Chapter Four
The sky was nearly black at midday, relentlessly pouring rain on the dwarf and his companion as the storm worked its way south and toward the east. Wyrmwood grumbled a curse as his pony struggled chest-deep in pools of rainwater, soaking the dwarf's feet through his worn boots. Terrible winds squealed and howled through the mountains as the man and dwarf turned a bend on their road of mud. “Me thinks we should find higher ground, er me pony'll drown an' meself with it.”
“Try riding a pony smaller than you, my feet have been dragging on the rocks, and have been in the water most of the trip, I now know how my younger brother's fat wife feels,” Kryzzl chuckled to him as they rounded another bend.
“Aye, an' yer backside be getting wet, too!” They shared a laugh, even though what Wyrmwood truly had in his mind no laughing matter. The dwarf was struggling with the vow he silently made before leaving the elves. This man did save him from death, though his motives could not be clear. Wyrmwood would only kill him if necessary, as he knew that men could easily be persuaded in those times. Perhaps the right words would change this man's course of action. As they rode the path along side the river, the water was rising rapidly. “We'll head up to that there ridge,” he yelled over the sound of the growing storm, pointing to an outcrop high above, but not very far down the road.
“How?” Kryzzl asked him as he saw no easy way to make ponies climb the shear rock cliff looming over the road.
“There be a pass up the road here, easier for the ponies, and may give us a way to shelter.”
As they reached the pass, the man and dwarf saw that it would not be usable. Large rocks and boulders had fallen across the entrance. The rain was a little lighter now, but the river was still rising fast. Wyrmwood splashed as he dropped down from his pony and waded over to the rocks, surveying the scene. If he could split one of the boulders, if he could find the strength, they could pass. He looked up and saw that the sides of the cliff were fast crumbling inward toward the pass. He would need to work fast, or else his effort would be in vain. Beckoning Kryzzl, Wyrmwood unstrapped his axe. “When I split this boulder with me axe, I need ye to get the ponies through as quickly as ye can, we'll nay have much time.”
Kryzzl nodded his accord, dismounted and took the reins of both ponies in his hand. Wyrmwood gathered his strength, spoke a few quick words in a tongue unfamiliar to Kryzzl, most likely dwarvish, and his axe began to hum with magic. He raised it high above his head with both hands. Calling on the might of his ancestors, the dwarf brought the axe down with as much strength as he could bring forth, and lightning shot from it. The axe struck the gray stone of the boulder, cleaving it cleanly in two. Kryzzl ran through, practically dragging the ponies, and soon he and the ponies were safely out of harm. The sides of the cliff were steadily dropping more rock and mud into the pass. Wyrmwood, weakened considerably, tried to hurry through right behind. When he was almost through the fast shrinking opening, he stumbled. Face down in the mud, he could feel himself being buried. He struggled to get to his feet, and fell again. With his axe, he punched through the mud and gravel ahead of him. The hole he had made was rapidly closing. The dwarf spat a curse as he lurched forward, dragging his feet through just seconds before the hole closed again.
Pulling himself to his feet, the muddy dwarf looked around, saw Kryzzl frantically trying to keep the ponies calm. The storm was worsening now, and there was great thunder echoing through the pass. “We must find shelter,” Kryzzl yelled, though he knew the dwarf would barely hear his words.
“Aye, half a mile up the high road be an old chapel with a stable, but we need to hurry,” said Wyrmwood, still busy wiping the mud and grit from his face. When he was ready, he mounted his pony. Kryzzl elected to lead his own mount, for he was growing weary of stumping his toes on the rocks and dragging them through the mud.
They made it to the chapel within the hour, a gray and blue stone building looming over an outcrop along the road. The outside of the chapel was beginning to crumble from years of neglect. It had not been used in many years. After securing the ponies in the stable, Kryzzl joined Wyrmwood at the front step of the crumbling old structure. The old door was held by an old rusted lock and had been barred from the inside, however the wood was rotting away at its rusty hinges. Wyrmwood removed his axe from his back, and with an easy chop, the door was taken down.
*******
In the midst of the elven village, a fog sprung up. It swirled about and began to materialize. First was a pair of leather boots, then legs. A few moments later, when the transport spell was complete, a tall, muscular man stood amid the village before a score of startled elves. At least ten bows were trained on his defenseless head, ready to fire. “Weapons down,” cried Jak as he recognized the man. “King Tystyl, what brings you so far from home?”
“I must find Father before my knights do,” huffed the king, “I need to speak with Lord Horlarl. Fael has placed a weighty price on Sir Wyrmwood's head, and I fear he will be killed by my own men.”
Jak turned to the elf beside him, said something hastily in the elven tongue, and the other elf was off. He rushed into the city, and Jak turned back to King Tystyl, “Your adopted father was here only a day ago, accompanied by a human. The human is not to be trusted. He holds Wyrmwood's ring. He also has false papers claiming he is from Jire, bound in an old leather folder with your birth father's crest stamped into it.”
“That cannot be, for that crest has not been in use for more than thirty years,” Tystyl said, voice trailing. After some thought, he seemed to understand. “Fael,” he said, “that damned mage is out after all the Elder Rings. Fael already holds one, I have mine, and this new man has Father's ring. The last ring is held by Lord Horlarl.”
A moment later, the elf that went into the city returned to Jak and Tystyl. He nodded to Jak, and Jak said to Tystyl, “Follow me, old friend.”
The elven city was smaller than the great city of Caryn, but was vast still. The moss-covered buildings seemed to have grown up from the earth. Everything in this city seemed so natural, from the beautiful houses built high in the trees to the gentle pools of crystal clear water along its streets and avenues. At the far end of the city, through a maze of narrow foot paths, stood a very large looming structure. Built in the midst of four ancient ironwood trees, the home of the elven king was made entirely of wood, and looked to have been formed from the great trees themselves.
“Your father is in no immediate danger, King Tystyl,” Horlarl later told the king. The old elf sitting on a throne made of woven vines was thin, wore a green robe and had a crown of antlers upon his head. “He knows the man with him is foul. Wyrmwood brought him here so we could try to find out what his motives are. However, this Kryzzl... if that is his true name, carries your father's ring. You should know that we cannot read the thoughts of those in possession of an Elder Ring.”
“Yes, I am aware of that,” answered Tystyl, “What I wish to know is where these two are now. My knights are riding this way, and I need to intercept my father before they reach him.”
“They took the road east toward Gumlor. My scouts tell me that the two have taken sanctuary from the storm in Hillchurch, the chapel you and your father built by the high road. The pass is blocked now, you will have to find a different way.” Horlarl took a sip of wine, and dismissed his guest.
Tystyl walked back out of the city, and found Jak bridling a large black horse. As if meeting a long lost relative, Tystyl rushed up and threw his arms around the horse's neck. “He came thundering into the valley as if on a mission. I calmed him down and fed him. He seems to have lost his saddle, though.”
“No worries, Jak. Many thanks for taking care of him. Might I use one of your saddles?” the king asked. “I will bring it back when this ordeal is over.”
“I only have pony saddles, but I think we can modify one,” Jak said. A few moments later, the elves had fit a saddle onto the mighty steed.
When Tystyl was in the saddle, ready to ride, he said to Jak, “Thank you, my dear friend. I apologize that I could not stay for a drink and a song, perhaps when this business is finished.” At this, the king headed out, horse at full gallop.