Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Solid ground, thank Vitharen. The soil underneath their feet radiated heat, even though they stood at the base of towering mountains.
Alvara had anticipated a host of issues in meeting with the dwarves, but a lack of doors was not one of them.
They had hiked inland from the shore, but now a solid slab of rock blocked any path forward, smooth as a freshly forged blade.
She beckoned cobwebbed memories of her father, the stories he told of the dwarves and their realm, Dervahem, though limited in number, that might offer them a clue on how to enter.
They were master smiths, created to craft weapons for the gods and endowed with inhuman strength.
Sunlight was said to turn them into the stone they inhabited, rendering them imprisoned in their own kingdom.
Sunlight…
“What are you thinking about?” Boden stepped toward the rock and stretched out his hand, grunting. “It won’t budge, not even with my magic.” He still stank of saltwater, as did she, from their unfortunate encounter with the selkie.
“Dwarves can’t be in sunlight,” Alvara said. “I think we may find an entrance to their kingdom once the moon rises.”
“And until then?”
“We wait.”
The moon burst through the clouds, washing the stone before them in soft tendrils of silver light. Finally. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could spend playing this boring dice game with Boden and the other men to pass the time.
Symbols of all kinds glowed on the stone where none had existed before, and one of the sailors reached his hand toward a carving. Alvara lunged, but not fast enough to stop him. The moment his skin touched the stone, he transformed into a solid statue.
Curses rained from the humans, and Boden shoved the Dwarvish book into her hands and took a step back. “Did I say I know Dwarvish? Because I might have misspoken. And I’m not so sure our lives should hang in the balance based on my ability to read a book.”
“A little too late for that, don’t you think?” Alvara plopped the tome back in his grasp and pushed him toward the glowing slab engraved with some kind of poem. “Just don’t touch it.”
“Thank you for that. I’m fairly confident I figured that part out.” He inhaled a long breath, blowing it out as he flipped open the pages he held. “I breathe life or burn it, time you can find something me, but look something long and you shall no longer see.”
“What do you mean, something?”
Boden threw up a hand. “I’m not sure! They’re words I don’t recognize.”
Vitharen help her.
The dwarves would likely pick riddles that had to do with things important to them, if she had any guess. Breathing life or burning could be the sun. It helped plants grow but could burn any living thing on a hot valo day. It also provided a sense of time for those who looked. But if she was wrong…
“The only answer I can think of is the sun. And dwarves hate sunlight, so it would make at least some sense.” Alvara scoured the wall for a sun symbol and stepped toward it. “I’ll touch it since this was all my idea.”
Boden slapped his hand over the carving before she could take her next breath.
She gasped. “Boden! Why in Dalviri’s name—”
The symbol of the sun creaked and sank into the stone, leaving a hole where it had once been. And Boden still stood.
“I’ll admit, that turned out better than I expected,” he said, placing his hands on his hips and arching his back.
“Are you telling me you expected to turn into stone?”
He leaned sideways, close enough that their shoulders touched. “You would make a striking statue, but I would miss your impressive conversation skills.”
“Excuse me—”
“I do not live, but I can kill.” He threw her a satisfied grin, and she frowned. “Stronger than a quill, something I cannot cut something as deep, in a battle, I am a friend you something to keep.”
Alvara rubbed her temple. “Why are you able to translate even less as time goes on?”
He ignored her and studied the flowing script. “It mentions battle and killing, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some type of weapon. And if I recall correctly, that would be your area of expertise.”
“It’s a sword,” Alvara muttered, gesturing toward the symbol she knew he would throw a wall of earth in front of her to keep her from touching.
This one disappeared the same as the last, and now every sailor had gathered around them to watch the proceedings.
A few coins passed between hands. “Wait a minute, are they taking bets?”
A thin pillar of earth popped underneath one of the sailor’s hands, and his earnings spilled to the ground.
“I believe this is the last one,” Boden said.
The sailor scrambled for his coins, but the earth gobbled them up, and he let out a long sigh.
Boden continued. “I live something long with no heart to call my own, and I was not formed from blood or bone. My beauty is something, and you will rarely see me smiling.”
There were at least thirty symbols they could choose from, and Alvara had no idea where to start. A flower…or it could also be a tree or even another weapon. Boden conversed with the men, and their chatter stole her concentration. “Are you talking or helping?”
“Remind me to never try having fun solving puzzles with you,” Boden said, pointing his eyes toward the night sky.
“This isn’t supposed to be fun! We’re trying not to fade.” Alvara held back a frustrated growl, tugging on her braids instead.
Another sailor whispered something in Boden’s ear, and he nodded. “Thank you, Hagan. I also believe it’s quite fun.”
Alvara pointed to Hagan, who ducked with wide eyes. “He did not say that!”
“Maybe not. What he did say, after I translated the riddle for them, is that he and the others believe the answer is an elf.”
“An elf?” Living long without a heart, well that would be their long lifespans and what many considered a colder nature.
Not formed from blood or bone, could be true as well, since elves existed before the other races and weren’t formed from Vitharen’s body parts.
It mentioned beauty and rarely smiling… “Well, that’s rather rude,” Alvara said.
And the drawing of an elf was just as flattering—she had thought it a monster at first. Gangly limbs, giant pointed ears, impossibly long hair, and a frown almost as big as its strangely round face.
“I’ll leave the decision up to you.” Boden waved a hand at the wall of symbols. “We can continue to discuss it or trust the humans’ interpretation. And prejudices,” he added. “Do our ears really look that disastrous?”
“Just do it. It makes more sense the more I think about it,” Alvara grumbled.
He took one large breath and placed his palm over the ugly symbol. It disappeared, and the mountain shuddered. One of the sailors clapped, and the others cursed, jabbing the man with their elbows.
The slab of stone slid away, revealing a dark passageway lined with flickering torches. Alvara swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped into the darkness. This journey had been her idea after all—she should lead the way if they were going to face any danger.
She crept through the humid air, ducking to avoid scraping her head on the low ceiling. The heat only intensified as she approached a wider opening.
Filled with armed dwarves.
“This is your time to shine,” Alvara said to Boden over her shoulder.
She lifted her hands in front of her body, palms out, and stepped into the cavern, where she could thankfully stand at her full height. The dwarves moved in unison, encircling their small group with various blades whose sharpness exceeded even that of the elves’.
The dwarf shoving an axe in Alvara’s face barked something, and she reached her hand behind her to pinch Boden, who yelped.
The Dwarvish left his lips at an excruciating pace, and even Alvara could tell he was butchering the delivery. Every dwarf in the room scrunched their brows and whispered to each other.
They were doomed.
“If you cannot speak Dwarvish properly, spare us the dramatics. I am Skeggox.” A male dwarf, slightly taller and wider than the others, stepped into view.
Gods damn it, Boden. Alvara bowed and aimed her voice at the stone floor. “Pardon my friend, he meant no disrespect. We are here to ask for help.”
“Stand. We only bow for our king. Groveling will get you nowhere.”
She righted herself, and Skeggox slid his eyes up and down her frame, as if calculating how many swings of his weapon it would take to hack her to pieces.
“We do not interfere with your kind. Many have come in search of weapons for power, destruction.” He tapped his axe on the ground. “We work for the gods.”
“Please,” Alvara said. “The king of Ela possesses the blade of Helvati. Not only has he destroyed the magic barrier, but he’s also going to attack the human realm. Who knows what he could do next.”
Murmurs bounced off the cavern walls, and Skeggox pointed his weapon at Alvara’s chest. “Vitharen’s bones, how do you know of this blade?”
“We’ve seen it,” she said.
Boden nodded. “He carries it with him wherever he goes.”
Skeggox tugged on the handful of braids in his beard. “You may meet with the king. Though I would not have hope, if I were you.”
Another guard clamped his hand around her arm without a word and tugged her after Skeggox into the heart of the dwarven kingdom.
An entire civilization carved from stone.
There were buildings piled on top of each other, nestled into the sides of the cavern walls, with intricate winding pathways crossing over great ravines and connecting every section with another.
So many glorious weapons glinted in the torchlight, strapped to the chests and hips of every dwarf—male, female, or youngling—that walked the streets.
Skeggox led them up a sweeping set of stairs lined with stone statues at least four times Alvara’s height, each depicting a different dwarf king of old.
Across a long and narrow bridge sat the current king, clad in golden armor and a crown.
His throne was even taller than the statues they had passed along the way.