Chapter Five
Omarus paced nervously in the hallway. He had not thought to gather his king's body, nor had he remembered the ring. Now, he was awaiting Fael high in the wizard's tower. That decrepit old wizard would be furious. “Oh, well,” Omarus thought, “the worst he can do is kill me, and when the people of Caryn figure out how their king died, I'm dead anyway.” Moments turned into minutes, which in turn became an hour or more, before a squat servant emerged from the great room beyond the huge dark door.
“Master will see you now,” the servant's voice cracked as he swung the door wide. Inside, the mage was pacing before a large crystal in the center of the room.
“I give you one task, ONE TASK!” Fael shrieked at him. “One task, and you fail me. One task, and your incompetence has compromised the entire plan.” Omarus began to speak, and Fael waved a hand, magically closing the knight's mouth. “All you had to do was kill the man, take his damned ring, and return here. Just a ring, did you not remember that part of your instructions?” Waving his hand again, Omarus found his lips were free.
“I will search every corner of Caryn until I find who is hiding Tystyl's body.” Omarus, eyes down, continued, “I shall not fail you again.”
“It would be folly to search for a corpse, as I see that he now lives. If he gets to Kryzzl and the dwarf, the entire kingdom is lost to me. I fear the dwarf is already suspicious of Kryzzl, and that man has no chance in battle against those two.” Fael began to pace a little faster, trying to improvise his plan. Suddenly, the old gray eyes of the wizard lit on an idea, “Bring me the druid, that girl they love so much. She can prove useful to me now.”
*******
The road was flooded, water ever rising. It was waist deep, and Tystyl's horse was trudging along very slowly, sinking down into the mud more and more with each step. The king imagined he would never make it to the pass. The rain had stopped now, and the clouds were opening up to reveal the sapphire blue sky above. The river was still high. Even if the water receded, there would still be the deep mud. The horse never complained, never made a sound. It knew the importance of the mission.
Coming upon the pass, Tystyl's heart sank. It was definitely unusable, full of large boulders and black mud. Dismounting and approaching the fallen debris, King Tystyl decided to leave the horse behind, for now. He took from his pack a scrap of parchment, and using his finger, wrote a note with mud and attached it to the horse's bridle. “Go back to the valley, old friend” Tystyl told the horse, “safely.” He slapped the horse's rump, who swiftly turned about and headed back the way they had come. Tystyl knew of a way around and also knew he would be climbing.
After a few minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for. A small tree shot out from the rock above, just below a shelf in the rock that was unseen from the road. The elves often used this path when stalking orcs that attempted to invade the valley. Tystyl took from his pack a length of silken rope with a grapple on one end. Swinging the rope to get a bit more distance, he threw the rope at the base of the tree. The grapple wrapped the rope around the tree twice, securely hooking into the wood. Tystyl began to climb. Using the rope to steady himself, he walked up the shear rock face. Easily ascending the twenty feet, Tystyl sat on the tree, unhooked his rope, and jumped the other four feet to his rock shelf.
Walking east along the rocks, he came to where he would be just under the chapel. Inspecting the wall in front of him, he found the boulder he needed to move. Pushing with all his might, Tystyl was able to move the boulder just enough to reveal a hidden tunnel in the rock. The man squeezed through. He pulled a torch from the tunnel wall, took a flint and a dagger from a pouch on his belt, and lit it. He then moved the boulder back to its place, hiding the tunnel from the outside once again.
The dark tunnel was narrow with a low ceiling. It was just about the right size for the dwarf that built it, but Tystyl nearly had to crawl to navigate it. The tunnel curved and climbed, spiraling upward and outward. Cobwebs choked the passage. He was only about twenty feet below the chapel, but the tunnel was at least a mile long. After an hour of crawling the spider infested tunnel, Tystyl finally reached the bottom side of a long-forgotten cellar door. He pushed a small stone embedded in the wall to his right, heard the telltale click of the lock mechanism opening, and carefully pushed the door open.
He came up into the stable of the chapel. Surveying the scene, he noted that the ponies were sound asleep against the wall. The sky was dark now, the moon beginning to rise in the south. Silently exiting the stable, Tystyl crept around to the door of the chapel. He saw Wyrmwood's axe leaning up against the door frame, along with a dagger. He heard the familiar voice of his adopted dwarven father, along with a voice he did not know. He stood silently listening to the conversation within.
“Might I see yer ring?” Wyrmwood asked.
“I don't see why not.”
“Ah, ye hold one of the Elder Rings. Looks plain in the light o' day, but put her out in moonlight, an' she talks,” said Wyrmwood, moving toward the door. Tystyl slid around the corner, drawing a sword. Wyrmwood, as sly as they come, sensed the movement. He raised a hand to stop Kryzzl, and put a finger up to his lip to ensure the man's silence. Peering around the door frame, he recognized the shape of that shadow. He turned back to Kryzzl, continued with the ring. “Ye see, the words inscribed here only show in the moonlight. It is dwarvish,” he continued, raising his voice so Tystyl could clearly hear, “It reads 'Stay yer hand, me son. No danger will come this night.' O' course, it will only protect a dwarf.” He closed his fist tight around the ring as they turned back into the chapel.
“Don’t know why it helped ye when ye were in trouble, unless a dwarf was close.” Kryzzl stood in awe at the ring. He now knew that he had to deliver the ring to his master. “I'll take that back, now, William,” he said, grabbing at the dwarf's hand, “I found it, and now it belongs to me.”
“You'll be wise to let the dwarf keep the ring,” boomed a voice from the doorway. Tystyl stood tall in the door of the chapel, both swords drawn.
“King Tystyl,” the man nervously said, “I thought you were dead.” Wyrmwood glared at Kryzzl with this, the pair had been told nothing of the sort. So this was the plan, kill Tystyl and Wyrmwood, stealing the Elder Rings in the process.
“How would you know of my recent 'death'?” asked the king. The sword in his right hand flashed. Wyrmwood, knowing the fight could not happen in this chapel, promptly swept a foot under the man's knee, knocking him to the stone floor. Grabbing Kryzzl’s collar, Wyrmwood dragged him outside, allowing Tystyl to pin him to the ground with a sword. “Talk,” said Tystyl menacingly.
“I've nothing to say,” Kryzzl spat. Wyrmwood grabbed his axe, and within an instant was sitting on the man's chest.
“Oh, ye'll wag yer tongue now, me friend,” said the dwarf, the cruel edge of his axe pressed against the man's throat. “Talk, or I'll cut it out meself.”
Tystyl considered the man for a moment. At length, the king asked, “Who are you working for? Who sent you? Why are you trying to gather Elder Rings?”
Kryzzl, who was struggling to find breath, said “I work for no man that you could defeat.”
“Then why has he not come for the rings himself? Why has he not shown his face? I know who you work for. That damned mage is too cowardly to come after us himself. Fael knows he cannot defeat my father and I in battle, so he sends lackeys. I'll not kill you this night, I have much to learn from you.” When he was finished talking, Tystyl pulled some rope out, and tied the Kryzzl's hands. When Wyrmwood rose to his feet, the dwarf gave Tystyl an odd look.
“I had him where I wanted him, boy. He'll not harm me. Not yet.” The dwarf spat on the ground in front of Kryzzl.
“Father,” Tystyl began, “this fool works for Fael. The mage wishes me and yourself dead. He put a price on your head, and had Omarus try to kill me.” The king exposed his neck so that Wyrmwood could view the wound. Kryzzl looked quite concerned now, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Of course! He had his quarry and the ring all along.
“Why did I not see it? The only dwarf that could get that close to the valley, the ring... I shouldn't have been so blind,” Kryzzl said, aggravated with his own folly.
“Sight o' gold got ye blind to the truth,” Wyrmwood remarked. “Won't be gold yer seein' at the end, ye damned fool, even if'n ye succeeded. That foul mage would have burned ye to a bloody crisp. I'll have me boy spare yer life, if'n ye vow loyalty to the throne o' Caryn.”
Kryzzl stared at them in obstinate silence.