Longing Ring

27

"Am I doing this the right way?" his mother asked. The creature purred in response.

J'role felt something slip into his head, slick and oily, and it slid through his thoughts.

Although only a small child, an astounding insight came to him: he had always had one place of privacy. His thoughts. His mother had bartered that off

He would never be alone again.

"We owe you our thanks!" said Borthum, leader of the dwarven envoys from Throal. He raised his mug high, and all at the table did the same. The Chakara's captain, a t'skrang with a white stripe running over his head and down his back, was hosting them in his stateroom. The guests included the captain of the Chakara, Releana, Captain Patrochian, and seven dwarfs from Throal. The dwarfs wore loose, square-cut clothes covered with spirals that wound around each other in fascinating patterns. On their feet were thick shoes with pointed tips that curved up. Their long beards were braided and flat as boards.

On their heads they wore round hats, each inscribed with symbols that J'role, of course, could not understand. Some wore earnings.

They were friendly, and not at all suspicious of J'role, though he sat glum and unresponsive throughout the dinner. He had tried to avoid the meal, but Captain Patrochian insisted he accept his hero's honor. He was afraid that too much protesting would raise suspicions, so he'd agreed to come.

But J'role couldn't think about food. All he could do was keep trying to prevent the memory of his dead-murdered- father from entering his thoughts. He was convinced that someone at the table already knew what he had done or else would figure it out by looking at him and catching a chance gesture that revealed too much.

In the din of the dinner conversation just at the edge of his thoughts, he heard Releana ask the dwarfs about the stones for a city they might have cut before the Scourge. The dwarfs had cut the stones for many cities and citadels, but knew of none in the vicinity Releana described. She asked for permission for her and J'role to enter Throal and search through the dwarven records for any hints of such construction. The dwarfs laughingly agreed that they could do nothing but accede to the request. "Heroes," one of them said, "are well respected in Throal."

During the meal another one asked, "And what is the matter with your grim friend?"

Some of the guests at the table, those who knew that J'role had lost his father, looked aghast. "His father, sir, died on the Breeton," said Releana.

The dwarfs looked appropriately ashen.

"His name, sirs," continued Releana, "was once Grim, but is now J’role.

"He is a thief adept," said — Captain Patrochian, "but an honorable one."

The dwarven leader raised his mug. "Here is to fallen fathers, then. And to honorable thieves, rare though they may be.”

All raised their cups, and most drank deeply. All but J'role, he touched the liquid to his lips, and thought he might never drink or eat again.

"There's a branch of the Serpent, the Coil, which flows down from the dwarven mountains," explained Captain Patrochian to J'role and Releana the day the Chakara docked at the foot of the mountains. "But it's far too rough for our ships. The rest of your trip will be overland."

"And what will become of you?" asked Releana.

The captain drew in a long breath. "I'll stay on the Chakara for a while. Ships are rare to come by, but I might obtain funding from King Varulus for a new one. I've given the envoys my offer. They'll carry it back to Throal for me." She looked away, and then back at them. "But this is not the talk for now. Good luck to you. And to you especially, J'role.

For someone who was supposed to bring bad luck, you undoubtedly helped save dozens of lives with your warning. Thank you." She extended her hand, and he took it.

But though their flesh touched, J'role felt nothing in the moment. His body seemed insubstantial, as if nothing about him was real anymore.

The others said their goodbyes, and soon the entourage was on its way to Throal. It consisted of eight dwarfs, Releana, J'role, and Garlthik, still bound. Because J'role would not incriminate the ork for the mutiny attempt, Garlthik's fate fell to dwarven justice.

Rumors of the exploits of Garlthik One-Eye were known through the area, and the dwarfs recognized him. "Fame," whispered Garlthik to J'role, "is a loathsome thing to a thief.

Quite a paradox for those who are of legendary quality, eh, lad?" He laughed conspiratorially, but J'role shunned him.

They would reach the gates of the kingdom on the next day. The dwarfs had donkeys with saddlebags full of food, and so the group remained well fed. J'role kept to himself, eating alone and keeping slightly away from the rest of the group; he knew they thought it was because he mourned his father is death, and they were partially correct. But in truth he did not know what to think about what he had done. He remained separate because he felt so apart from them. He had done a thing that none of them would have done.

And more, a part of him had begun to enjoy the fact that he had killed his father. There seemed a power to it. Finally he was free of that tired old man! Finally the whimpering and begging and apologies had come to end.

Still, even as he tried to find strength in his actions, tears rolled down his face.

It was at twilight, when the stars began to dot the dark violet curtain drawing over the western horizon, that Borthum, leader of the dwarfs, spotted the riders. They approached from the south, creating a billowing wall of dirt behind them. "Arms," Borthum said calmly. The dwarfs drew their weapons wearily as if they had already responded to the same command far too many times.

"Who is it?" asked Releana, scraping up some dirt from the ground and holding it in her hands.

"I don't know," said Borthum. "We never know until it's time to fight." The dwarf, his round face hidden partially behind his heavy beard, seemed impassive. But his head shook slightly.

Though the daylight was dying, the riders were identified long before blows could be exchanged. All J'role could make out were the animals they rode-large beasts, as tall as men, with a smooth, hairless hide.

"Scorchers," said Gaiithik.

"Aye," agreed Borthum. "Ork scorcher." He eyed Garlthik.

A tingle passed along J'role's spine; an anticipation of violence. Death. He had no need to draw the magic close around him; it had seeped deep into his being now, resting comfortably. And he knew that whatever came of the encounter, he would do whatever necessary to survive. He couldn't even try to fight it. He was so alone in the world, the magic would turn him into a puppet and make him live.

"Will there be a fight?" asked Garlthik.

"Most likely. Though I wish it were not so. We have no antipathy toward-them. We even have relations with several of the tribes. But who knows? Sometimes they attack.

Sometimes they don't." He pointed to a hill with a sharp, flat side. "We'll prepare ourselves there, and make a circle."

"I can speak to them," said Garlthik as they walked toward the hill.

"I'm sure you can."

Garlthik stiffened. "Don't think I'll be spared because of my race. As they are ambivalent toward your people, so are they ambivalent toward all outsiders-even other orks. I don't relish the idea of them finding me bound in these ropes. These raiders have a harsh sense of worth, and anyone weak enough to be captured is usually killed."

Borthum looked carefully at Garlthik, as if weighing out the value of precious stone.

"Perhaps …"

"If they are violent, and they do want a fight, I will be the best one to undertake the negotiations." Garlthik looked toward the orks, and J'role followed his gaze. There were at least thirty of the raiders. The ork looked surprised. "I've never seen them in such strong numbers."

"They've been organizing for some time now," answered the dwarf. "Or what passes for organization among them." He paused for a moment, then said, “Here is what we will do.

We will let Garlthik One-Eye speak with the orks if needed." One of the dwarfs tried to interrupt, but Borthum raised his hand.

"If they decide to attack, we will fight to the end. But know this, the battle will be difficult. Not all shall live. Which is why I will give Garlthik his chance. I would rather let him speak than lead us into such a lopsided battle. If it comes to a fight, a fight it will be, whether Garlthik speaks or not. Untie his ropes."

"What?” asked one of the dwarfs.

"Untie him. He'll hold no authority with them if he's bound."

Two of the dwarfs reluctantly undid the ropes, and Garlthik smiled at J'role. The boy had no idea what the ork was up to, but it being Garlthik, some scheme was surely at work.

Garlthik then walked away from the group, and came to a stop at twenty feet. He stood tall and firm.

J'role suspected that Borthum also had a plan in mind. He walked over to the dwarf, who stood shoulder height to J'role, and touched the dwarf's shoulder. He pointed toward Garlthik, and then shrugged.

The dwarf smiled. "I do not think he wants us dead, and I do not think he wants to escape," he said softly. "I have checked his knots every half hour this day, and he has-

by my observations-made no attempt to free himself. I had expected to re-tie his knots all during our journey, but there has been no need. This strikes me as odd. Unless he wishes to reach our mountain kingdom and gain access to it.”

The approach of the ork riders turned thunderous now. Their beasts were huge giant, six-legged animals with gray hides and large faces tipped with monstrous horns. The orks on the backs of the beasts were no less terrifying. They wore thick leather armor made from tanned hides. They had adorned their heavy, gray-green faces with dyes of some kind-

lines and circles of red, yellow, blue, and green. In their hair they wore bits of bones as additional adornments. On their backs they had slung bows, along with quivers. In their arms they carried large, heavy lances.

They rode in a great spiral around the hill that Borthum had designated as their point of defense. The trotting of the beasts consumed all other sounds, and rumbled in J'role's chest. He watched their speed. Dodging his way out of the circle might be difficult, but he could get through them if he had to. From there, he did not know. There was little shelter in the area. The trick would be to leave the instant the fight broke out. His exit might not be noticed in the initial skirmish, and he could simply run and run.

The spiral tightened, eventually slowing as the raiders came to a stop. Their beasts snorted, and the raiders stared impassively. The three orks in the lead looked down at Garlthik.

Garlthik raised his arms, and J'role faintly heard him speak strange words. Garlthik halted several times, apparently having trouble with some of the sounds. This impression was confirmed when the raider orks laughed and turned to one another, ignoring Garlthik and speaking to each other. Then the lead raider looked down at Garlthik and cut him off, speaking over Garlthik's attempts at the ancient ork tongue.

Around J'role the dwarfs subtly hefted their weapons, waiting for the conversation to suddenly break out into a brawl.

But Garlthik shook his head; and tried again. This time he did better, his words running more smoothly than the first time, though there were still starts and stops. He gestured to the group behind him, and specifically to J'role. This is concerned J'role, and his concern only increased when the ork leader turned to look directly at him.

The conversation continued for some time, with Garlthik gesturing in the air with his hands. J'role saw Borthum watching the conversation on as if he suspected some kind of trick, but the dwarf held his ground and said nothing.

Then came a long pause, and it seemed as if the raider leader was weighing out much more than whether or not to go into battle. Finally he nodded, and shouted commands in the ork tongue to his followers. The spiral quickly broke up and the group sprinted off into the darkness.

Garlthik stood for a moment, then his shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh He turned and came back to the group as Borthum crossed toward him.

"You spoke for a long time."

"No thanks? They wanted to kill you.”

“Tank you. What did you talk about all that time?"

"My background. They wanted to know who my family was. I lied and connected it to distant relations of theirs. That part was lucky. I might well have connected it to their most hated enemy."

Borthum paused, looked at Garlthik carefully. "Lucky."

"Yes."

Borthum turned from Garlthik and announced that they would make camp for the night.

A sound woke J'role. Without thinking abut it, he rolled from where he lay, then stood straight up. Garlthik knelt beside where J'role had slept, and he looked up at J'role with a grin. His one good eye caught the dying light of the fire's embers and turned it solid red.

He raised a finger to his lips, then crooked it, signaling for J'role to approach.

J'role examined Garlthik carefully. The dwarfs had tied him up again, and the ropes still seemed to bind him. Garlthik had crawled or rolled over to where J'role slept. He did not appear to be armed. J'role approached, and knelt down near Garlthik. They faced each other, as they had on the day Garlthik had initiated J'role at the tavern. The red light framed them, flickering, shifting from red to black to red again.

"Are you all right, then?"

J'role shook his head, cutting off the ork's friendly, concerned tone, not wanting to hear any more pleasantries. He pushed at Garlthik, hoping the ork would simply leave him alone.

But Garlthik spoke again, this time with a seriousness in his voice. "I know, I know. You think I turned on you. But I didn't, you know. I'll tell you honestly, I would have killed the others. And though I can see you're upset about your father's death, him too. I would have, and I say it with no shame. I don't feel shame, that's what gives me my strength.

But you? No, lad. Not you. You're still weak." He smiled gently once more, his large teeth sticking out over his lips. With a concerned, comforting tone, he went on, "You're my student, you see? We're bound."

J'role turned his face toward the ground. He wanted to take the words into his heart, but they frightened him.

"Think just of this then, lad. Dig deep inside yourself and give my questions some time to take root. Do you think you're incapable of doing what I did? Would you have done anything different?"

J'role knew the questions all too well. They had already taken root and he didn't want to think about them anymore. Hadn't he killed his own father? There was no need to contemplate the matter. He lay back on the mat the dwarfs had given him for sleeping and turned his back toward Garlthik.

"Very well," said the ork quietly. "Yes, I understand. see. Well, good night."

J. 'role heard him crawling off. After watching the embers dying- for half an hour, he finally fell asleep.

The gloom that weighed on J'role lightened as they traveled around an outcropping of large rocks and then reached the entrance to Throal.

Three giant arches had been carved into the flat face of the mountain; the center arch stupendously large, the ones on either side only astoundingly large. Even the mountain that towered high above the arches could not make them seem small. Massive stones had been fitted around the edges of the archways, and they glittered gold in the sunlight. A long train of pack animals was leaving the kingdom along a road that rolled out from the mountain. Compared to the arch, they looked like no more than insects.

J'role's group approached, and reached the road that led south from the mountains. On the road they met some other travelers, mostly dwarfs, but also elves-without thorns-

orks, obsidimen, the strange creatures made of black stone, thick-bodied lizard-folk with powerful tails, and humans. Some carried baskets filled with beautiful statues or cloth.

Two or three had wagons, well protected by a complement of guards who looked sternly at J'role when he eyed their goods.

As he approached the gate J'role was certain he would pass out from fear as he walked under the arches. It seemed impossible that such arches would be able to support themselves.

Releana stepped up beside him. "It's beautiful, isn't it?”

J'role almost turned and answered, feeling a warm desire to join her in her amazement.

He caught himself, and faced forward, with not even a nod. He was aware of her walking beside him for a moment longer, felt strongly her desire to be with him, just to show she cared. But his coldness won out, and he saw her shadow on the ground fall back in me entourage.

Better, he thought to himself. It's better this way.

They walked up to the arches, and J'role saw that the gold-plated stones that framed them carried inscriptions, just as the entrance to his own kaer had stones with inscriptions.

J'role realized that once all these gates had been bricked up, to shut out the Horrors, and only in the last few decades had the dwarfs torn the walls down and opened the kingdom to the world.

He could not understand the glyphs on the stones, of course, but they fascinated him just the same. Pictures of griffins and strange, three-headed men and the sun and the stars and all the things of the world seemed etched out in the gold plating. Though he could not understand them, he knew that the Horrors, in some strange, magical way, could. They read the glyphs and turned back.

The creature in his thoughts snickered and said " Most of us turned back.”

The entourage passed under the arches and then into a large cavern beyond them that stretched as high as the arches themselves. The sunlight reached only so far into this massive antechamber, and the air cooled suddenly.

Around the cavern stood dozens of stalls, all displaying wares yet these took up only a small portion of the massive chamber. The rest of the area was kept clear, as if the space were being reserved for others who might wish to set up shop at the gates of the city.

Travelers from the road haggled with the merchants, trading their wares or trying to purchase goods with coin and jewelry. The merchants were as varied in face as the travelers on the road-elves, t'skrang, dwarfs, stone men, thick-bodied lizard folk. He even saw a few tiny winged people selling delicate silver jewelry. After all the groups he had seen thus far, the elves and the t'skrang and the ork scorchers, all of whom had stayed with their own kind, the racial mix at the kingdom's entrance startled J'role. Everyone seemed pleasant and cooperative. Despite his dour state, the sight had the odd effect of lifting his spirits.

All throughout the bazaar area were many dwarven guards who stood by the archways and walked around the booths. They wore metal armor of polished silver and carried heavy axes and maces. Like the dwarfs J'role's group had traveled with, their beards were neatly trimmed, though their demeanor was grimmer. They eyed everyone carefully. And again, like the floor space for the bazaar, there seemed to be more guards than were needed, all in expectation of more merchants and travelers.

Borthum called three of the guards over, instructing them to take Garlthik to the prison and lock him in a cell with magical locks. The guards looked with some awe and trepidation at Garlthik, who smiled down at them with his toothy grin. Then the dwarfs nodded and led the ork away. It seemed possible to J'role that he might never see the ork again. But something stirred within his soul, and he felt that his time with Garlthik One-Eye had still not come-to an end.