a large, cherry red rug woven with patterns of flowers and mushrooms.
A large gnome, being roughly four feet tall, which for his race was big indeed, sat behind a long desk built from walnut wood, a very rare material in Vanidriell. He sat perched in a tall, stately chair, which was lined with a matching cherry red fabric, and wore a golden circlet around his head. The headdress was set with a flawless polished emerald that matched his thick, mossy-green hair and muttonchops. Strange, thin, swirling lines danced in patterns on his smooth forehead and cheeks. They were neither painted on nor scars.
Bipp’s smiling face popped around one of the seats facing the desk, and he happily motioned for Logan to come sit beside him.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mayor Fimbas,” Logan said, trying to sound as respectful as possible, but the gnome bristled up at him.
“We do not speak until the mayor allows us,” Bipp whispered, explaining the man’s ire.
“Did not think to teach the Falian the proper decorum of court, Brillfilbipp?” the mayor said in a gruff voice, to which the little gnome could only reply with a shrug and an innocent smile.
“Falian, I have heard much of your deeds to rescue our goodly engineer, Brillfilbipp Bobblefuzz. For this you have the gratitude of Dudje.”
Although he was brimming inside to hear the praise, Logan held his composure and bowed his head, trying to convey he was humbled by the man’s words.
“Bipp here has brought the matter of your living arrangements to the attention of this office, petitioning to allow you a place among our people,” the mayor said, prompting Bipp to punch his friend’s forearm and wiggle his eyebrows in delight.
“That request has been denied,” Fimbas stated flatly.
Logan felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and his stomach churned sickly at the news. Bipp looked much the same.
“You may speak now.”
“I don’t understand, Mayor,” Logan said. “From what I saw walking through town, it looks like there is more than enough room here for me, and surely Bipp can attest to my honorable intentions. Is it a matter of earning my keep? There has to be plenty I could do for you around here.” Logan’s mind raced for an idea that would sway the mayor’s decision.
“The bottom line is that we do not know you,” Mayor Fimbas said. “All we know is that you are a Falian.”
Logan furrowed his brow.
“Ah, I see our little engineer has not told you? Please, you must pardon his mistake. It is easy for us to forget just how short human lives are. You see, Falians are forbidden in the town of Dudje, as they are in most of the settlements of Vanidriell.”
Logan was flabbergasted by that news. “To be honest, Mayor, just a few weeks ago I had no idea any other settlements even existed in the wild lan…er...in Vanidriell. All my life we have only ever heard of New Fal and our neighboring kingdom, Malbec.”
“Typical Falian arrogance, to teach that anything outside their stolen kingdom is nothing more than wildlands. I do not fault you this ignorance, lad, it was bred into you.” Fimbas casually laid the insult at his feet.
“Please, Mayor, I do not know what the people of New Fal did to earn such hatred,” Logan said. “But being an outcast of the kingdom myself, it is only with good intentions that I come before you.”
“This was mentioned earlier. Tell me more about becoming an exile,” Fimbas prompted.
While Logan retold the story of his journey to Fal, warning the city and fighting off the insect horde, the mayor looked quite bored. But when Logan came to the part about meeting Mr. Beauford, Fimbas perked up and his face grew heavy indeed to learn that the goodly gnome was murdered, listening intently to the tale of the ebony-skinned assassin.
Once Logan’s tale was over, the mayor sat in silence, slowly turning the rings on his chubby fingers. “That is quite the yarn you have knitted, Logan Walker of Riverbell. How do I know you are telling the truth of it?”
“I could ask the same of you in a different way. Why did you invite me into your chamber without taking away any of my weapons, knowing I could easily jump across this desk and murder you? The answer is simple: because you trust Bipp, who trusts me, a mutual feeling that we have both earned. You brought me in here to toy with me, knowing you are not going to let me stay, yet teasing me with hope. What reason could I possibly have to lie?”
Bipp widened his eyes both at his friend’s bold words, well intentioned as they were, and at Mayor Fimbas, who was rumbling with laughter.
“That very question reveals your youth and the deep disconnect between human and gnome thinking. I can see you truly believe the idea of lying over this would be absurd, which gives me a glimmer of optimism that perhaps there is still ho
pe for the humans of New Fal after all. Then again, most likely not, since they chased you out, eh? As for being defenseless, are you really foolish enough to believe I would allow such a thing?”
The gnome directed his attention around the ceiling, where dozens of miniature crossbows were being held steady through circular portholes, all pointed at Logan’s seat.
Logan swallowed. “Mayor, I did not mean to—”
“Don’t worry, lad, I know you were not threatening me, and I see the truth in you. Something my great Uncle Beauford no doubt saw as well. Otherwise why would he have taken you under his wing in such a short time?”
As uneasy as he was to learn that dozens of crossbows were pointed at him, Logan was dumbfounded to hear this. “Mayor Fimbas, I had no idea you were related to Mr. Beauford. Sir…there was one other task he charged me with before dying,” Logan said, unsure how to proceed.
He reached into his vest to pull out the pendant he had been keeping safely tucked away beside his heart and presented it across the desk to the mayor, who grew wide-eyed and sucked in his breath. Fimbas gently took the teardrop-shaped jewel, dangling it before his eyes in awe. Overhead, the gnomes began whispering excitedly.
“I swore to Beauford that I would get this to his family and am humbled to know that task has been completed,” Logan said.
The mayor eyed him as if he had forgotten Logan was in the room. Putting the pendant in his own jacket pocket, the gnome tapped a finger to his lips, studying Logan. “It is very interesting, though, your tale. What I am sure you are not aware of is the fact that my great uncle was not only a wealthy merchant in New Fal, but also, and long before he settled with the humans, a famous Seer among our folk.”
“What is a seer, sir?” Logan asked.
“Not a seersir,” Fimbas said. “A seer. It’s like a prophet. Means he often divined the future.”
“Kind of like a fortune teller?” Logan asked.
“Not in the same way you mean it, with scarves and cards and such. No, this is less a telling and more of a glimpse. Beauford was never known for being overly open to strangers. Him taking you into his employment, not even knowing you, that rings of something from ages ago,” Fimbas thought aloud, trying to grasp a memory that made sense in this context.
“Are you saying he saw Logan in a divination?” Bipp asked, sparking the bridge in the mayor’s mind.
The Mayor tossed Bipp a cross look for interrupting his train of thought, even though it had helped form the connection he was trying to grasp. Snapping his fingers, Fimbas stood up and circled the desk, motioning for the pair to follow. Grumbling across the room, he thumbed a shelf of dusty tomes until he found what he was looking for. Flipping through the worn volume, titled Divinizations of the Fourth Age by Beauford Bomble, the Mayor found the entry and tapped the page.
“Yes, yes, here it is. I remember coming across this when I was a wee lad.” He read on.
‘In the waning month of Farl,
Triumphant, our engineer will reappear.
The Walker brings the talisman back to blood,
Swayed by the path of truth,
Following the emerald snake north,
Thus will mark the dawn,
And so begins the Fourth Age of Acadia.’
“What does it mean?” Logan asked.
“Only Uncle Beauford himself would know the answer to that question,” Fimbas said. “And he ain’t around no more, eh? Whatever he saw, he found it important enough to warn you to go searching for the truth and set you on a path that would lead to my very doorstep with his dying breath.”
“What else does it say?” Bipp asked eagerly.
“Nothing more. Some information about crops, marriages, births, etc. Wasn’t like my Great Uncle walked around spitting out major events day in and day out. But he did reference the Walker. Now that I hold this in my hands, it’s starting to come back to me. This tome was one of his last journals, before he suddenly packed up and left Dudje to set up his shop on New Fal. At the time, everyone thought he had lost his wits and figured the scrying had finally turned him mad. Not my da, though. He always said if Great Uncle Beauford did something, you could bet there was a good enough reason behind it…and now I think that motive’s finally starting to become clear.” Fimbas paused to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, this could all be nothing more than a faint glimpse into your future.”
“But by the looks on both your faces, I’m guessing it’s a little more important than that?” Logan said.
“The seer said Fourth Age of Acadia, Logan,” Bipp said.
“Yeah, what’s the big deal? We all know it’s the year 396 and the fourth century is upon us,” Logan said.
“What Bipp here means to point out, and your human mind is not perceiving, is the mention of Acadia,” Fimbas said. “Now, I don’t know about you Falians, but we gnomes of Vanidriell stopped referring to Acadia ages ago, when we first came down here. The only time any of us even say it is when we are talking about…”
The hairs on Logan’s neck rose and goose bumps trickled across his forearms as the realization hit him. “The surface world,” he finished for the Mayor.
“Exactly.” Fimbas clapped the book closed and placed it back on the shelf. Moving to a nearby table, he stretched a tall scroll across it, holding down the edges with a paperweight and a fantasy book he had been reading about a lonely troll. Logan could see it was a map of Vanidriell, but it was unlike any he had ever known of, showing dozens of gnome settlements. The mayor traced a path with his thick, ringed forefinger, starting at Dudje.
“This is where we are now, and if I’m correct, which is usually the case, you need to follow the Winding Trail east until you hit the Green Serpent River again. Then work your way northward, keeping on the river’s course, until you reach….” The mayor stopped at a fork in the river, and silently followed it right, to the town of Mushroom Hollow. Shaking his head he started over, following left instead where it flowed a short distance before disappearing into a marked sink hole. When he came to the spot he tapped it, grumbling under his breath at Logan’s destination.
“Sweet mother of pearl.” Bipp gaped, staring wide-eyed at where the mayor’s forefinger rested.
“Watch your mouth, young’un,” Fimbas said.
Logan pointed at that section of the map. “What is that area there?”
“The divination’s words make sense now,” the mayor said. “Beauford must have seen you traveling to the ruins of Ul’kor.” As the name was spoken, both gnomes crossed their fingers twice over their hearts, muttering an incantation. “Tis the ancient site of gnome civilization in the underworld, a massive kingdom only whispered of over campfires, human. Aye, if there were ever a place of truth, ‘twould be there for sure,” Fimbas reckoned.
“Not sure I like the sound of this place,” Logan said.
“Wouldn’t be blamin’ you for that,” Fimbas said. “Even the most stalwart gnomish treasure hunters know better than to try their luck at Ul’kor. That place was the site of a great evil, a huge war waged on our very doorstep; pushed we gnomes deeper into the underworld and scattered us across the land.”
“What could have happened there to drive out a whole city of gnomes?” Logan said.
“Not just our race were driven out. Was humans and bullywogs that lived there too. Not many around anymore that remember what it was that happened back then. Most of the poor bastards have long since passed into the glorious halls of Valhalla. And don’t you think none of ‘em were talkin’ too much about it when we was youngsters, neither. The mere mention would get ye done over real good, and that was if ye were lucky.” Fimbas bristled, repaying one such time in his mind.
“Well, it sounds like something that happened ages ago,” Logan said. “Why haven’t your people ever just reclaimed the land?”
“Would that we could. Whatever it was scattered us to build new homes all across Vanidriell. Once they were built, not many wanted to go back for the curs
ed place. Meant having to rebuild all over again, and what’s the point? It’s too far up, anyhow; thin air up in those parts. Besides, the few foolish enough to try their luck never returned, except one mighty warrior of legend, and that was my own da. He used to tell stories about how he got close enough to see that the area is now completely overrun with cobolds and their wicked pets.”
“What’s a cobold?” Logan asked.
Mayor Fimbas looked as if he wanted to spit on his own floor. “Vile creatures a little smaller than a gnome but covered in fur and scales. They’re flesh eaters and filthy dogs at that.”
Most people would hear this and run in the opposite direction. Most people would understand the weight of fear that played in the mighty gnome leader’s words. After all, legends always came from some measure of truth. The problem was that Logan Walker was not most people. He was the boy who dreamed of adventuring in the forests of Malbec, searching for lost treasures and coming back to town a hero with women fawning over him. He could not help the devious look that spread over his face as the possibility of those very adventures were now being laid out before him.
“Looks like I need some supplies, Bipp,” he said. “I’m going to Ul’kor!”
“Count me in!” Bipp said, hopping in the air and clapping his hands in excitement. They laughed together for a moment, forgetting their manners in the presence of the mayor, who sobered them up under a withering glare.
“This is by no means some trivial task you are choosing to embark upon,” Fimbas warned. “Just because Uncle Beauford saw it does not mean it needs to be.”
“I understand that, Mayor...I do,” Logan said, showing a little humility for once. “We do not mean to take this lightly. It’s just, if this is what Beauford wanted—what he saw—then I feel it’s my duty to see it through. There’s something deeper here than I can understand, and I need to figure out what that is.”
Mayor Fimbas bowed his head and turned to Bipp. “Brillfilbipp, if you insist on accompanying this human to Ul’kor, I must demand sending some sort of protection for you.”
No sooner did the mayor call for his guards to get Grubble then the gnomes above clambered into the ceiling passageway and the chamber door was swinging open. The old, grouchy gnome warrior tentatively approached his mayor.
“Grubblefrop Gilviri, you who have long served the Town of Dudje faithfully, I have a request for you,” Mayor Fimbas began.
“Sure you be sayin’ request, but from the tone of it, it’s soundin’ more likely to be an order, milord,” the bedraggled gnome replied.
Fimbas smirked. “Quite the same thing, last I recall. I need you to accompany loyal Brillfilbipp here to the ruins of Ul’kor.”
At this, the veteran’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, bushy eyebrows arching in surprise. “Tis madness. Surely ye cannot be meaning...”
“I can and I am. The only madness here would be for us to let young Bipp go on a journey of such magnitude without the likes of Grubblefrop Gilviri, the only warrior alive what could handle such an undertaking. Surely you can dispense a handful of cobolds, even at yer old age, eh? Besides, it’s long past time you got out and carved a couple more notches into yer belt. You don’t think I don’t be knowing how bored you are sitting in front of me doors all day?”
“It is my honor to serve as Captain of the Town Guard, yer lordship,” Grubble replied halfheartedly.
“Bah, drop the humility. I can already see by the look in yer eyes you’re lusting for adventure.”
Logan noted that there was certainly a different look about the warrior, although he was not sure it was one of excitement.
“Now you go get ready for the road, it’s leaving first thing in the morning for the lot of you,” Fimbas said. “And make sure our engineer here gets back safely, or at least mostly in one piece.”
“It will be done, milord,” Grubble said and gave an obnoxiously mocking bow before the trio headed out to get some sleep for the evening.
They would be setting out first thing in the morning, and Logan wanted to be well rested.