Tamarlan
The four companions were too tired to explore the First Delve very far. They carefully descended a wide rock stair to the second level. Gamying, who was familiar with the layout, led them to some guest quarters. They found made-up beds and large jugs of water, as if guests were expected. Manfred and Kris made themselves comfortable while Gamying took Aglaral to find sustenance.
Manfred was extremely tired and found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He watched Kris through half-closed eyelids. The bard was curled up on his bed, in the foetal position again. Who is he? What role is he playing? What should I do with him? “Is there anything that you need to tell me, Kris?” The bard just whimpered and curled himself up tighter. I cannot trust him. I must stay awake until Gamying and Aglaral return.
When Gamying and Aglaral returned about twenty minutes later, they found both Kris and Manfred asleep. “Do you think we should wake them?” Aglaral asked.
“We’d better, Manfred needs to eat. We need him at full strength. As for the coward, I couldn’t care less.”
“There may be an explanation for his actions. I prefer to extend the concept of innocent until proven guilty,” Aglaral declared.
“He was condemned out of his own mouth, as far as I’m concerned. When we get to Tamarlan, I intend to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
“That is as it should be. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt until then. But keep a wary eye on him at all times,” Aglaral said.
“Agreed, my friend. You fought well today. I am proud to have had the honour to stand beside you in battle. I fear that there may be many more battles ahead of us. I would be proud to have you join the elite Tamarlan Palace Guard. I would have someone I trust to watch my back in the battles ahead.”
“I am honoured, my Lord. Despite everything, I remain a Captain of the City States in the current service of Elannort. My family remains at risk in the south. I am cast on the seas of fate. Let us wait to see which shore I am cast upon next.”
Gamying nodded and moved to wake up Manfred and Kris. He gently nudged the old wizard, but was much rougher when he shook the sleeping bard. The two men sat up and listened to Gamying’s report.
“As you suspected, the halls are empty. Where the dwarves have gone, I do not know. Although times were hard, there was no talk of leaving when I was here recently and Dawit said nothing at the Council that would hint at where they might be. There was no evidence that they went south, so I must assume that they have gone to Tamarlan. I fear that so many hungry mouths will not be welcomed there. Whatever happened, it is clear that they left in a hurry. Tables are set for a meal. Half-eaten food remains on the plates. Clothes are scattered about. Chairs are knocked over in the rush to leave. We neither saw nor heard any evidence that an enemy has been here or is still present. We have collected food and beer. We should eat and rest. We can explore further tomorrow.”
The weary travellers feasted on stale bread, dried meat strips, last year’s soft crinkly apples, and mugs of foaming ale. Gamying and Aglaral chattered about the fight with the wargs and what they had seen exploring the delve. Kris sat quietly, nibbling slowly on a strip of dried meat. Manfred savoured the dwarven ale and observed the scene, while his mind was busy on other matters. At last, he spoke.
“I have probed the delve, right down to the lowest levels. There is no one living here, other than ourselves. I cannot fathom it. Something or someone must have precipitated this, but I can feel no trace. I cannot believe that they would head for Tamarlan. I have probed as far as I can, but I cannot feel the dwarves. They may no longer be in this dimension. I wish I had Jhamed here; there may be a hidden dimension portal in the delve. At least we can sleep safe tonight. Tomorrow we must try to get to Tamarlan. Tamarlan is nervous, but safe. Let us rest now. I for one am exhausted. Let’s snuff the torches; we will have need of them tomorrow.”
“With your leave, my Sage, Aglaral and I will take turns to keep watch. We will keep one torch alight.” Gamying cast a furtive glance at Kris as he spoke.
“As you wish, Gamying. I’m afraid I am too tired to take my turn. Make sure you both get some rest.” Manfred rolled onto his bunk, pulled a blanket over himself, and was snoring within a few moments. Kris pulled a blanket over his head to hide from Gamying’s accusing eyes. Aglaral snuffed out all but one of the torches. The delve settled into quiet darkness, broken only by the ripples of light from the flickering torch and the burbles of Manfred’s snores that seemed to resonate with the flickers.
Gamying woke them a few hours later. It was still several hours before dawn outside. Aglaral was absent. They quickly attended to their morning ablutions and broke their fasts on the remains of the previous night’s provisions. Aglaral returned, laden with new torches, filled water bottles and more provisions. Gamying took charge.
“Listen carefully. We are going to descend deep into the delve. There is a secret back door that will take us out onto the Tamarlan Road. We will avoid the Suicide Pass by taking this route. We must leave now if we are to make Tamarlan before nightfall. There will be new torches positioned at intervals along the way. Always carry two torches, one lit and another new one, which you must light before the first one expires. Do not discard your used torch. As soon as you reach a torch station, take a new torch and leave your used one there. Take up your packs. I’m sorry Manfred; there will be many stairs to descend.” Just my luck. I was hoping for a long lie in and breakfast in bed.
Gamying led them through the delve with confident certainty. It took them several hours, with frequent brief rest stops. In the course of their journey, they descended through so many levels that Manfred lost count. The immense size of Dwarvenhome became apparent to them all. They caught only the briefest of glimpses of the dwarven halls in the flickering light of their torches. The top levels were obviously the living levels, full of accommodation and social rooms. As they descended lower, by vast staircases hewn from the rock, the halls became cavernous. The meagre light from their torches was quickly absorbed by the total blackness. Just occasionally, their lights would reflect off jewelled walls or golden outcrops and they would get a glimpse of the hidden majesty of the caverns.
At one of these glimpses, Aglaral gasped aloud. “It must be a wondrous sight to see these caverns fully illuminated.”
Gamying stopped for a moment. “It is one of the Seven Wonders of the World – Melasurej, the Great Lighthouse at Rhakotis, the Jewelled Caverns of Devil’s Mouth, the One Tree and Hanging Gardens at Elvenhome, the Old Theatre at Tamarlan, the Coliseum at Kartage, and the Lost Tower. I have been fortunate enough to see five of them. I hope one day to visit Eden and to be allowed to see the Hanging Gardens. No human in living history has seen the Lost Tower nor knows its location. I would wager that none of them, even Melasurej itself, could hold a candle to these caverns. They are fully lit only on dwarven feast days. They are a sight to behold.”
As they descended further, the levels became less cavernous and more like a mining venture with small tunnels and workings. There were piles of rocks awaiting sorting and other piles that seemed to contain great treasures. The light of their torches illuminated the wealth created by generations of toil. There were piles of jewels, sparkling in all the colours of the rainbow. Most of all, there were stacks of gold nuggets. There was enough gold in a single heap to fuel the dreams of every human on the planet. There were piles as far as the eye could make out in the gloom. Surely, there were riches here beyond the dreams of avarice. Three of the companions appeared to be unaffected by the riches before them. Kris, on the other hand, couldn’t believe his eyes, which widened with lust. He managed to manoeuvre himself to be last in the line and orchestrated a stumble that put him out of sight of the rest of the group. Taking his chance, he stuffed his pockets with as much gold as he could fit in. As he hurried to catch up with the others, he struggled to deal with the excess weight he was carrying.
As they got deeper under the mountain, the temperature changed. At first the air was at a pleasant temperature and very fresh to breathe. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the caverns from some form of natural ventilation system. In the lower levels, the air was damp and fetid. Condensation ran down the walls and rivulets ran along the roughly hewn rock floors of the passages. They began to feel a bone chilling cold that was worse than the cold on the mountain because it was so damp and cloying. Manfred began to wheeze and his breathing became laboured. “Curse my rheumatic old bones!” he moaned.
“Don’t worry, old man, we’ll soon be out in the fresh air again,” Gamying told him. “We are about to enter a tunnel that will take us to the secret entrance. It is very small, so it might be a tight squeeze. It was built for dwarves and to slow down humans if they found the passage and tried to gain entry. There is a mechanism at this end to collapse the tunnel on top of any invaders should the door be breached. It’s about five miles long, so it will be a tough walk or crawl. There’s a door at the end. It’s sealed with magic. I couldn’t open it when I tried to come the other way, so I had to climb Suicide Pass. I’m sure you’ll be able to open it. You go first and I’ll bring up the rear. We’ll travel at your pace.”
Sure enough, they found the entrance to the tunnel almost immediately. It was built for a dwarf to walk with difficulty, with head bowed and carrying an axe. This meant it was no more than four feet high, although reasonably wide, perhaps six feet. The floor was very smooth, as if many people had passed this way over the years and had dragged wagons behind them. It seemed that this route might be the preferred way to trade with Tamarlan. Manfred muttered something profane under his breath. “As if my old bones haven’t been through enough; now you want me to crawl for five miles? And what if I can’t open the door?” Of course, I will be able to.
“You will, old man. You are not called The Magician for nothing. And if you can’t it will be five miles back again, climb all those stairs we came down, and a descent through Suicide Pass. Any more questions? Let’s get going.”
“Wait!” Aglaral stopped them. “There must be a better way. Wait here for a moment.” He disappeared into the darkness but reappeared a few minutes later dragging a flat trolley with small wheels. “There are more of these over there. The dwarves must use them for moving trading goods through the tunnel. Get one each and we can lie down and use our legs to push us through the tunnel.”
Quickly the group assembled its convoy of small wagons. Manfred led the way, Aglaral second, Kris behind him, and Gamying brought up the rear. There were torch holders on the wagons, which allowed them to see what they were doing and freed their hands so that they could hold on to the rough wood. They legged it down the tunnel, like old canal barge travellers passing through a cutting. Fortunately, the tunnel sloped slightly down towards the door. The floor was very smooth and the wheels on the trolleys were well oiled, so friction was not great. Even so, the unusual strain on the legs soon caused discomfort and cramps. I suppose it is marginally better than crawling. It’s certainly better than descending through Suicide Pass. I’ll need a long soak in a hot bath when we reach Tamarlan. And a massage from that young blonde I saw last time. Although, she’s probably in her dotage by now, passing her time in a rocking chair. Like I should be, instead of having all these crazy adventures. By the Balance, I am tired. If this tunnel collapsed now, I would almost welcome it. No! Get a grip, Manfred, your work is not yet done. The greatest challenge still lies ahead. Simon will depend on you.
Aglaral was young and fit and he found it relatively easy to keep up with Manfred’s pace. In fact, he had to be careful not to go too fast and bump into the wizard’s trolley. The monotony of the journey caused his mind to wander. He thought about his family, and worried again whether Velacourt would keep his word. He was torn between serving Manfred, joining Gamying, and rushing back home. Why have the fates cast me in this important part? I’m a simple soldier. What have I to offer? The answer came unbidden into his mind. You have always understood the need for balance in everything. You believe in fairness and everyone getting an equal opportunity. You abhor evil in all its forms, whether chaos driven or inflicted by law. You are a man of the Balance.
Kris was just the right build for walking in the tunnel but he found it very uncomfortable on his wagon. The pockets of his coat were stuffed full of gold nuggets and however he tried to position himself, they dug into his body. His short legs had to stretch to their limits to reach the wall. At each push, he squirmed in pain as the gold bruised his body. I will look like a chessboard after this. But what a story it will make. Provided that I can rewrite the bit involving the wargs. Just the memory of the events in the hut made him shiver with fear. He forced himself to think of better things. I have enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of my life. I will find a nice place in Tamarlan and live a comfortable life – good food, fine wine, beautiful women. I’ll write a few stories and perform at the Old Theatre. I have done my bit. I have found my reward. If only He will leave me alone.
Gamying easily maintained the pace he needed to stay with the others. He was a man at the peak of his life, ready for the challenges that the forthcoming war would throw at him. If he really thought about it, he had enjoyed the battle with the wargs. Victory was sweet. He was a warrior at heart. Tamarlan must be protected at all costs. The Sword must come north. How can a puny boy wield such a sword? It needs a warrior. A warrior like me! That chain of thought was leading into dangerous waters. He changed tack and reviewed his journey and what he had achieved. Soon he would be home again and would need to report to his father in a concise manner. There would be much to recount. His father would be pleased that he had brought Manfred with him. He would be even more pleased were the Sword to come too. If we had the Sword, Tamarlan would be a real power in the world. No one would threaten us again.
It took them about ninety minutes to traverse the tunnel. At the far end, the tunnel widened somewhat into a small chamber at the door. They came to a bumpy halt in a collision of trolleys, door, legs, and curses. No one was seriously injured, because Manfred, by now, was travelling at a very gentle speed. The door itself looked very strong. It was built from sturdy oak, now black with age, with in-built iron reinforcements. It had no handle and no visible lock. The sound of rushing water could be heard from the other side.
Manfred gingerly extracted himself from the wreckage and used his torch to get a better look at the detail. “You are correct, Gamying. This door has a magic lock. There are dwarfish runes on the lintel. I will need a short time to decipher them; my ancient dwarfish is rather rusty.” The others stretched their legs and inspected their bruises while Manfred paced and considered. Come on, Magician. They are expecting great things from you. Concentrate. After several minutes, he stopped pacing and addressed them, with an appropriate degree of solemnity. “The translation of the runes is as follows. ‘If you are a true friend of the dwarves speak the name of our god, pass in peace, and return safe and sound.’ It is a simple lock, requiring only the speaking of the word Satania, in ancient dwarfish.” He turned around, facing the door and in a strong clear voice uttered a phrase that sounded like ‘Bahl Shamim’.” Nothing happened. Bugger! That should have worked. He spoke the words again. There was no response. He stared at the door for some time. “I am confident that I have interpreted the runes correctly. I cannot explain why the door hasn’t opened.”
The others looked at Manfred in consternation. The thought of the return journey to the top of the mountain was not one to contemplate with pleasure. They shuffled around aimlessly in the flicker of the torch light. The sound of rushing water, so close to them, only made their predicament more acute.
“Can the door be broken down or opened any other way?” Aglaral asked.
“There is strong magic here. It is old magic, older than wizards. There is no way that this door can be breached. I don’t understand it. I have spoken the words correctly.” Manfred was bemused.
“Tell me what the runes say again,” Gamying said.
“If you are a true friend of the dwarves speak the name of our god, pass in peace, and return safe and sound,” Manfred translated again.
“So it is conditional,” Gamying stated. “The door will only open for true friends of the dwarves. I am well known here as a dwarf friend. Manfred’s credentials go without saying. I would wager my life that the magic would recognise Aglaral as a true dwarf friend, despite the fact that he has only ever met one dwarf in his life. That leaves you Kris.” He stared at the bard and his eyes were daggers cutting into his soul. “Are you a true dwarf friend?” He drew his sword.
Kris dropped his eyes. He couldn’t meet Gamying’s gaze. He said nothing. The silence was only momentary but it seemed to drag on forever. The only sounds were the beating of four hearts and the water noise coming through the sealed door.
Eventually Manfred spoke. “Act not in anger, Gamying. There is something going on with Master Kris. I had hoped to resolve it in Tamarlan after we were well rested. If you have nothing to say, then I shall be forced to read your mind. I warn you that if you resist me, it may cause permanent damage.”
Kris spoke hurriedly. “That won’t be necessary, Manfred. I admit to my crime. It is one of greed, driven only by the want to have a secure and peaceful life.” He began to remove the gold nuggets from his pockets and stacked them by the wall of the alcove. “It appears that I have suffered the bruises of carrying these treasures for nothing. I shall live with the regret of what might have been for the rest of my miserable life.” As the last nugget left his pocket, the door began to swing open with a groan. They were momentarily blinded by the sunlight and closed their eyes in response. Kris moved to sneak the last nugget back into his pocket, but hesitated and placed it with the rest.
“Hah!” Gamying snorted. “So it is theft is it? Don’t think that this lets you off. Your behaviour with the wargs is fresh in my memory.” He sheathed his sword. “Manfred will have that conversation with you in Tamarlan and if you cannot adequately vouch for yourself, I will see that justice is served, one way or another.” The threat hung in the air, like thunder on a humid summer day. “Come, let us leave these dark halls and breathe fresh air and feel sunlight on our faces again.”
As their eyes adjusted to the light, they realised that the door exited onto a rock platform that was completely hidden by a cascading waterfall directly in front of them. The stream was generated from the melting ice and snow in the mountains above so it was particularly strong. The cold spray struck their faces with a refreshing vigour. The noise from the falls was now so strong that they could not speak to each other. The door slammed shut behind them. It was indistinguishable on this side from the grey rock of the cliff face. Without prior knowledge, there was no way of knowing there was a door there. Gamying tapped them on their shoulders to attract their attention and led them off along the ledge parallel to the falls. At the edge of the ledge, there was a hole cut into the rock face. They stepped through the hole, pushing aside thick branches on the other side and stepped out onto a mountain track. Gamying carefully replaced the flora to disguise the entrance and then led them down the track. A steep descent took them quickly to the base of the falls, where they stopped to catch their breaths and take bearings.
In front of them, the jagged teeth of the Devil Mountains bit into the clear blue sky. The sun was almost directly overhead. The falls dropped in a single cascade of well over one thousand feet, through a rainbow-fringed cloud of spray into a large, clear pool. They had descended a small, steep path to the left of the falls. On their right was a larger, well-worn path that zigged and zagged as far as the eye could see. It led to the infamous Suicide Pass. Behind them, a path, wide enough for a horse and cart to pass another with comfort, gently descended to the plains below. The plains were alive with new grass and wild flowers, a lush carpet of green, white, mauve and gold. In the distance, the spire of Tamarlan was visible in the haze.
Gamying laughed. “Spring has finally arrived, north of the mountains, and it is a welcome sight to a homesick man. We call this waterfall Life Falls, because the stream that flows from it is the Life Stream that provides the water supply for Tamarlan. The dwarves call it Warning Falls, because it marks the boundary to their realm. Any who pass here must be dwarf friends or suffer the consequences. The path from here leads to the very steep and exceedingly difficult climb of Suicide Pass. It was good that we avoided it. It was so named after the failed attack on Devil’s Mouth by Gadiel’s army in 11144. The Dark God’s soldiers had enormous superiority in numbers but became so dispirited by their failure to make headway against a small defence force of dwarves that many of them, rather than face the Dark God’s wrath, threw themselves off the mountainside. Come, we will make great headway now. We will find transport when we reach the plains and will be in Tamarlan before nightfall. We will feast in my father’s court tonight.” Manfred’s stomach was already rumbling in anticipation. It will be good to see my old friend Gamyon again.
Buoyed by the beauty of the plains, the relative ease of the rest of the journey, and the prospect of a warm bath and a hot meal, the weary travellers found renewed energy in their legs. The rest of the descent went without a hitch and they were soon walking briskly through sweet smelling fields of grasses and wild flowers. Kris appeared to be susceptible to hay fever, because he was soon repeatedly sneezing and wheezing. Gamying’s smile just got wider and brighter.
After a few miles, they found the first of many farmhouses. The entire family was at work in the fields, making up for lost time. At the sight of the unexpected travellers, the women and children were ushered back to the house and the men and youths called their dogs and approached the group with pitchforks and scythes at the ready. Their demeanour changed instantly when they recognised Gamying. They dropped to their knees and showed great respect to their Heir-Regent. The group was welcomed warmly. While the youths readied a horse wagon, the women fussed around preparing a meal of fresh bread and cheese washed down with mead. Manfred patted his stomach and sighed. That was the best bread and cheese of my long life. He burped loudly and was not at all embarrassed.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Manfred, probably because he spent most of it dozing in the back of the wagon. Aglaral drove the wagon with Gamying sitting up front with him. Kris snivelled in the back with Manfred. The road followed the course of the Life Stream. They passed many farms and received similar receptions to the first. They respectfully declined all further offers of hospitality with the need to reach Tamarlan upmost in their minds.
Manfred woke up as they approached the city. It was always a fine sight, entering the city of artists. Tamarlan sat in the middle of the northern plains, like a fancy jewel set in the middle of an otherwise unembellished brooch. The plains were extensively farmed and provided food not only for the city but also to trade with the dwarves for their gold and gemstones. These treasures were used both for artistic purposes and to trade for other goods and services the city needed. Its geographic location meant that trade was very difficult and only possible when the mountain passes were open in summer. It also meant that Tamarlan, over the long years, had become totally self-sufficient. It had become a haven for those seeking to escape the world for whatever reasons, but particularly it had become a haven for artists of all persuasions. Manfred had visited the city many times and always enjoyed his stays. He liked visiting the theatre to see the latest plays and the art galleries to view the works of the city’s fine artists both past and present. Manfred craned his neck to see more of the city as they approached.
It was an unusual sight for a city in the middle of nowhere. There were no city walls, no ramparts, in fact no defences of any sort. The streets were wide and tree-lined. The trees were mainly deciduous and they were now just bursting into leaf. Apple and cherry trees were coming into blossom. The city seemed to be renewing itself after a long, hard winter. The houses were single storey, made of local stone and brick. Housewives were busy with spring-cleaning. The city’s industry and quarries were located to the north, on the edge of the inhospitable and mysterious Northland, so that the approach from the south was unsullied. At the centre of the city stood the ancient precincts. Here was Tamarlan’s heart. Cobbled streets wound through the great market and past many art galleries, theatres, and meeting venues. People hustled and bustled about their business. Large, colourful signs proclaimed forthcoming shows and displays. At the centre of everything were two human-built mounds. The Life Stream flowed between the mounds and an ornate stone bridge crossed the river and joined the two mounds. On one stood the ancient palace of the kings, now occupied and maintained by the Regent. As palaces go, it was an unprepossessing place. Its one striking feature was its high tower, made of local stone that stretched skywards in phallic symbolism. On the other mound stood one of the Seven Wonders of the World – The Old Theatre.
Manfred found his eyes drawn to the Theatre Mound, clearly the reason why the palace had such a plain design. Manfred had seen it many times before, but each renewed impression always generated a gasp of surprise, even in an ancient wizard who thought he had seen everything. The Old Theatre was a circular construction, or as near to circular as the original carpenters could manage. It was perhaps two hundred feet in diameter and one hundred feet high. It had been constructed from timber originally, but over the years, the rotting wood had been replaced with granite from the mountains. From the outside, there was no visible evidence of what artistic delights its interior held. Its most striking feature was that by some feat of engineering or magic it appeared to hover, unsupported in mid-air, one hundred feet above the mound. Viewed from the correct angle, with the palace spire behind it, the Old Theatre gave the impression of an enormous child’s spinning top.
Under Gamying’s instruction, Aglaral guided the wagon into the palace courtyard, where they were met by a fussing crowd of retainers. One spoke urgently to Gamying, who took Manfred aside. “I regret that we cannot take time to rest and freshen up. My father would speak with you urgently in the council chamber. Aglaral and Kris will be shown their quarters. I have ordered that a guard be placed on Kris’s door until such time as we have got to the bottom of his actions.”
Gamying strode into the palace, with Manfred beside him, hurrying to keep up. He led Manfred through wide, carpeted corridors decorated with great works of art, until they reached the double doors of the council chamber. A guard opened the doors, ushered them in and announced their presence. A group of people were clustered around the large table, poring over maps. Their chatter was silenced as Gamying and Manfred entered. One man stood. He was an older version of Gamying. He was the same build and size, but where Gamying’s hair and beard were jet black, Gamyon’s showed flecks of grey. Gamyon’s and Gamying’s eyes locked briefly. Manfred observed that much was said without words. Father and son were clearly very close. Gamyon cleared his throat and addressed them. His eyes moved from his son’s and locked onto Manfred’s. He has received bad news. He has despair in his eyes, but I see a small glimmer of hope there.
“Welcome home my son, it is good to see you returned safe and sound. Welcome Great Sage, your visits to Tamarlan are too few. You are always most welcome here. Your timing could not be better. I am at my wits' end. I need your advice and your assistance. The omens are not good. Spring came late. The dwarves have left FirstWorld. Our city is regularly attacked out of Northland. I fear that our peaceful city will fall.” He paused and his eyes met his son’s again and then began to water with tears. “I fear that Gamying, my Heir-Regent, will never get his chance to fulfil his destiny. I fear that the time of the Regents draws to an end. You are not the only visitors in Tamarlan. Yesterday, a stranger arrived in mysterious circumstances out of the Northland. He carries the mark of Ubadah. The King has returned.”