“What are you two doing?” Thorik and Avanda heard from a familiar voice.
“I’m telling you, they look older,” a deeper voice said.
“Nonsense, they are just weathered by their journey,” replied the first voice.
Both Nums opened their eyes in the cloudy evening sunlight. Thorik’s uncle, Brimmelle, was standing with his arms crossed while their giant friend, Grewen, was holding the two younger Nums in his hands after plucking them out of the river.
Brimmelle spoke up again. “We’ve been searching endlessly for you, only to find you two playing near the shore.” He could now see their faces looked older than he remembered and Avanda’s soul-markings had expanded around her neck, but he quickly dismissed it as poor sleep and nourishment. “And apparently you two need a reminder of the Mountain King’s words on personal health. You look terrible.”
Thorik didn’t care what Brimmelle had to say. They had traveled to Della Estovia, been attacked and nearly eaten by insects, and then captured by Bakalor to spend an eternity in damnation. Thorik grabbed Avanda’s head, pulled it in and kissed her hard on the lips, giving her the kiss he had promised after their fall from Bakalor’s throne. Pulling back just as quickly as he had pulled her forward, he shouted, “We’re alive!”
Brimmelle was stunned at the unexpected kiss, while Grewen grinned at the sight. Pleasantly surprised, Avanda took it with much more meaning than was intended.
They were free from the underworld and Thorik couldn’t recall a time he was more relieved. Jumping down with excitement from Grewen’s hands, his weakened legs nearly buckled under his weight before he hugged his uncle. Thorik’s soaking wet clothes squished against Brimmelle’s already dirty robes, turning them into a muddy mess.
Brimmelle quickly pushed free and attempted to brush the water off of him. Standing slightly taller than Thorik, the robust Num had a few very thick soul-markings running down his arms and across his body. Standing firm, he was proud of his markings. He interpreted them as meaning solid due to their wide and long patches, unlike the whimsical lacy markings on Avanda or the lack of soul-markings on Thorik. “Have you gone insane?”
“Acting a bit batty, are we?” Bryus Grum walked up to inspect them. “I like you a lot better this way.” Thin and lanky with messy hair and torn clothes, Bryus was the opposite of Brimmelle when it came to personal care and hygiene.
Avanda sat calmly in Grewen’s oversized hand as she watched Thorik smile and laugh like the teacher she had fallen in love with back in Farbank. Tracing her lower lip with her finger, she played back the kiss he had just given her. It was more than she had hoped it would be.
Grewen watched her reaction as she fell softly onto her back. He could tell that she had taken the kiss very seriously. His thick leathery skin wrinkled on his bald head as he smiled at her with wide eyes. Cupping his dual-thumbed hand, he cradled her and wondered what he had missed while they were underground. “Your age, as well as your relationship, has advanced since we’ve seen you last.”
It wasn’t long before Thorik began telling the story of Bakalor, but then stopped so he could start the story from the beginning, when they landed in the cavern of Num-eating insects.
“Wait just a minute.” Brimmelle strummed his fingers a few times. “Demons? Death Witches? It’s more likely you fell down that vent hole, landed in an underground river and washed up on shore. Della Estovia may truly exist, but I don’t believe you have what it takes to escape from such a legendary place.”
“Uncle, I’m not making this up.”
Fir Brimmelle puffed up his chest and felt his nephew’s forehead as though he could make a medical diagnosis. “You’re burning up. You must have had a fever, causing you to hallucinate. In addition, you have a bump on your noggin where you were hit fairly hard. You’re lucky you survived the fall after attacking me the way you did.”
“Attack you?” Thorik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We were trying to save Gluic. Is she harmed?”
Brimmelle was appalled by the question. “Of course she is, Thorik. She’s dead!”
“No, I mean the dagger, Varacon. Is the dagger intact? Has it been damaged?”
The name of the enchanted weapon caused Bryus to perk up. “Varacon damaged? Fortunately, no.” Pulling it out from a pouch, he began to carefully remove the cloths he had wrapped it in. “You see, Num, Varacon was not spoiled so easily. It was created from the finest metals in the depths of Pwellus Dementa on the sacred day of Derivation.”
Bryus was a skinny human who wore rags for clothes and an old leather belt with a talon from a claw on one end. On his feet he had thin leather sandals, which exposed his crusty dry heels and cracked wrinkly skin between his toes. He had a personality that flopped back and forth between a jester and a bitter old hermit, neither of which was enjoyable to be with nor was there any warning of the shifting of attitude. It was a far cry from what Thorik expected from an Alchemist. His two different colored eyes didn’t help, nor did the awkward-looking woven pack Avanda had made for him, before she had fallen into Della Estovia.
Bryus walked on his bony legs like a drunken bird and he constantly bumped into the others as they traveled. Thorik assumed the attack by Darkmere’s forces had scrambled his brain so much that he was fortunate just to be alive. And lucky for Thorik he was, for he needed Bryus to locate the book of Vesik which held the spell required to save his grandmother.
Thorik approached the Alchemist and reached for Varacon, but it was pulled away as Bryus began to speak about the dagger’s birthplace with great enthusiasm. “It is the original home of the Notarians, you know. Pwellus Dementa was the first city created. The original plans for our world were made there.”
Nodding, Thorik thanked him for the information and reached for Varacon a second time.
Pulling the dagger away again, Bryus continued to tell his story after a twitch in his cheek. “Plans were made to make this land into a heaven like no other. I believe the Great Oracle, Ovlan, ruled over the Notarians at that point. She created the Myth’Unday, you know. They are dangerous little critters. Stay clear!” Bryus’ arms were straight out at his sides as he warned Thorik of such dangers.
Unclear how his question of the dagger turned into a warning about Myth’Unday, Thorik interrupted as he reached out toward the item held by the Alchemist. “The dagger, Varacon, may I see it?”
“Of course you can see it,” he shot back with surprise. “We can all see it. It’s no figment of our imagination. It is real and solid. It is a piece of art, crafted by Horib himself. Oh, but Horib was a wicked one, wasn’t he? The way he always placed more into his art than what was requested. Never did they suspect what was really lurking in his masterpieces.”
“Bryus!” Thorik shouted. He was getting tired of the tangents that Bryus continued to go on. “Please hand me the dagger.”
“Well, of course, dear boy.” Smirking, he hesitated before giving it up. “Why didn’t you just ask?” Spinning the dagger around in the cloth, which still lay in his hand, he handed Varacon to Thorik hilt first.
“Gluic?” Thorik asked softly as he pulled the dagger from the man and lifted it near his own face. “Are you still in there? I hope so. We’ve survived Della Estovia and have come back for you. I’m going to prevent you from having to see that place.”
Brimmelle crossed his arms as he glared at Thorik. “You’ve gone absolutely insane, Thorik. Are you even listening to yourself anymore? You’re saying that your grandmother is trapped inside an old dagger and you fought off a demon and the witch of death to climb out of the underworld where only the dead can go.”
“That’s only partially true.” Thorik held the dagger near his chest, trying to feel any energy inside. “We didn’t fight our way to freedom. They let us go. I don’t know why.”
“Well, that sounds more reasonable.” Brimmelle’s words were thick with sarcasm. “You stumbled upon a mythical place forbidden by all living beings, and the ruler of the dead just returns you to the s
urface because you are the almighty Thorik Dain.”
Thorik thought about his uncle’s comments as he looked the dagger over for any scratches. Realizing there wasn’t, he began wrapping it up to place it in his own pack. “You know, I think you’re right.”
Brimmelle was stunned by the answer. “What?”
“Bakalor knew me. In fact, he hated me and blamed me for his rule over the underworld. Although, why would he want to free me if he loathed me so?”
Brimmelle began to mutter to himself in disbelief. “The boy’s fall must have caused more damage to his head than what is visible.”
Thorik continued to talk over his uncle’s words. “And then we’ve learned that there’s a war coming. It hasn’t started yet, but it will.”
Brimmelle sighed as he sat down. “Wonderful, Thorik can now see into the future.”
“And the only one that can stop it is Ambrosius.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you bring him back up with you? His soul should have been wondering around down there someplace.”
“Because he’s not dead,” Thorik said.
“Of course not. Even though you watched him die.”
“Apparently he still had enough strength to fight off the Death Witch.”
Brimmelle dropped his face down into both of his hands as he chuckled at the insanity of it all.
Thorik looked past his uncle and spotted his weapon, the Spear of Rummon tied onto Bryus’ pack. He quickly moved over to it. “Thank you for finding Rummon.”
“Wait one minute, Num.” Bryus turned in a circle to keep his back away from the Num. “This is no toy. This is the Spear of Rummon.”
“Yes, I know.” Thorik continued to chase the spear on the man’s back, frequently reaching for it without any luck.
“Do you understand that the life force of the greatest dragon ever is trapped inside of it?” Bryus kept spinning to keep it out of Thorik’s reach, causing himself to get dizzy. “He is a demon! Fear him, for he will try to communicate with you and conquer your willpower.” His words were getting loud and theatrical with large gestures of his arms. “He is our enemy, Thorik. He’s the murderer of your sacred Mountain King. Do you have the internal strength to handle Rummon’s words should he choose to speak them to you?”
“Yes, we’ve communicated more than once.” Thorik voice was flat serious.
Bryus stopped spinning around and became slightly disappointed as well as very dizzy. “You have? Could I have a word with him? I’ve been trying to communicate with Rummon for days without any luck.”
“Perhaps later.” Thorik removed the spear from Bryus’ back and placed it into the loops on his own pack before looking around at his surroundings. “Where are we?”
They were no longer in the Go’ta Gorge. Instead they stood near a large river, upstream from an ancient marble bridge spanning over it.
“I think I’m going to be ill.” Bryus sat down from all his spinning as he fought off the self-induced nausea.
“Volney River.” Grewen was still amazed by Thorik’s stories. “The Lagona Falls drops off just past the bridge. Where did you think you were?”
“I would have assumed we were still in the gorge.” Thorik quickly pulled the facts together. “You gave up on us in the gorge. You left us for dead?”
Brimmelle instantly shot Grewen a look of irritation. “If it was up to me, we wouldn’t have left!”
In his usual calm baritone voice, Grewen corrected the husky Num. “If it was up to you, we would have starved to death up on that mountainside staring down into a vent shaft which we couldn’t fit through.”
“Bryus was thin enough to fit through it,” Brimmelle protested.
Bryus’ cheek twitched. “I told you, as plain as the ugly is on your face, that I’m not willing to pass the barrier into Della Estovia to save a few Nums. It’s a death sentence. Once I saw the markings I stopped, and if you were intelligent enough to understand their meanings you would have as well.”
“But this wasn’t a request to obtain treasure,” Brimmelle protested. “And these weren’t just a few Nums. These were members of my village.”
“Listen, you self-righteous little toad, I might have considered going down there for the right historical artifact, but I had only met your companions a few days prior to the incident. The incident where you put their lives in danger and then turned around and expected me to risk my life to save them. I think not!”
“They’ve been at each other ever since Brimmelle regained consciousness after being knocked out from your tumble,” Grewen told Thorik and Avanda as Brimmelle and Bryus continued to spar back and forth. “I tried to lower your uncle down several times but we were unsuccessful. He became stuck on several attempts and at one point he was jammed in a spot for several hours. We weren’t sure if we were going to get him back out.”
Thorik turned his back on the quibbling travelers as Brimmelle puffed up his chest and stood his moral high ground while Bryus cut him off at his knees with logic and sarcastic remarks. “Grewen,” Thorik said, “we tried to climb back up, but it was too slick and steep. I was nearly killed by insects. We were starving and freezing to death, and yet we waited for you, but you never arrived. We couldn’t wait any longer.”
Grewen nodded with a slight smile. “You did the right thing, little man. There are times you must look after yourself, for as hard as I tried we couldn’t reach you. Eventually I agreed with Bryus to seek out others that could help us. We thought it be best to head to Trewek where there are Ov’Unday who can search underground much more effectively than we can.”
Thorik didn’t know how he felt about being abandoned when he had been so sure that they would come after him.
“We never gave up on you, Thorik,” Grewen handed the Num his wooden coffer and other items that had flung from his pack before he fell down the vent hole. “We only changed our plans once we realized we could do no more. To his credit, your uncle never wished to leave. However, following his lead most likely would have killed us as well.”
Thorik nodded as he looked over the items while returning them to specific locations in his backpack. “Thank you for your efforts. Fortunately, Avanda and I had each other to get us through.” Thorik turned and winked at Avanda. “It was an experience I wish never to repeat, but we pulled together and now we’re free of that place.”
Avanda realized how right he was and smiled at his last statement. “We’re better Nums for it.”
Tossing the backpack on, Thorik tightened his pack’s straps and stood up straight with confidence. Not overconfident, but after seeing certain death, life was such a welcome adventure. He looked ahead at the open road before them with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt since they left Kingsfoot.
“So,” Grewen said. “Where are we off to?”
Bryus stopped his bickering with Brimmelle in mid-sentence once he heard the question. “Govi Glade, of course, to find the spell book Vesik. The spell within is your only hope to free Gluic from Varacon.”
Thorik looked over the bridge and toward the northwest. “We must save Granna, but we must also notify others of Bakalor’s pending war along the way. They will be destroyed if they are not alerted and prepared.”
“And who is going to believe a Num such as yourself.” Brimmelle puffed up his chest as his soul-markings turned nearly black. “Who do you think you are? The Mountain King?”
“I think that’s what I’ve finally come to realize,” Thorik said over his shoulder. “I don’t need to be the Mountain King to get things done. I just need to believe in myself and take action. Others will listen to my words and see my confidence in what I say.”
Grewen grinned. “Well said, little man, but just because they will listen does not mean they will act.”
“Grewen, if I’ve learned anything from you, I’ve learned that I can only control my own actions and reactions, not those of others. I must do what it takes and hope that others will do the same.”
His markings fa
ded back to their normal hue, as Brimmelle shook his head in disgust. “I know the end of the world is near when Thorik becomes responsible for saving it.”
Chapter 11
Campsite