Late one night, as Dalmar slept, he was awakened by the sound of thunder once again. The rainy season in Morguon had begun, and the days were getting longer and wetter. The grass and trees had taken upon an even greener set of hues than before, and the flowering seasons had given way to the time when the blossoms turned to fruit. The air became sweeter, and seemed to overtake the encroaching nearby odors of the salt sea to the east where Dalmar and Crassius escaped their subterranean imprisonment days before this night. Alone again, Dalmar and his mare felt uneasy at the borders where the two terrains of forest and stony roadways met. The clouds moved with an intensity of sentience all their own, and seemed to be comprised of malevolent spirits wishing to cause havoc among the unsuspecting trees of this tiny wood. Soon, Dalmar stood up to the sounds of breaking limbs and gale forces, and the large drops of water flying through the air pelted him and his mare with water that felt like tiny pebbles. Dalmar realized that if he did not find sufficient shelter soon, he and his mare should certainly find themselves in trouble from dangers including debris or even flooding. Dalmar cursed the storm, leading his horse madly as he cursed the ferocity of the winds, but he knew that the terrain might yield better conditions if he worked his way toward the looming mountain in the near distance. The darkness of the wood and the howls of winds chilled both his spirit and body to the bone, yet he persevered with determined strength towards the edge of the forest within an hour's time.
The remains of the forest path sloped upwards along a muddy trail as the light of a clearing broke through the fallen debris and the wind soaked blankets of water that blew in front and back of him. The furious wind seemed to come from all directions, and soon his he found the slope to be a burden as it seemed to resist his footing. Dalmar struggled to gain formidable steps to bring him out of the wood by way of the path through the tree, and he slipped and fell, sliding backwards several feet before catching himself on a tree root. The grit of the earth splashed against his face, and the debris caught him in the mouth adding to his disgust and loathsome attitude. Spitting and wiping his face with an equally muddy pair of hands, Dalmar rose once again to reach the dryer land above them. He took off his boots, and holding them in one hand, he grabbed the reins of his horse and dug into the mud with his bare toes. The sharp talons of the broken wood and tiny rocks gripped and tore his feet as the wind flew around his face whipping his hair in his eyes. Dalmar fell to his knees and tied his mare to his waist, and clawed at the ground, lifting his body towards the top of the hill. Like a lion disemboweling its prey, Dalmar climbed against the winds for what seemed to be an hour's time until, finally, he reached the top and rolled over not caring that he was pelted with the storm's fury. He breathed heavy. After a few moments, he stood and braced himself for the valley around the mountain.
The ground was sparse of grass, and while wet, the air was filled with gusts of dirt. With it, the wind carried an intensified odor of earth, enhancing his sense of smell with the rain. Soon, the pathway between mountains opened wider and became apparent that this was a roadway for travel used by all those who passed this way. The cover of the valley grew above him and his lone horse, and began to provide some shielding from the winds as bolts of ravenous lightning struck the side of the mountains, seeming to feed on the rumbling monuments of stone and earth. Suddenly, through the obscurement of the tempest, a light broken in a clearing that presented a fork in the path into three directions. Dalmar squinted and wiped his face clear of the water in his eyes once again, and peered more intently at the light. Just then, the smell of a wood-burning fire struck his senses and his mind became focused on reaching the small hovel that stood in the center of the roadway. The sounds of small animals began to find their way to their ears, and as he rounded the bend a smaller building appeared. As he neared the small post, Dalmar's focal strength began to weaken with the thoughts of ridding himself of this abominable wind. As he reached the step, he fell. Quickly, he tied his mare to the post before the door and crawled to the door, banging it with his fist in anticipation. The sounds of rustling began wildly inside followed the the familiar sounds of a sword being released from its scabbard rang through the door, and then the door slowly creaked open. A single eyeball peered through the fire lit crack in the door as Dalmar lay on the porch of the small home breathing. "Please...", Dalmar squeaked. "I seek refuge from the storm and a warm bed. I can pay you! Let me warm myself by your fire", he said. The eyeball began to turn in its socket, surveying his every suface's character, and then the door opened. Dalmar's vision, blurred by the terrible rain and fatigue, was blinded by a flash of light from the fire within. A pair of strong hands gripping his torso dragged him inside.
For the first time in hours, Dalmar was free from the winds and rain. He felt the warmth of fire upon his body, and a blanket insulated his soul.His vision returned in full, and he stopped shivering - something he didn't realize he had begun until he stopped doing it. As Dalmar sat up and grasped the blanket around his body, he saw two tall men wrapped in uniformed armor standing over him. They smiled. "Thanks be to Grim! He's alive, Gunnar" said the taller of the two. "Aye, he is. Pity for the winds, lucky for us", the burly man carried on, his red beard draped across his chest. "Let's get him closer to the fire, Gunnar", his voice rang as they grasped Dalmar under the arms and whisked him upon a warm stone floor. The two soldiers sat down heavily upon their rickety wooden chairs, and eyed Dalmar. Each of them looked at each other in accordance, and finally the staunch man spoke, "My name is Uli. Where are you from, boy?"
Dalmar looked into Uli's weathered face, rosy with the beating of firelight and local spirits, and said, "My name is Dalmar. I got caught in this terrible storm and was sure I was to be swallowed by it. I've made my way from the areas around Wahskre to the north, and I am at your services, kind sirs."
Uli smiled, as Gunnar poured a drink from his leather cask into a pewter mug and handed it to Dalmar. Dalmar sipped at the sweet wine, and it warmed his body. "At my service, he says" Uli laughed with Gunnar. "My name is Uli, and this is my comrade in arms, Gunnar. You are most welcomed, but we would be most remiss should we not take you on your offer." Uli stood his sword between his legs and rested upon its hilt with his hands crossed.
"Offer? Of course, I am at your service." Dalmar said.
"No, no, no, my boy." Uli said as he paused. "I believe there was a matter of some payment...." Uli paused again waiting for Dalmar to recall his gesture.
Gunnar eased back in his chair, and crossed his muscular arms. "Oh, yes, indeed, master Uli! And you too, master Gunnar" Dalmar exclaimed. For services rendered, not received." Dalmar fished in his pockets for something of value to provide to the two men as they both smiled to each other, and produced two silver coins. "I hope this will suffice, sirs." Dalmar said. Gunnar and Uli each took one and held it in the light of the cauldron-topped fire.
"Aye, and thanks to you, most honorable Dalmar! Now let us trade yarns as the nights prove to be quite devoid of any news these days since the wars have shifted to the far west of the kingdom."said Uli as his hands uncrossed and he rested his wide sword against the the table in a notch worn by the blade.
"Kingdom?" Dalmar replied. "Am I not in Morguon anymore?" Dalmar retorted.
"Why, no, Dalmar. Once you pass the edges of Saddlewood, you enter into the kingdom of Thorfinn known as Glorsheim. We are of the company of our king, Thorfinn the Stout." Uli chuckled with Gunnar. Dalmar raised an eyebrow as he tried to think whether or not he ever heard of Thorfinn or Glorsheim, but was unable to find any memories of such a place or person. Dalmar sipped at his wine, sadly reporting that he was merely a farmboy from the northern areas of Morguon, and had been nearly all his life. The two battle hardened outpostmen seemed rather unimpressed by Dalmar's lack of adventure. Dalmar felt it might be of some use to his near future if he neglected to mention his adventure with the giant Crassius or of his speaking with deities. After all, he didn't have any clue against who or what the kingdom of Glorsheim was waging war. For all he knew, they might be fighting giants or even the Zyn-Lar for that matter. What certain pickle that would prove! Dalmar didn't want to find he was the enemy of the two soldiers who had proven most welcoming in his times of trouble. Dalmar did, however, decide to probe into these wonders.
"Who does Thorfinn wage war against, Uli?" Dalmar said carefully.
"Oh, see, several years ago Thorfinn agreed to save the people of Baldar and annex them when their own king, Lord Haschmaal died leaving no heirs." Uli began. "The people of Baldar were more than happy for this change as that was the most reasonable choice. But the Orcs on the other side of Baldar laid claim to the land under the name of some brute by the name of Kyr'Urgghl. That was eight years ago." Uli explained further.
"Personally, Ahh' b'thenkin' ole Thorf'n biddoff mor' then 'e c'ud chew" Gunnar said with a broken sort of language. This was the first words that Gunnar had said the entire night, and they startled Dalmar slightly as he did not expect Gunnar to speak. In fact, he had almost assumed that Gunnar was mute, but now realized that perhaps his attitude or poor speech held his tongue at bay. "Thot' he not minee uh dem' ohrks, Thorf'n ded. But minee ohrks dare' wuz. Minees 'ndeed" Gunnar spouted as he scoffed. Uli lowered his brow a bit in disagreement, and with a rough sort of snort, lit a pipe filling the room with the sweet smells of cherry and tobacco. Dalmar wasn't terribly familiar with the concept of Orcs, nor had he heard any stories about them except a few wives tales. He knew they were scaly like lizards and built like upright pigs. But that was the extent of his knowledge. Mostly, the old ladies of Wahskre used the stories of Orcs to keep their kids in bed at night.
Dalmar's attention soon turned, and he asked, "And if I'm coming out of Saddlewood, where do the other two roads lead?"
"The one traveling west leads to Glorsheim and the kingdom of Thorfinn the Stout. The other can take you a few places including the Eastern Sea and the lands of Edra, a few small villages, and (if you're adventurous enough), Tashbaan." Uli said as he puffed on his pipe. Pausing in between puffs, he continued, "Among other places of course, but most certainly you can reach the south and the east and the far southwest. There are many roads that branch off other roads. But I can't say for sure, only Gunnar here knows the parts below Edra's domain."
"An' Edthruh' es not no playss' fer' yer' kin' n'houw" Gunnar added. With Gunnar's second statement of the night, Dalmar averted his attention to Glorsheim. He had decided that after some sleep, it would be in his best interest to travel to Glorsheim to refill his travel stock, and maybe find some work - at least temporarily. The farmboy yawned after finishing his mug of wine, and finished it with a flamboyant sort of stretching. The winds had died for the night, and Gunnar stood up and opened the door. The rain had settled to a drizzle, and Gunnar seemed to sniff the air as if he was looking for something in particular. He then shot Uli a look and Uli nodded, and stood up at the door and peered outside for a moment as well.
"Well, I think that is all we'll have of that storm, Dalmar." Uli said. "You best rest after traveling through that awful mess, we'll talk more in the morning" and he walked outside. Gunnar followed him out and closed the door behind leaving Dalmar inside alone. As the latch on the door clicked, a second click rang out behind it. Gunnar had locked the door from the outside. This alarmed Dalmar, but by this time he was too tired to worry, and he laid down in the soft blanket and grabbed a pillow from the bed above him. He then padded the pillow a bit, and laid down in full. Dalmar was not worried as he had met and matched many soldiers before in his tiny home of Wahskre, and these two soldiers did not strike him as anything different in skill. Besides, they were soldiers; they likely had duties to perform or something, right? Dalmar questioned this strangeness for a little while long, and then sunk into his bedding, and fell asleep.
EOF
Invino Veritas
5/15/11
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