“I saw something.”
The ice tunnel was clear from what the others could see. “What kind of something?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see anything now.”
Dulgin continued to stare in the underlit path ahead of them and then whispered, “This place feels strange; something is not quite right.” Then he growled a command as he turned back to his friends, “Let’s get a move on.”
The light in the passage soon became brighter, and as the tunnel seemed to open a bit, the ceiling displayed frozen bubbles of captured air, and a strange static sound like a muffled rushing wind resounded in the distance. Several pillars of ice came into view ahead of them.
“This place is beautiful,” Bridazak whispered. He marveled at the discernable change from the ice tunnel to the natural beauty of this frozen, light-blue ceiling, rippling beyond sight. This dazzling place reminded him of Heaven, which harbored glory itself. Bridazak thought to himself as he looked up in awe, “I’m so grateful to be able to see this. Thank you for the chance to return to Ruauck-El and see more of its splendor.” Everything he now saw was a reminder of what awaited him, and what he left behind. He calmed his mind and pushed the feelings of regret away.
They passed several of the naturally formed columns, and then Spilf spotted something out of the ordinary. “What is that?” he pointed to a pillar to their left, moving closer to investigate the oddity. He suddenly noticed an outlined face frozen inside, eyes white and mouth agape. Spilf gasped, “There is someone inside!”
The group approached. Abawken wiped away the coating of frost around the encased face with his forearm. “Is it a dwarf?”
Dulgin responded as he stepped closer to inspect, “I can’t quite make sense of this. There’s no beard, so this is not a dwarf. Though its stature would indicate—”
Bridazak cut him off, “What happened to him, Dulgin?”
“I don’t know,” he responded as he glanced overhead, focusing on the smooth rolling ice pockets. Suddenly, a large shadow whisked by on the other side. His eyes widened in horror, “Move!”
An ear splitting crack echoed around them as a jet of water broke loose above Bridazak and splashed around him. The water instantly froze, entrapping him inside. Abawken withdrew his magical scimitar and touched it against the frozen block of ice as he uttered a command word to release the power held within, “Esh!” An intense countering heat rushed out, and the icicle column collapsed, freeing the dak. Bridazak, gasping, started to fall, but Abawken caught him and began to drag him away from the area. More splits of the ice ceiling were heard and more water tumbled to try to ensnare the group. Dulgin and Spilf reached the section of the tunnel where the dangerous water bubbles no longer lay waiting, and they turned to wave Abawken and Bridazak to safety. Another water spout crashed beside them in a near miss. Ice chips crackled and shattered around their feet as they hurried. Abawken was almost to them when another split occurred. He slung Bridazak ahead and the ordakian slid into Dulgin and Spilf. Abawken raised his sword up to counter the ice tentacle zooming toward him, “Esh!” Hot and cold water splashed over his body as he dodged out of danger and joined his friends.
“What was that?” Spilf asked frantically.
“Ice Pikes,” Dulgin answered. “The frost dwarves raise the monstrous fish to help them combat, or in this case trap, intruders. We were under a river. I never thought my father’s tales of them were so accurate.”
Spilf shyly posed, “If that wasn’t a dwarf trapped in the ice, then—” he hesitated.
Bridazak placed a hand on his friends shoulder and slightly nodded his acknowledgement of what Spilf proposed; the long-trapped soul had been an ordakian.
“What if that was one of my parents? If it wasn’t, then how could they have made it inside such a treacherous place as this?”
Dulgin stepped forward, “We need to find out what has happened here. None of this is right, but I feel it in my dwarven bones that was not your family, and the truth of the matter is close at hand. You need, we all need, to keep the hope we have alive.” Dulgin looked intently into Spilf’s eyes, which were glassy, “You are more dwarven than you think, my friend. You have the heart of a warrior. You only lack the beard. We stand together, all of us, with you.”
Spilf was shocked at Dulgin’s words, and could not respond. He looked to the others, to Abawken and Bridazak nodding in agreement; they were with him all the way.
Tears slid down his cheek as he said, “Thank you, all of you. I’m ready.”
Dulgin looked back at the Ice Pike chamber and said, “I always thought my dah’s stories of this place were tall tales.”
“Well, I suggest you start remembering everything your dah told you, so we don’t run into any more surprises,” Bridazak said.
“If his stories are true, then we have some mighty fine dwarven ale awaiting us,” Dulgin smiled.
“Not sure how that information will help us any,” Spilf said.
Dulgin smacked the dak on the shoulder, “It’s called motivation, Stubby.”
Dulgin’s understanding of dwarven tactics proved dependable. The heroes emerged into a massive ice cave, as he had suspected would be the case. Dilapidated wooden war machines littered the outskirts. Piles of large boulders sat waiting to be hurled at invading enemies, but were now covered in layers of ice. Ballista contraptions, once used to impale intruders coming in from the tunnels, now lay in ruin. Beyond the grand ice arena was another cave with a brightness akin to the outside sky illuminating the entrance.
“What happened here?” Bridazak asked.
No one offered any response as they all took in the sight of the vacant strategic defense, now in shambles.
After the group had worked their way further into the mess, Dulgin observed, “There are no bodies, no melee weapons, no indication of a battle—nothing.”
A howling, frigid wind and the sound of rushing water erupted from the broadly expanded opening before them. They approached with caution; the ground was layered in blue ice like frozen ripples of water. The roar intensified as they slowly made their way into the cavity that twisted back and forth in huge sweeping turns. The effect of Spilf’s torchlight lessened as the bright outdoors came into view. They stopped to take in the incredible panorama.
The towering waterfall cascaded, roaring like a hundred dragons. The liquid was frozen on the inside, creating a spectacular crystalline effect of various sized icicles linked together. Fresh cold air whipped through, and blue, open sky was visible to the heroes. White-capped mountain tops were seen in the distance. Snow swept off the peaks as gusts of wind propelled the loose shavings into the air to form slow motion clouds.
The wide walkway arched around the breathtaking scene and there before the heroes stood the entrance to the Kingdom of the Frost Dwarves; the Shield.
Dulgin announced, “Welcome to Te Sond.”
The Dwarven structure, as massive as the waterfall they had just walked behind, was formed from the mountain itself, coated in the same blue ice they travelled upon. An emblem of a round shield covered the center of the monstrous double-door. To open an entrance of this magnitude would take several giants, and to break it down would take just as many dragons.
Dulgin said, mesmerized, “The architecture is flawless.”
“How does your kind make such things as this?” Spilf asked, clearly impressed.
“Legend says that the dwarves of old traded for the services of a great mystic to help create their kingdom.”
“That must have made quite a dent in their pile of gold,” Bridazak said.
“If we can’t protect our gold then it is pointless to hoard it.”
Standing at attention along the far wall were five statues depicting dwarven warriors. Each one stood eight-feet-tall, and had been chiseled from the rock cave. They stood proudly holding their weapons and shields by their side. Beards, frozen over with icicles, draped down to their chests. Helmets with spikes, horns, and nose-guards adorned their heads.
The bland color of rock did not detract from the craftsmanship and detail of these battle-hardened frost dwarf heroes.
Spilf studied the monumental door with Lester and Ross while the rest of the party gawked over the inanimate objects of decoration, craning their necks to fully take in their features.
Bridazak called from his frozen position, “Did you find anything, Spilf?”
“It had some pretty elaborate traps but they are deactivated and according to Lester, it can only be opened from the inside.”
“Don’t worry, we will get in one way or another.”
Abawken inspected and then pointed to the stone models, “I found something interesting at the base of four of the five statues.” Each of them spotted the lettering and Dulgin announced they were Dwarven words and recited them aloud, “bact, estude, fen, neh.”
“Are they the names of the warriors?” asked Abawken.
“No,” Dulgin, puzzled, began, “it doesn’t make sense. These words, in common, mean, one understand can no.”
Abawken noticed, “All of them have a word except for the statue in the middle.”
Spilf jumped to action, “I will check it out with Lester and Ross.” After a minute, the Dak turned and shook his head, “Nothing.”
“Master Bridazak, you seem to be contemplating something, what is it?”
“Perhaps this is a password of some kind. If you read the words in order from left to right, they do not make sense, and if you read them from right to left it still doesn’t come together.” Bridazak moved to the first statue on the left. “This says ‘one’ and if I skip the second statue then the next word is ‘can’. Together it says ‘one can’.”
“One can what?” Dulgin was bewildered.
“The other two words are ‘understand and no’.
Spilf lit up and shouted, “One can no understand!”
Silence fell over them as they tried to grasp what Spilf was so happy about when he thought he had figured out the riddle.
“That don’t make a bit of sense, ya blundering fool!”
“It makes perfect sense to me, you talk like that all the time, I thought it sounded Dwarven.”
“You are an edoti!”
“A what?”
“An idiot!”
“Wait,” Bridazak stopped his comrades tirade of insults, “Spilf is on to something. It could be saying ‘no one can understand’.
They mulled the new formulation of words inside their minds. Abawken asked, “What could it mean, Master Dulgin?”
Without answering, Dulgin walked closer to each of the statues to take a better look. He started on the left and moved right. He stopped at the middle statue and squinted in contemplation. The effigy had a slight difference from the others and he took a step backwards.
“There is something odd about this one,” he pointed.
“Like what?” Bridazak asked.
Dulgin smiled as a sudden realization came to light, “Very clever.”
“What is it?”
Dulgin walked to the statue, turned to the others, revealing his teeth, and said, “No one can understand ‘wenthak’.” He pushed and the statue suddenly jarred loose and slid on the ice beneath it. A secret entrance was uncovered. The statue locked into place after moving several feet back.
“Wenthak?” Spilf shrugged in confusion.
Dulgin turned, “Women.”
Spilf laughed. “Oh, women! No one can understand women. I get it. Wait—that statue is a woman?”
“Yeah. Isn’t she beautiful?” Dulgin beamed.
“I thought you were stretching the truth when you said dwarven females had beards, Master Dulgin.”
The dwarf continued to smile, proud of himself on figuring out the dwarven riddle and nodded to each one of his friends as they entered the dark passage.
The heroes emerged from the secret tunnel to find themselves inside the Frost Dwarf castle. Dulgin slid the statue back in place and joined the others in gazing at the immense entryway. An intricate pulley system of wheels, ropes, and chain attached to thick rungs welded onto the massive double door revealed the incredible undertaking it would take to open the keep. The stone walls were formed of blocks of blue-hued quartz, which emulated ice. Huge pillars of the same material sprouted from floor to ceiling every twenty paces along the immensely wide corridor as far as the eye could see. The glorious and pristine beauty of craftsmanship overtook the heroes’ senses. The smell was like fresh chipped ice, but at the same time the scene felt ominous, because not a soul could be seen or heard. A deathly silence greeted them and the chill of a foreboding danger pricked at the back of their necks.
“Where is everyone?” Bridazak said, his whisper echoing through the never ending hall.
“Yeah, thought we would be greeted by friendly dwarves, Dulgin,” Spilf mocked.
“Me too,” the Dwarf said solemnly to himself, gazing forward, as he walked down the monstrous hall.
Spilf looked at the others and shrugged. Each of them knew that Dulgin wasn’t himself.
The ceiling arched high above and, unlike the ice-walls, it had a polished finish. A glow seeped through the exotic mountain rock and released a soft hue of twilight. A haunting breeze funneled out of several offshoot darkened passageways. They cautiously walked deeper and deeper into the ancient crag, searching to uncover what they felt—invisible eyes watching their every step. Abawken withdrew his scimitar and Dulgin’s axe was at the ready. Bridazak gripped his magical bow, the Seeker, and then slid out an arrow from his quiver. Spilf held his dagger tightly. Their footsteps were precise, none of them tromped in haste. Each of them imagined at any moment that a flood of frost dwarves would charge from the darkened tunnels, but only cold air greeted them, which heightened their sense of danger. They had traversed only minutes when Abawken pointed out an amorphous form in the distance. The eerie hall now had an end in sight, and the heroes fought the crepuscular lighting to see the shapeless outline still hundreds of feet away. They crept closer and realized they had approached a throne on top of a raised platform, overlooking the entry hall. The dim light strangely lessened around the chair reserved for royalty.
Unintelligible whispering stopped Dulgin in his tracks. The others halted at his sudden frozen action.
“What is it?” Bridazak quietly asked.
“I hear something.”
Each of them focused, but could hear nothing. The susurration continued, and amongst the perceived gibberish, Dulgin made out a single dwarven word.
“Help.”
Meanwhile, hundreds of millari away, the young boy of fifteen cycles, Jack, looked off into the distance. He searched within himself to understand his place in this world without his dad, who he left behind in search of his own destiny.
“Why did I leave you, Dad?” he whispered.
The sun was setting and a soft breeze shuffled the gold grass blades of the open plain. He glanced behind to see Geetock barking out orders to the dwarven army setting camp. They were heading to someplace called the Shield, a dwarven kingdom.
Jack looked back at the sun, closed his eyes, and deeply inhaled the earthy smell of the dried vegetation. He wished with all his might he was back in the Lost City. He opened his eyes and disappointment of his unfulfilled wish penetrated his heart. His face was solemn.
“Dad, I don’t have any friends. I need you,” he said out loud.
Jack thought of Bridazak. He often longed to be with the heroes of Ruauck-El, the ones that rescued him and his dad, the ones having amazing adventures. He desperately wanted to be a part of something epic, but he felt trapped amongst these ancient dwarves and elves. With the few humans in camp, he had found no attachment.
Jack pulled a diamond ring from his pocket. The large stone sparkled in the dimming sunlight as he fondled the bauble in his fingers. His dad had given it to him; it brought him comfort, but did not take the deep desire for something more. He looked up and said, “When I get my chance I will make a difference in this world. Dad, I wil
l make you proud; I promise.”
“El’Korr, Trillius is gone!” Rozelle shouted.
“He’ll turn up eventually; he always does,” El’Korr cried back over the din of the battle. The dwarves remained in place, protecting Raina from the attacking kelpies, as she focused her spell on the air pocket surrounding the ship.
Rozelle worried, “I hope he’s not hurt, or worse.” Unable to withhold her anxiety any longer, she dove through the dark blue wall of water. As she plunged into the liquid barrier, her tiny gnome body morphed once again, but this time she took on the form of a large, grey-skinned shark.
In her new body, Rozelle glided through the calm waters, sending surprised clusters of kelpies to vacate the area, until she finally spotted Trillius swimming toward her. Rozelle flashed a grin in delight and relief at the sight of him.
Trillius, however, saw the blurred grey mass approaching, and his secret worst nightmare came to reality as the shape of an enormous shark with razor sharp teeth seemed to be hunting him. Forgetting he was underwater, he let out a scream, but as the endless oxygen of Xan’s breathing underwater spell continued to fill his lungs, he simply let out a long stream of bubbles. Turning quickly and beating the water with his short arms and legs, he made a hopeless effort to escape. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I want the greatest of treasure with all of my limbs intact.” His thoughts were like a plea to an unknown god.
Dal-Draydian answered him, “It is only a shark. Turn around and show it that you are the master.”
“I don’t have that kind of power, you crazy rock.”
She propelled to his kicking feet and then shape shifted back to her true self, grabbing his heel. Trillius expelled more bubbles with a muffled scream. He turned to see Rozelle shrugging with a grin and then he quickly swam to her side, relieved that he was not going to be eaten.