It was nearly noontime when the road to Gr'Valdth took a turn away from the familiar prairie beside which Lars and Dalmar traveled and diverted its path into the mountain passes. Travel had been relatively easy, and the two warriors enjoyed the summer breeze and sunlight that bathed the path like a soft, warm kiss from on high. Dalmar scanned the sky at the tops of the mountains before him and Lars, spying a pair of large raptors as they soared behind the great, jagged mountain peak, screeching to one another as they hunted. The horizon disappeared to the north as it was enveloped in a never-ending sea of crags and rising slopes, and the valley opened to the northwest before them. Reaching the edge of the slow descent into the green valley, the two travelers plotted their course around the wide pool of water in the center of the valley at its lowest point. Lars sniffed the air as the familiar aroma of burning wood drifted up the side of the long rise from the valley, and his eyes fell upon a small homestead off to the southwest of the lake. Gesturing towards the small cottage surrounded by grazing livestock, Lars entered the valley with Dalmar in tow.
Within an hour's time, Lars and Dalmar entered the rolling slope where the cattle grazed. The cows seemed wholly unimpressed by the newcomers as the familiar pinging of a smith's anvil rang out from the rickety barn in the near distance. As they neared the edge of a set of animal pens filled with swine and fowl, a woman and two children appeared in the center of the dusty pathway that bisected the home and the secondary building. The woman covered her eyes from the sun's glare as she peered across the valley at the two riders, turning momentarily to usher a command to her two young boys who darted into the barn. Soon thereafter, as the woman set down her heavy bucket of water, the sounds of the anvil stopped and a large, older man stepped out of the shadows of the barn. By the time the two boys emerged behind their father, Lars and Dalmar had calmly entered the dusty portion of the valley before the woman, and politely stopped their horses at the edge of the farm. The door of the cottage swung open as an elderly man with neatly tailored garb watched the scene as he puffed on his long, thin pipe. Dalmar smiled and waved at the family.
"Greetings!" Dalmar said as the man walked up beside his wife, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the arm as he took center stage before the two riders. The old man shifted in his stance, and sat down calmly on a wooden rocking chair in the shade of the porch. The woman turned to her two curious little boys, who now were apparently identical to one another, and ushered them softly to join their grandfather in front of the small home.
"Greetings, stranger." the man said, cautiously staring at the dwarf and the man.
"We were on our way to Gr'Valdth when we saw your farm and thought we'd stop by to hear of any news. We thought you might be able to give us some idea of what we can expect as we get closer to our destination." Dalmar smiled as he spoke, careful not provide any undue expectations of the part of Lars or himself.
"Sure, but from where are you fellows traveling?" the man asked.
"Altendon." Lars said as the man's eyes surveyed his armor and horse. "We're traveling to the market, maybe do a little trading while we are there."
"Well, keep on following the line of the valley, and once you reach the other side, you will see Gr'Valdth. It's a straight shot from here." the man said as he turned and pointed to the west. Dalmar, thinking to himself that the man seemed unwilling to visit with them for any longer than was necessary, sat up in his saddle and peered into the distance.
"Can you tell us what lies to either side of the valley, perhaps?" Lars continued.
"Not much, to tell you the truth. To the north, you'll find nothing but mountains and trees. To the south, it's pretty much the same though if you care to check it out, you may be able to spot the remains of Monmüth, an old monastery." Again, the man pointed behind him, but this time to the southwest. "Not much there anymore, however, unless you are looking for berbalangs and goblinfolk." The old man on the porch coughed as he rose to his feet, his bushily browed eyes glaring at his son as he cleared his throat. Lars and Dalmar looked at the old man as he stepped off the front porch and smiled at the two warriors.
"That wheel isn't going to fix itself, Abel. Why don't you go back to your anvil while I help these two find their destination?" The old man exuded a coy wisdom as he spoke, standing upright and regal as he placed one hand in his pocket while holding the bell of his pipe in the other.
"All right. Back to work then." Abel said as he smiled and turned towards the barn where the thin smoke of a foundry escaped. The woman picked her bucket from the pathway and began walking towards the house where she had originally intended, gesturing towards the two watching boys who followed her inside the home. The old man now faced Lars and Dalmar, and looking up at the two riders, smiled once again. A momentary chill came over Dalmar as he and Lars smiled back at the old man, and he shivered with the growing breeze blowing through the valley.
"Shall we?" beckoned the old timer as he took a draw from his pipe, and raised his arm gesturing to continue travel to the other side of the farm. Lars and Dalmar looked at each other, shrugging, and following the man as he walked in front of their horses past the barn and cottage. "Like Abel told you, Gr'Valdth is about a day's ride in that direction - maybe a little bit more, but that depends upon you, really." The old man's matter-of-fact approach had a calming effect on Dalmar, and his words seemed to flow like the memories of his own grandfather when Dalmar was a little boy. It was easy to trust this man for he had no discernible care in the world, and seemed to be at peace with his environment. Lars, however, remained stalwart as ever, alert and cautious. Dalmar had come to expect Lars' words to come only with certain amounts of forethought and deliberation. But all that was of little concern right now. Dalmar felt no need to concern himself with Lars' persistent demeanor as this man seemed quite pleasant in his eyes; he felt no need to be concerned.
"It seems to me that this Monmüth would be a good spot to rest for the night in between your home and Gr'Valdth if it can provide us some shelter in case of bad weather and whatnot." Lars said to the man.
"Normally, I would agree with you, gentlemen. But like I said, people who venture into those parts have a funny way of staying there for all eternity." The old man drew in a long draw of sweet smoke from his ivory white pipe, lowering his eyebrows slightly as if he was contemplating or remembering something. "The pathway is well marked from here to the town. Two able men such as yourselves should be enough of a deterrent for the whims of any such idle threats" he said.
"The valley see a lot of traffic between here and there?" Dalmar asked.
"Not at all, my good sirs. It's quite safe as long as you stick to the well defined areas of travel. The cartwheels and hoof prints have marked it well over the years." The old man said. "Feel free to water your horses and yourselves in the nearby lake before you leave the area. The waters there can be quite refreshing on a hot summer day as today."
"Thanks..." Dalmar said, interrupting Lars. Lars seemed disconcerted as he clenched his lips together, lowering his eyebrows at Dalmar's impertinence. Dalmar smiled back at the old man, oblivious to Lars' own apprehension and annoyance. "In fact, I certainly appreciate your time. Here, for your trouble." Dalmar smiled as he reached into his pocket and produced a gold coin given to him for the purpose of travel expenses.
"Why, thank you!" exclaimed the old man and he smiled wide and reached for the shining coin, nodded in approval to Dalmar. "May your journey be fruitful, and may your strengths never diminish! Bless you, kind sirs." The old man smiled as he bowed to each of them. Lars sighed heavily with discontent as his eyes left Dalmar's charmed visage, and he kicked his horse in its side as it took off towards the sunset over the valley. Dalmar thanked the old man once again and followed suit, catching up with is friend after a few minutes.
"What the hell were you doing?" barked Lars. "Boy, you sure are a nice old man! Have some gold!" Lars mockingly cried at Dalmar. "Might I add, you forgot to shine his shoes and bake him a pie, too. You were acting like a damned smitten little woman!"
"What the hell are you talking about? I did no such thing. He was nice!" Dalmar exclaimed.
"That nice old man was charming you, you dimwit!" Lars shouted. "Had we stayed there any longer, you probably would have stripped naked and gave him everything. You probably would've done it with a smile on your face!" Lars was furious that Dalmar had been so easy charmed. But Lars sighed a mighty sigh, knowing that human men were the easiest of all peoples to charm. It was not his fault.
"Well, why didn't you do anything?" Dalmar demanded, still in the heat of argument.
"I tried, but you interrupted me, Zeke. What would you have me do? Slaughter them all? Go on a rampage leaving a wake of ire and blood behind us?" Lars paused, spitting to the ground and smacking Dalmar on the back of the head. "You've got to learn these things for yourself. You're just lucky that I was with you when it happened." That was the first time Lars had spoken to him that way, and Dalmar, speechless, realized he had been foolish. He had acted like a child, completely enamored by the presence of the old man. Dalmar felt ashamed, and he never respected Lars any more before than he did at this moment. Dalmar stopped his horse and tugged on Lars' reins to stop his horse, too.
"Thanks...." Dalmar said as he looked at Lars, the dwarf's battle-hardened, angry stare piercing his eyes.
"Well...." Lars began as his face softened as a father feeling compassion for his son. "...don't let it happen again!" Lars grabbed the reins with a sharp tug away from Dalmar's grasp, and began trotting through the valley again. Dalmar, staring at Lars moving away from him, speechless still, nudged his own horse forward. "Besides..." Lars shouted without turning around to face Dalmar. "...now that you know, it should be easier to catch it next time!" Noticing the change of tone in the dwarf's voice, Dalmar sped his horse to meet Lars' own steed.
"Listen...." Dalmar started. "...there's something I need to tell you, Lars."
"I hope it's that you are giving me some gold, too." Lars said jokingly, his tone more playful now.
"No..." Dalmar responded, chuckling slightly and rolling his eyes. "I've been...I' mean..." Dalmar's heart jumped and he began to fear Lars' reaction to what he was about to tell his friend. Quickly, he sighed through his nose and clenched his lips. "My name isn't Zeke." Dalmar closed his eyes tightly at first, and slowly opening one eye in anticipation of Lars' reaction. Lars had turned towards him, and raised his own eyebrow, staring at Dalmar with a confused look on his face.
"Is that it?" Lars asked, the confusion persistent in his gaze at Dalmar.
"Well, yeah." Dalmar said sheepishly. Lars let out a raucous laugh stirring a small group of prairie chickens from their hiding place beneath a tuft of undergrowth. Dalmar's eyes grew wide, horrified that Lars was laughing at him.
"You thought..." Lars said, interrupting his own speech this time with the uncontrollable laughing from within. "You thought I didn't know your name wasn't Zeke?" Lars continued to laugh. Dalmar was no longer impressed, but for a moment he was embarrassed at his folly. Quickly his embarrassment turned to frustration. All this time he had been afraid to tell everyone his true name. He wanted to come clean, fearful that it would compromise the trust of those around him. But instead, his own paranoia had the best of him. Lars was now wiping his eyes with a pair of dirty fingers, catching his breath as he smiled at his friend and patted him on his back as they rode. "How long have you known?" Dalmar asked.
"Oh, since the first night you were given your own chambers, I believe. But I don't think anyone else knows, lad; your secret is safe with me. Byrum said you like to talk in your sleep. Personally, I like it. That would certainly stick in Dorian's craw if he found out." Lars grinned as he remembered his brother. "By the way, what is your name?" Lars asked.
"My name is Dalmar. I'm from...." Dalmar began as Lars interrupted.
"...No! Don't tell me anymore. It doesn't really serve either one of us any good for me to have that information, Dalmar." Lars chuckled to himself as he fell silent. Dalmar smiled, too. The weight of the lie had been released from him, and he felt a great stress had melted away from his body. Lars was, indeed, a good friend in a world filled with so many enemies. But even Dalmar didn't realize how much time had passed as they rode away from the farm where the old man took advantage of Dalmar, and it was only a moment after the conclusion of their exchange that Lars shouted to Dalmar and pointed to a sunlit spot of trees on the side of a mountain to the southwest. Escaping the dense canopy of trees like a painting on the king's wall were the ruins of a stone spire, cracked and crumbling along the rounded mountaintop where it had stood for nearly a century. Sitting high in his saddle, Dalmar was unable to spy any path or roadway leading to the structure. Lars, unable as well, turned to Dalmar to gauge his thoughts. Dalmar looked back at his friend and bit his lip, the curiosity building up inside of him as his mind raced.
"Tell you what..." Dalmar said.
"Yeah?" Lars asked a he grinned a devilish grin.
"Oh, never mind; you already know what I'm thinking." Dalmar said as he matched the dwarf's grin with one of his own.
"Aye, lad. Let's see what the rumpus is about." Lars turned his horse towards the mountain putting the sun to his back and straying from the main pathway. Dalmar followed his friend. A new sort of energy coursed through the two warriors as they raced up the side of the mountain. The area was thick with woody vines as a crumbling stairwell of sandy-colored stone appeared from the forested earth below and mixed with speckled gray granite carved in the likenesses of winged women and amorously remembered female warriors of ancient chivalry. No longer perfectly edged, each stair were as gravel and earth, testament to the harsh conditions and the will of the new gods that inhabited this place, wishing to remove the old ways from their homes. The forest had all but reclaimed the remnants of the monastery. As they reached the top of the walled stairwell, the sun had begun to signal the nearing end of the day with a brilliant array of red, orange, and yellow light gleaming in from the sky above as it broke the canopy of the forest. Lars spun his horse around and paused, in awe at the brilliant light and the view of the valley. Dalmar met his friend, and turned his horse around as well. There, they sat in awe, staring through the window of the world, looking into the eyes of the dawn where the sky and earth conjoined in eternal, blessed union.
Invino Veritas
4/28/12
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