Chapter 9: Seeking Answers

         “I wish to thank you all for your bravery. Our town is in your debt for all that you have done, and we are eternally grateful for your aid.”
         Grom knelt down on one knee with his head lowered. Beside him knelt his companions, each with their heads toward the polished wooden floor. The warmth of the room came as a welcomed comfort after a night of chilling struggle.

         “Please stand up. I’m no king or emperor.”

         Grom and the others took their cue to stand. Before them stood a middle aged man with thinning brown locks and a thick mustache. He wore fairly simple clothing, more of what a merchant might wear instead of a man of authority. The material of his shirt clung tightly to a round belly. He stroked his mustache with pudgy fingers and smiled at them as they rose.

         “I have also recovered the stolen objects from the townspeople’s homes. If you wish, I will bring them to you at once,” Deathwish said, stepping forward.

         “I had almost forgotten about that! Yes, go and bring the town’s things at once,” the man said, smiling even brighter.

         Deathwish bowed his head and stepped across the room through the open front doors into the town. Sunlight poured into the room from the doors and the many windows along the walls. White curtains billowed in the blowing light breeze, leaving the spacious room with a very lively feel. The room stretched on like an extended and widened hallway with very little in the way of furniture or decoration. Three steps interrupted the flatness of the room, and at the top of them sat two wooden benches and several stools in front of a fireplace. Grom wondered what sort of tales were told and songs were sung in front of the warmth of the blazing fire on cold, quiet nights.

         “Mayor Thompson,” Grom began, “Can you explain to us what exactly happened here with the elves?”

         “It was so terrible and unexpected,” the mayor said. The joy in his voice dropped to a more sullen tone. “I don’t even remember how long ago it was, but a messenger came to my office and told me that a representative from Anon had come to speak with me. I didn’t think anything of it, so I told them to allow him in. He came in dressed in fine silk clothing that made him look like a nobleman. He probably was, but it never came up in our conversation. He asked me if they could set up a post to await a ship at our port. I inquired about his business, but he continued to assure me that it was none of my business. Since he wouldn’t tell me what he had planned, I turned him away and rejected his request. He went quiet after that but left without another word.

         “I didn’t see or hear from him for two full nights before the attack began. It came as a complete surprise. An army of elves marched into the town and locked all of the villagers in their homes. They threatened those that did not comply with a swift and painful death. We have a very small force of soldiers, but they were beaten into submission. They kept the town under constant watch, not allowing any of us to leave our homes.”

         “How did the messenger manage to make it to Flamecrest to give us the warning?” Ragefist asked.

         “I don’t know the answer to that. There was a disturbance at one point, and I looked out my window to see them carry away Deathwish to the tavern. Of course, he took care of a few of the soldiers before they managed to subdue him. My only guess is that he somehow created a diversion that allowed the messenger to sneak out of the town,” Mayor Thompson said.

         “Who wants some hot tea?” a voice called from a doorway near the fireplace. A woman with long brown hair and soft hazel eyes stepped into the room, carrying a large silver tray with a brass teapot and several small ceramic cups on it. She wore a plain white and brown dress that covered down to her ankles. She smiled with a sweetness and homeliness that Grom had never seen before. She was pretty, but she dimmed in comparison to Anne’s beauty.

         “Let me introduce you all to my loving wife, Jillian,” Mayor Thompson said, moving over to her and helping her with the tray.

         “It’s very nice to meet you,” Jillian said. She lifted her dress slightly on both sides to allow a short curtsey. Her smile never left her face, even when she spoke. “Please, stay and have some tea. We have some tasty pantries as well if you are hungry.”

         “I think we should be going, actually. I need to talk with someone and head back to Oneria to check on some things,” Grom said. He bowed his head to Jillian and then to Mayor Thompson. “Thank you for your hospitality. If any problems arise, you always have Oneria to look to for help.”

         “Of course. Thank you very much. Our town will forever be in your service,” Mayor Thompson said, bowing his head in return.

         “Come back again sometime for some hot tea!” Jillian called, waving her arms around.

         They stepped through the open doors into the town, and before they could say anything, Tallan approached the town hall, stopping and bowing in front of them.

         “I wanted to personally thank you for helping in coming to Sagarian’s aid. You’re lucky that we got here as soon as we did,” Tallan said.

         “Bah,” Garz spat on the ground before Tallan’s feet, “We had things under control, so don’t go pattin’ yourself on the back, human.”

         Tallan’s welcoming smile began to sour at Garz’s brashness. Grom cleared his throat and held up his hands. “What I think Garz meant is thanks for your aid. We were in a tight spot, and your troops fought bravely.”

         “Yes, perhaps next time you will think through a strategy before rushing in against all odds,” Tallan said, sneering at a smug Garz. He sighed and glanced about the quiet and uneasy town. “What the elves did here is inexcusable. The people of Sagarian did nothing wrong, yet they suffered from a vile attack. We can no longer allow the elves to go about doing what they desire.”

         “What are your plans to put a stop to all this?” Grom asked. His words slipped out without even thinking about them. Somehow he knew what the response would be, but he didn’t want to hear it.

         “Once we finish cleaning up and securing Sagarian, I am going to return straight away to Flamecrest and speak with King Kalabar,” Tallan said. He paused and turned back toward Grom. He didn’t like the look in Tallan’s eyes. “The time for words and negotiations is far beyond our reach. We must now focus on readying our men for the reality of our situation.” He paused again and waited for some sort of response. When none came, he uttered the words Grom dreaded most. “The reality is that we must go to war.”

         “Not to sound skeptical, but have you thought this all the way through?” Ragefist asked. Tallan turned his attention to the tall young man. “Did it even occur to you that the elves were being led by a dark elf woman? Maybe you should try and find out whether those elves were actually from Anon.”

         “What’s the difference whether they were with a dark elf or not? If Anon is indeed working with the legions of the dark elves, then we are that much more justified in extinguishing the fire of their attacks,” Tallan said.

         “I know the elders in Anon,” Grom said, drawing Tallan’s attention back to him, “They would never associate with dark elves. In fact, they were our allies when my friends and I fought the dark elves both here in Feldos and on the island of Mortillus.”

         Tallan scoffed and peered at Grom through angry slits. “That may have been the case, but are you telling me that you are going to side with those that have ruthlessly enslaved an entire town of innocents and tried to murder you all? Power changes purpose, and the power rests in the hands of those ruling Anon. We have to stop them in order to bring peace to Feldos.”

         “Nothing is won through war!” Grom shouted, losing the slippery grip of his patience, “The only thing that people gain through war is loss and destruction. I saved Feldos from the evil of Mortillus, and now this useless struggle is tearing the land apart again. If you manage to subdue the elves, another evil will rise and take its place.”

         “I suppose you would rather we do nothing and let them continue to invade other towns as they see fit,” Tallan hissed. His own voice rose as his fingers twisted tightly around the width of his staff. The blue jewel at the end sparkled in the rays of afternoon light. “What’s stopping them from trying to do the same thing to Oneria? Can your troops keep Queen Anne Delencor safe from harm?”

         Grom gathered all of his self-control to keep from taking Tallan’s staff and breaking it over his head. The thought of Anne being locked away or possibly harmed sent white-hot blood coursing through his veins. He kept his eyes locked on Tallan, balling his hands in fists and breathing heavily.

         “Now you understand our dilemma,” Tallan said, turning away from them. He took a few steps and called back to them. “I would leave for your own town and ready their defenses, Sir Grom, Captain of Oneria’s forces.”

         The three of them stood silent and watched Tallan march off to meet with a small gathering of Flamecrest’s soldiers. Grom kicked the ground, sending a cloud of dirt up into the air. It floated weightless for several moments before finally settling back before his feet.

         “Maybe he has a point, Grom.” Ragefist took a step toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There are many questions that still need to be answered, but we should probably head back to Oneria. I’m sure Tallan will leave some of his men here to keep Sagarian safe. We need to worry about our own defenses.”

         “I’m not worried about our defenses, Ragefist. Jonathan can handle those men in case of an emergency. He did it long before I ever came around, and he doesn’t need me there right now.” Grom turned and looked toward the open front gates leading to the long road back north. “I think we need to pay a visit to the elder elves of Anon.”

         “Are you insane?” Garz shouted, “Why in the hell should we go there? Dwarves and elves don’t get along as is, and I’m not heading to talk with a bunch of pointy-ears. They’ll probably string us up by our beards for spilling the blood of their kin.”

         “I know them, Garz. I doubt that even Vander would agree to work with the drow. If we are ever going to find the answers to all of these mysteries, then we are going to have to go there and find out for ourselves.”

         “If you think that is for the best, then I will follow you to speak with the elves,” Ragefist said. Although he agreed to go along with the idea, his voice shook with hesitance.

         “Who ever heard of a couple of dwarves going to talk with a bunch of old fart elves? This is ridiculous! If Deathwish heard any of this, he would be on my side!” Garz shouted, throwing up his arms in disgust.

         “Is that so?” The deep voice echoed from behind Garz, who turned to find Deathwish standing behind him. The sack of valuables rested on the ground, held by his gloved left hand. Although his features were masked by the skull and cloth, Garz imagined a smile on the paladin’s face. “I believe that we should seek out the elves of Anon. If Grom truly knows them, then perhaps he could talk some sense into them and stop the fight before it even begins.”

         “You mean that you are going to accompany us to Anon?” Grom asked, staring at the towering Deathwish. He had expected Deathwish to disappear back wherever he first came from, yet there he stood, offering his services freely. Grom had heard about the generosity of paladins, but the more time he spent around Deathwish, the less he fit the description he remembered from legends and tales.

         “Yes,” Deathwish said and slipped into the building to deliver the sack to Mayor Thompson.

         “Then what are we waiting for?” Garz asked, reaching around to his back and pulling Galewind around in front of him. “If we have to do this, we might as well start now.”

         “I agree,” Grom said and nodded his head. He pushed aside his feelings of confusion and uneasiness and waited for Deathwish to walk back through the doors into the town.

         When Deathwish finally returned, he motioned for the others to follow him. A bit confused, Grom walked after the dark-clad paladin. He looked back questioningly toward Garz and Ragefist, but they both replied with a shrug of their shoulders. Deathwish led them to a stables behind the mayor’s home, where he took it upon himself to open one of the stalls.

         “Uh, isn’t it against your holy ways to steal someone else’s property?” Garz asked, quirking an eyebrow and gawking at Deathwish.

         “He ruthlessly beheads and eviscerates his enemies, and you think he’s worried about stealing?” Ragefist commented, visibly unfazed by his actions.

         Garz grumbled a few choice words in dwarven and watched Deathwish hand off one of the set of reins to Ragefist. They led two strong, brown stallions through the town to their awaiting cart. Deathwish and Ragefist wasted little time tying up the horses and setting them off toward the city gates.

         Despite his grumbling, Garz helped Grom pack up their few belongings and a fresh supply of food and provisions given to them by the mayor and the troops of Flamecrest. Within no time at all, they journeyed back onto the road away from the port town of Sagarian.

         An uncomfortable silence overtook the travel back north. Grom rarely spoke a single word. He still wondered quietly why all this was happening. He thought his troubles with the dark elves were far from over. Horrid images of his dead companions haunted him once again. When he looked at those traveling around him, he saw the faces of Prescott, Isac, and Shenk – not Deathwish, Ragefist, and Garz. He winced at the nagging thought of having to endure the same torture over again.

         Garz didn’t seem to notice Grom’s anxiousness, and he spent most of the lengthy trip chattering or complaining about anything and everything. Had he been paying attention, Grom may have felt the urge to smack his kin to shut him up. Ragefist gritted his teeth and lost his temper a few times, which usually resulted in a shouting contest that had to be resolved by Deathwish’s stern voice of reason.

         After several weeks of traveling, they passed around the mountains and walked the road leading toward Oneria. Grom remembered Tallan’s words of advice and considered continuing on back home to protect his own people. When they came to a division in the road, they all stopped for a short rest, and Grom stared longingly down the path home.

         “Something bothering you, Captain?” Ragefist asked. He walked over and held out a small chunk of stale bread and a skin of warm water. “You’ve barely said anything this entire trip. The visit to Anon was your idea, you know.”

         “Maybe Tallan was right. What if something happens in Oneria? I can’t just walk away knowing that Queen Anne might be in danger. Perhaps we should go back and forget about Anon,” Grom replied.

         “Come now, Grom,” Garz burst in, a sly grin creeping across his dirty face, “You’ve been gone long enough as it is. What’s a few more weeks going to change? I’m sure your human girl is safe and sound. Hell, she’s probably already accepted one of those fancy suitors to be her king. By the time we get back, we could get in on the wedding party!”

         Grom clenched his hands into fists so right that all color vanished from his knuckles. He had tried to forget about the foreign men from far away lands invading Oneria like packs of wild goblins. It never dawned on him that during his lengthy absence, one of those slimy, smooth-talking “gentlemen” might have weaseled his way into the crown.

         “What? Did I say something wrong?” Garz asked. He snorted and turned his head to spit a green glob onto the road.

         “If you are worried about Oneria, maybe we should split up and go both ways,” Ragefist suggested. He looked over toward the ominous paladin and nodded his head. “Deathwish and I can make a trip to Oneria and check to see if everything is in order.”

         “Wait!” Garz shouted, furrowing his eyebrows, “If we’re splitting up, then why isn’t Grom going to Oneria? He’s the brave captain of that damn town of humans. Shouldn’t he go, since he’s got his beard tied in knots?”

         “You are forgetting, Garz. Grom knows the elders of Anon. They may be more willing to speak peacefully with him,” Deathwish interjected. He cleared his throat and turned to face the road to Anon. “I have also dealt with the ruling elves of Anon, so I believe I should accompany Grom. Besides, we shouldn’t risk sending a hot-tempered, quick-fingered dwarf on a task to bring peace to an elven land.”

         Garz flared his nostrils but did not fire back a reply.

         “As much as I don’t care to travel with the loud-mouth, I see your point,” Ragefist admitted with a sigh.

         “Take the cart with you. We should be able to travel faster without it along this rough path. Secure things in Oneria, and I we will send a message as soon as we can,” Grom said. He moved to the cart and pulled his pack out and slung it over his shoulder. Lifting his axe, he uttered to himself, “Let’s hope the news will be positive.”

         Ragefist and Garz disappeared off into the distance, leaving Grom and Deathwish behind in the dust. Grom’s heart sank like the settling debris kicked up by the horses and cart. A heavy hand clapped down onto his shoulder, startling him.

         “Do not fear, Grom. Once we finish our business in Anon, you will be able to return to Oneria. I’m sure everything will be in order when you return.”

         Grom managed a small, sincere smile at Deathwish’s reassuring words. He nodded his head, braced himself against the weight of his pack, and started down the long, rugged path.

         As the days passed them by, Grom began to wonder about his traveling companion. His mind cycled through all he knew about this mysterious masked man that called himself a paladin. Grom had never met a paladin throughout his many different travels, and Deathwish certainly did not uphold any of the values or stories that Grom remembered as a child.

         Grom remembered one such story that his mother told him as a bedtime story. There was once a dwarven paladin and follower of Corlon, God of War and Might. Long before Grom’s family and the other dwarven clans inhabited their home in the mountains, a terrible ogre lived at the top of its craggy peaks. The nearby citizens named the ogre Bane, because anyone who attempted to climb his mountain was met by a barrage of stones that would wipe out an entire traveling party. Bane remained relentless in his attacks, keeping the precious gems and ore of the mountain all to himself.

         One day a dwarf upon a human-sized warhorse rode through the surrounding villages toward the path up the mountainside. Dwarves rarely rode horses due to their size, so this was truly a sight for everyone to behold. His plated armor shined like golden sunlight, and a sword crafted of a strange yellow metal rested across his back. Even the horse wore a protective shell of shining mail. He rode onward without stopping for rest and spoke his name to no one. His eyes were fixed on the looming mountain and a single driving purpose.

         No one knows exactly what happened that fateful day. The villagers heard the rumbling of rocks tumbling down the face of the mountain. Two full days went by without the dwarf’s return, and the villagers’ hearts sank. On the morning of the third day, the people of the surrounding villages awoke to the sound of stamping hooves, and they all raced from their homes to find the dwarf riding through. The head of the ogre trailed behind, secured to the back plates of the horse’s armor.

         The citizens were astonished by this sight and formed a crowd to catch a glimpse of the severed head and the man that brought it down the mountainside. The leader of this particular village went out along the road with a few armed guards, forcing their unknown savior to stop.

         “Please, stay a while and rest! We shall honor you for your brave deed! It is thanks to you that we may now enter the mountains without fear of death and destruction,” the village leader spoke.

         “No,” the dwarf on horseback spoke. The villagers looked confused by his refusal to celebrate his grand victory. Before they could question him, he spoke again. “I have freed these mountains myself, and I must return to my brethren. It is the will of Corlon that these mountains belong to the dwarves and not to weaker races like that of men.”

         Those were the only words he spoke that day. The citizens shouted angry words, but none dared to challenge the one that was able to single-handedly defeat Bane. The unnamed dwarf left the villages of men behind that day, freeing the mountains for the dwarves to inhabit and mine.

         Some dwarves profess that their hero was none other than Corlon himself. Grom’s mother never believed those claims and neither did Grom. The thought of a brave dwarf such as the one told in the story always steeled his courage.

         Looking back at the towering figure of Deathwish reminded him more of Jackyl, the God of Death and Judgment. His thirst for destruction reminded Grom nothing of the tales of how paladins were supposed to conduct their search for truth.

         “Is something the matter?” Deathwish asked. He stopped his march and stared at Grom from the shadowy depths cast inside his skeletal mask. The edge of his instrument of death peeked over his shoulder and watched.

         “Nothing,” Grom said after some length. Prying his eyes away from the weapon, he looked back down the road. “It shouldn’t be much farther until we reach the city gates. We should hurry and get there before the sun sets.” With that said, Grom continued forward, not turning back to look at his companion for the remainder of the journey.

         As the sun made its way across the sky, Grom and Deathwish arrived at the closed front gates of the elven city of Anon. A feeling of unease submerged at the bottom of Grom’s gut as they approached. It had been more than two years since he last passed through the gates for the first time, and it had been two years since he visited the graves of his fallen companions Prescott and Isac Izula. The gates stood tall, blocking any possible entrance and hopes of kneeling before their headstones.

         “Well, here we are,” Grom said. He turned his head to either side, finding no guards stationed at the gates. The whole scene seemed strange to him. A complete silence replaced the usual bustle of carts moving in and out of the city.

         “Maybe we should let them know we’re here,” Deathwish bellowed. He strode up to the door and bashed his closed fist against the solid doors once, twice, three times in a row. The shaking pulses of each knock disturbed the unmoving air and sent shivers down Grom’s spine. The tension in his gut boiled and bubbled with anticipation. Deathwish raised his hand to knock again, but before he could bring his hand against the door, the barricade into town receded and revealed a line of elven archers, each aiming an arrow at the two visitors.

         “I think they know we’re here,” Grom uttered, his hands reaching for the axe hanging from its leather strap.

         “You would be wise to leave that where it is.”

         Grom’s fingers froze around the handle of his weapon, and his eyes fell upon a tall figure in white robes standing behind the bowmen. His golden hair shone against the last rays of sunlight falling behind him. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his thin countenance.

         “Welcome Grom Greystone, slayer of Lord Astaroth and hero of Feldos. We have been expecting you. Will you please join us at the Temple of Helena?”