Chapter 2: An Old Friend

         Grom walked across the empty grassy field. The sun’s last rays stretched out in a desperate attempt to hold back the starry night, but like all nights before, the sun failed. A cool breeze blew past him, rustling his beard and tickling his skin. The drop in temperature came as a welcome compared to the sweltering heat of the late spring day.

         From moved with much more freedom, donning the same leather armor that he traveled in two years ago. The protective hide shown with signs of wear and age, and several spits were patched and sewn together. He preferred the old, lighter armor to the hefty breastplate, but the improved protection and overall appearance of the metal casing proved to be the standard for all soldiers of Oneria.

         Grom slowed to a stop and gazed around the empty field. The light from the sun began to dim, and shining red lantern light blazed from some of the windows of nearby houses and a few rooms of the castle. He looked up at the many windows of the stone castle. He wondered how many suitors would arrive in the days to come. When he had left the guest room in the castle, he saw a regal man in fine white clothing with golden trim walk past. The noble paid Grom no attention as he strode toward Anne’s throne room. He wondered whether they would all be so arrogant and well kept. Perhaps Anne wanted that sort of man; perhaps no one could ascend the throne and become king.

         “There you are,” came a voice from behind him. Grom turned and looked up at Ragefist, donned in his armor with his sword ready at his side. “I’m sorry if I’m a little late.”

         “Not at all, lad. You’re right on time,” Grom said with a smile.

         Hours later, both Grom and Ragefist leaned against their weapons. Sweat poured from their faces as they found to regain their breath. Grom dropped his weapon and fell back on the soft blanket of lush blades. Ragefist followed suit and lowered himself to a sitting position.

         “Ol’ Rusty sure did a good job training you. I’m surprised he spent his time sharpening the skills of a human. I suppose he saw your true talents,” Grom commented through labored huffs.

         “He owed me a debt,” Ragefist began, pausing to draw in a few long breaths. “I was staying at his tavern one night, when bandits tried to loot the place. I helped Rusty fight them back. It was the first time I ever killed someone. I was pretty shaken up, but Rusty couldn’t have been any happier. He gave me a room to stay at the inn and trained me a few hours everyday. When I learned enough, I left The Rusty Anchor and wound up here.”

         “That’s quite a story, lad,” Grom said. He sad up with a groan and pulled up a single piece of grass, twirling it around his finger. “What I don’t understand is why you were traveling off on your own in the first place.”

         “I wanted to find adventure and glory,” Ragefist said. He reached for his sword and rested it across his lap. “Isn’t that what you wanted? I mean, you are one of Oneria’s greatest heroes. Aren’t you happy with the fame and stature?”

         Grom didn’t answer at first. He unraveled the blade of grass from around his finger and let it fall back to the ground. “You still have much to learn, Ragefist. I hope you don’t find the answer to your question the same way I did.”

         Ragefist’s face dropped, ashamed of his enthusiasm and the troubling response to his energy. Grom pulled himself up and patted him on the shoulder. Ragefist raised his head and used his sword as a cane to lift himself back to his feet.

         “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink at The Black Dragon Inn. We both deserve a beak after that workout,” Grom said. He lifted his axe and fastened it across his back as he crossed the field back into town. Ragefist sheathed his sword and jogged after him.

         They soon arrived outside the front door of Oneria’s busiest inn, and the sounds of shouting and laughter proved that yet another packed house of drinkers lie beyond the entrance. Grom pushed the doors wide open and nearly pushed over a patron stumbling to his table with four mugs of frosty ale. Many of the other men and women looked up at Grom and gave a rousing cheer. Grom nodded and waded through the crowd toward the bar. To his luck, two stools remained unseated. Grom and Ragefist took up the last seats and leaned against the cool wooden counter in front of them.

         “Well, well! If it isn’t Grom!” came the booming voice of the dwarven tender. She stepped up to the two and nodded her head. Her bountiful bosoms bounced as she laughed and smiled at Grom. “I haven’t seen you here in weeks. I was beginning to worry that you’d forgotten about me and the establishment.”

         “You know I’d never forget about this place. It’s the only tavern where I can get a strong dwarven ale from a strong dwarven lady,” Grom bellowed in a loud laugh.

         “For the flattering comment, I’ll go ahead and bring you two. It looks like you’ve worked up quite a thirst as it is!” she said, almost turning away. “I see you’ve brought a friend with ya! What can I get a strapping young lad like yourself?”

         “I’ll have what he’s having,” Ragefist said.

         The tender raised her brow and shook her head. “If you insist, but I’m not dragging your ass out of here when ya pass out!”

         “Don’t you worry,” Grom piped in, “The boy fights like a dwarf, so maybe he can drink like one, too.”

         The tender shrugged her shoulders and walked down to the other end of the bar, leaving them along amongst the busy crowd.

         “Things sure have been busier around here as of late,” Ragefist commented as he glanced around him. He tapped his fingers on the bar top and tilted his head back toward Grom. “Do you think it has something to do with all the nobles coming into town?”

         “You’re probably right, lad,” Grom said in a dry voice. He cleared his throat and nodded is head at the tender as she set down four tankards of ale. “I just hope things quiet down soon.”

         Ragefist lifted one of the tankards and held it under his nose. He coughed at the powerful scent and stared at the mass of bubbles at the top. He watched Grom lift his first ale and swallow it down gulp by gulp, slamming down an empty container on the bar. Ragefist hesitated and then raised his tankard to his lips, taking a large swig of the potent brew. He lowered the ale back onto the bar and belched.

         “This stuff is stronger than Rusty’s mix!” Ragefist exclaimed.

         “What can I say? She knows how to brew a good drink,” Grom said with a smirk.

         Grom raised his second tankard and took his first gulp, when the doors burst open. He lowered his ale and turned to see two of Oneria’s soldiers enter and mark toward the bar, shouting and pushing the patrols out of their way.

         “What’s going on?” Ragefist asked. Grom did not answer. He pushed his drink away and stood to meet the armored guards.

         “Sir Grom,” they said in unison and bowed their heads.

         “What’s the matter?” Grom asked.

         “Sir Jonathan wishes to speak with you at once,” one of the men spoke with his head still lowered.

         “What does he want?” Grom asked. He tasted the lingering flavor of ale on his mouth, and he wanted to return to his stool and finish his tankard.

         “We caught a thief trying to sneak into one of the noble’s carriages,” the guard replied.

         “Why can’t Jonathan handle it?” Grom asked, glancing back at Ragefist and his drink.

         “The thief is a dwarf, Sir Grom,” the second guard finally spoke. He raised his head and looked Grom in the eyes. “The thief claims to be from your home, Jimstown.”

         “I’ll go to him at once,” Grom said. He sounded much more concerned at the news and started past the two men to the door. He fought through the townspeople and found his way out the door. He headed toward the castle at a jog, but he slowed to a stop at the sound of footsteps behind him.

         “Wait for me!” Ragefist shouted as he ran up beside him.

         “This sort of thing doesn’t concern you. You should be enjoying a night of relaxation,” Grom said in his best commanding voice.

         “I’ll stay out of your way. I just want to tag along and help if you need me,” Ragefist said, refusing to back down.

         “Fine,” Grom sighed, “Follow me, but promise to stay quiet unless spoken to. Got it?”

         Ragefist nodded.

         Grom continued on toward the castle, trailed by Ragefist. He wondered who this dwarf could be that allowed his greed to get the better of them. Thievery had always been frowned upon among the clans in the mountains. Those that were caught often times paid for their actions by giving up their right hand, and they were the lucky ones. Those that were not caught fled away from Jimstown for fear of losing a body part of their lives. The mountains did not rest too far to the east of Oneria, so Grom was not surprised that a shady dwarf would attempt to reap the rewards of all this nobility showing off for Anne’s attention. In fact, thinking about it brought a small smile to his lips.

         They reached the front of the castle and found Jonathan standing with Lord Delcor, the nobleman from Blackmore. Lord Delcor adjusted the white gloves that covered his hands and glanced to the side. Noticing Grom, he sneered and narrowed his eyes.

         “What’s this now? Does another petty thief wish to rob me of my things?” Lord Delcor said, wrinkling his nose.

         Grom bit his lower lip to keep from saying anything inappropriate. He stared up at the tall, regal man and frowned. He wondered if Anne could be at all interested in such a pompous jerk. As Grom stared at him, he wished for a moment that he could resemble any one of the men coming to court Anne. He knew that his diminished size and lower status allowed him little chance to realize his dream of one day holding Anne in his arms. Sadly, love could not pass the boundaries of race.

         “I’m glad you’ve come, Grom,” Jonathan said. He turned away from Lord Delcor and motioned toward the castle. “The thief is being held in the dungeon. Trust me, he won’t be heard to miss.”

         “Wait just a moment!” Lord Delcor interjected. Grom didn’t enjoy the intensity of his voice or his piercing stare. “What will stop this so-called captain from releasing this treacherous dwarf? For all we know they could be family. It’s probably some scheme cooked up by them both to steal all of my possessions!”

         Ragefist growled and balled his hands into tight fists. Grom turned his head around and grabbed his hand, shaking his head.

         “I assure your safety, my lord. Sir Grom is one of the bravest men I have ever seen. It is because of him and his companions that all the lands of Feldos were spared from the evil plague from Mortillus, The Blackened Isle. He is most trustworthy, and he was appointed by Queen Anne herself,” Jonathan said, keeping his voice down to a calm level.

         “Hrmph,” Lord Delcor grunted, shaking his head and turning away from them. He took three steps toward the open castle doors and stopped. “I do not see the brave man you speak of. I only see a filthy dwarf in men’s armor.”

         Grom watched the arrogant lord disappear into the castle. Ragefist shook his head and sighed.

         “What a damn jerk!” Ragefist scoffed.

         “I apologize for his rude behavior, Grom,” Jonathan said. Grom’s face remained fixed, staring toward the castle opening. “He was upset about what this thief tried to do to him.”

         “I’m going to talk to the prisoner,” Grom said, “Ragefist, I ask you to wait here.”

         Before Ragefist could protest, Grom marched forward through the open doors. He didn’t travel far before coming across the doorway and the spiraled staircase leading down below the ground level of the castle. Down, down, down he went for quite some time through the dark before coming across a floor covered with dirt and dust. Soldiers stood on either side of the doorway, their faces illuminated by the dancing light of torches lining the walls every few paces. Grom nodded to the guards and strode across the dank room toward another corridor. Bars of metal lined the walls along the wide hallway, serving as cramped, dirty jail cells. Grom stopped at the nearest cell and peered inside at a pile of straw that served as a bed and a rusted metal chamber pot–the only accommodations provided for Oneria’s prisoners. He walked on, finding each cell along the way empty, and he wondered if the dwarf had indeed been brought here.

         Grom started to turn back when the reverberating sound of a belch shook the bars of the farthest cell to Grom’s left. Grom moved to the end of the confining hall and waved a hand in front of his face to push away the foul stench emanating from within. Grom grabbed hold of one of the bars, breathing through his mouth to keep from vomiting.

         “Blech! What the hell do you want? I ain’t gonna talk to no one until you let me free!” a hoarse voice called from inside the cell.

         “I’ve come to speak with you concerning your participation in a theft. If you cooperate, I will see what I can do to help out a fellow dwarf,” Grom said. He spoke with a nasal tone, and under normal circumstances he’d laugh at the silliness of it.

         “Bah!” the prisoner called back. Grom shuddered at the sickening sound of the dwarf’s hacking, which was followed by a thunderous snorting and spitting across the room. The glob of brown and green filth flew from the pile of straw, where the prisoner laid back with his hands behind his head.

         “Just who the hell are you, anyway?” Grom shouted. In his anger, he made the mistake of breathing out of his nose. Grom gagged and pinched his nose closed.

         “What the hell does it matter? The damn prissy human is going to get me hanged either way, so I might as well enjoy what little time I have left,” the prisoner said, spitting a smaller amount of snot across the room.

         “That’s not necessarily true,” Grom began. He froze in the middle of his thought and squinted against the darkness at the prisoner. A memory sparked in his mind, an unpleasant memory of his childhood. “Garz.”

         That single word grabbed hold of the prisoner’s tongue and kept it frozen in place. He pulled himself up from his thin, itchy bed and stared a hole past the bars and through Grom’s eyes. Neither dwarf spoke for several moments. Neither Grom nor Garz blinked an eye or moved a single muscle.

         “I knew it!” Garz suddenly shouted. A grin spread wide across his face, and he scrambled on all fours toward Grom and pulled himself up to his feet with the aid of the bars. Grom stepped back and shook his head. He did not share Garz’s welcoming smile. “You’ve got to get me out of here! I swear I didn’t do it! They framed me! I came across a group of men trying to steal from the cart, and tried to get them to stop. Before I knew it, they dropped the guy’s stuff and ran off, leaving me standing there besides all his things. You can’t believe that I’d try and steal someone else’s things!”

         “Are you kidding me? Of course I believe that you tried to steal his things! You’re one of the most notorious thieves from the mountainside! I’ve never seen you do a single nice deed since the day we first met. How am I supposed to believe that you didn’t intend to steal Lord Delcor’s things, especially when there were witnesses?” Grom asked, his voice rising to a shout.

         “Come on, Grom,” Garz began, leaning close against the cold steel, “We’ve known one another since we were kids. Remember the time I saved your life? You owe me!”

         “If you’re referring to the time when you knocked me down that mine shaft and asked someone to help rescue me the next morning, then I hardly think I owe you a thing!” Grom growled, balling his hand into a fist.

         “Come on, that was a joke! We all had a good laugh afterwards!” Garz said, reaching through the bars for Grom’s arm.

         “Knock it off!” Grom shouted, taking another step back. Grom shook his head and frowned. “I hope you finally get what you deserve.” Grom started to walk away, and Garz’s pleading cries followed him.

         “Don’t leave me here to die! Can you really leave one of your own to rot in a cell? Grom! Grooom!”

         Grom turned from the corridor and was met by Sir Jonathan and Ragefist.

         “His name is Garz,” Grom began without being asked, “He’s a filthy thief from Jimstown, and I’m sorry to say that we know one another. Whatever punishment you see fit is fine with me.”

         “That will have to wait,” Jonathan said. Grom saw a spark of urgency in his eyes, and worry began to set in. “We have another matter that needs our full attention.”

         “What is it now? Did Lord Delcor sprain his ankle or something?” Grom said with a sigh.

         “No Grom, this is very serious,” Jonathan replied. He paused for only a moment before continuing with his thought. “One of our patrols has returned to report a strange sighting to the south of Oneria. They report that Lord Thelnas, another suitor scheduled to meet with Queen Anne, was attacked along the road by thieves. Luckily for him, the thieves took only his possessions and not his life.”

         “Damnit, more thieves? Were they human or dwarves?” Grom asked.

         “Lord Thelnas told our men that they were humans wearing red masks to disguise their faces, but that is not the entire story,” Jonathan said. He paused and took in a deep breath. Grom looked at him curiously, but Jonathan avoided eye contact and kept his gaze on the floor. “They also reported a rumor concerning a man near the mountains to the south. They said that this man wore thick black armor and carried a large weapon.”

         Grom’s eyes widened, but he could not see Jonathan or Ragefist in the dark recesses of the dungeon. Instead, he saw the flashing purple energy lighting the sky, casting a claw-shaped shadow over the Lord of Mortillus, Astaroth. The only sound he could hear was the banging of his heart against his chest. Astaroth had fallen over the balcony and into the haze of darkness surrounding the entire island, yet someone he managed to survive.

         “Grom,” Ragefist’s voice drifted to his ear, pushing away those dark eyes. Grom lifted his head toward his companion. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

         “Perhaps I have,” Grom whispered. He straightened himself out and swallowed hard, turning back to Jonathan. “How long ago was this other lord robbed? Does he know which way the thieves traveled?”

         “They have told me that this occurred earlier today. Lord Thelnas claims that they waited for him along the road and drove his horse and cart away from Oneria.”

         “Damnit,” Grom whispered. He shook his head and then looked back up at Jonathan. “Go make sure that Lord Thel-whatever is tended to, and assure him that I will have his cart returned as soon as possible.” Grom turned away and started back for the corridor of cells.

         “Where are you going?” Jonathan called to him.

         “I’m going to make a decision that I will no doubt regret for a very long time,” Grom replied, leaving Jonathan and Ragefist to stand alone in confusion. Grom returned to Garz’s cell and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey, Garz.”

         “Is it my time all ready?” Garz muttered, looking back up at Grom from his resting place against the wall. He lifted his leg and let loose an offensive noise. “Can’t a dwarf at least get a final meal before being taken to the gallows?”

         “I’m here to set you free,” Grom said. He saw the sparkle in Garz’s eye and held up his hand. “I’m only freeing you under a set of specified conditions.”

         “I’ll do anything you say! Anything is better than rotting away here,” Garz said, crawling back to his feet and hurrying to the cell door.

         “A group of men were found along the southern road, and they stole another nobleman’s carriage. If these are the men you claim to have seen, I want you to come along and help me find them. If you promise to do this, you are free to go. If you sneak away or try anything dastardly, I swear I will personally see to your death. Do you understand?”

         Garz nodded and raised his hand as if swearing an oath. “You have my word that I will help to rescue the stolen property and remain on my best possible behavior.”

         “I sure hope so,” Grom mumbled under his breath. Clearing his throat, he turned away from Garz. “I will have men come to release you shortly. You will be allowed to clean yourself up, and I will provide you with some fresh clothing. You will then be brought to me, and we will set out south from Oneria.”

         “Thank you, Grom,” Garz said, leaning his arms through the bars, “You always were like a brother to me.”

         Grom forced himself to remain silent as he walked away from the darkness and the rancid stench. He found Ragefist waiting for him near the staircase.

         “I don’t suppose you’ll need any help on this little trip,” Ragefist said. Grom saw the grin on his face and the twitching of his fingers against the side of his leg. The eagerness of a young soldier surfaced once again in the talented young man.

         “Let this be your first real mission,” Grom said, reaching up and patting him on his back. Ragefist smiled and nodded his head. “Come, we should prepare for the journey. This will be a very long and dangerous night, my friend.”

         Ragefist rushed up the stairs with the springing steps of a young child. Grom followed, taking solid, cautious steps toward the danger that awaited them. All the while, Astaroth’s death gaze remained emblazoned in his mind.

ID: 1030722   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 3: The Dwarven Mountains  Grom, Ragefist, and Garz travel into the mountains to find the bandits. by The Lemon