Midpost

Lontel watched the goblin below him that was leaning against the tree he was trying to crawl inside. What had Tubar said about two days? They were already four days out of Ingress, and still he had on the green clothes he had changed into that first day. He heard the leader growl. The band trudged away. Slowly Lontel climbed out of the tree. As he did, Tubar and Davlena appeared from within a thicket of brush.

"They smelled us," Tubar cursed.

"How could they?" Lontel complained. "We have on more rabbit urine and blood than I thought I could possibly stomach."

Tubar snorted. "Aye, that helped. They think we are long gone since our scent is so covered by rabbits’, but they will be looking for us. Our best chance is to get to the snow before they catch us. Goblins don’t like cold." Tubar led them back to the road, and the trio started up it for the hundredth time at a jog.

They had gone four miles when guttural screams rent the air and goblins charged out of the forest on their left. Lontel whipped Wizbane out of its sheath, Tubar unslung the new axe he had strapped on his back, and Davlena drew the rapier she had been given. Lontel quickly counted seven of the scrawniest goblins he had ever seen. None had a weapon, but saliva flowed from their yellow fangs as they attacked.

"Stay together," Tubar barked as his axe crunched into the head of the lead goblin that launched itself at his throat. Lontel saw a set of teeth bearing down on his arm. Wizbane flashed, and the goblin’s face fell to the ground as its body shuddered violently. Heedless of the fate of their companions, the other five launched themselves into the melee.

One fell to the ground gurgling and clutching at its throat where Davlena’s rapier had sliced through jugular and esophagus. Three more fell under Tubar’s mighty axe, and the last staggered away clutching at its guts that spilled out as it fell to the ground, a victim of Wizbane. Before it uttered its dying gasp, the elf, dwarf, and man were running again hoping the sounds of the battle had not been heard.

When his legs could no longer take the killing pace, Lontel stopped running. Tubar sighed and slowed to a walk. He couldn’t for the life of him understand how this man had made it this far. No doubt fate had been watching over him. Davlena eyed Lontel worriedly.

"No, none of those beasts bit me this time. My legs just won’t keep up the pace you two set," he said. "If you wish to go ahead, I am sure I can catch you later. I’m not fast, but I can plod along with the best. I caught Oberon, didn’t I?"

Davlena laughed. "No, I think we will plod with you. You have served well until now as my guardian. I can see no reason to leave you. Besides, look around. We are leaving the forest, so hopefully, we are leaving the goblins as well."

For the first time in what seemed years, Lontel looked about instead of where his next footfall would be. Truly, the forest was thinning. The trees were shrinking in size, and the underbrush, too, was thinning to be replaced by the alpine grasses and mosses of the mountains. When they camped that night, there wasn’t a tree around or above them. Tubar told Lontel they were above the timberline.

That night, during his watch, Lontel felt small cold things floating down and tickling his face. He told Tubar about them when he woke the dwarf to change watches. Tubar laughed and said something that Lontel missed as he fell quickly asleep. When Lontel opened his eyes the next morning, the world was a sparkling white. A thin blanket of the white powder even covered him.

"This snow is what you felt last night," Tubar said as they ate a cold breakfast of dried fruits and cakes. Snow! Lontel had heard the queen talk of it. He had even seen it at a great distance when he was in Sepultha. He remembered how the mountains to the south had overnight suddenly turned white on their peaks. An old man had told Lontel it had snowed on them, but this was the first time he had ever been in it.

He scooped up a handful and felt its coldness. He watched amazed as it melted into water. He looked around again. The world was a white wonderland. All of the sharp edges of the world seemed dull. Davlena’s voice snapped him out of the snow’s soothing enchantment.

"Now you must change back to the white clothes," she said. Lontel started. White Clothes! They meant death to him. He started to complain but saw that his friends had already made the switch. Mechanically he did the same. After he had them on and nothing happened, Lontel’s fears subsided and he again floated away in the beauty of the transformed land. The enchantment lasted until just past noon.

The wind started as a breeze around noon. Soon it was blowing at gale force directly into their faces. The beautiful snow became an impenetrable white cloud of stinging, tearing crystals. Lontel could barely see Davlena in front of him. The snow ripped at his uncovered eyes. He finally had to grasp her belt so he wouldn’t lose her in the blizzard.

The intensity of the gale increased. Tubar stumbled back to Lontel. Davlena was hanging onto the haft of his axe. "We’ve got to find shelter or this storm will finish us sure," he yelled hoarsely over the screaming wind. Lontel tried to answer but the wind stole his air. Instead, he just started off the road until he tripped over something.

He gasped as his face smashed into the freezing snow. He got to his knees and could barely see the outlines of Tubar and Davlena digging snow from the lee side of the hump that had tripped him. He crawled to them and helped.

Soon they were huddled with their packs and backs to the howling storm. The snow swirled over the small wall they had dug and tickles Lontel’s nearly numb face. He grumbled and cursed the day he had ever thought snow was beautiful. He tried to huddle deeper into the diminishing warmth of his clothing.

The wind abated that night. Lontel looked up and saw the moon and stars shining down on them. He dusted the snow off that had covered him during the peak of the storm and hazarded a look at the surrounding countryside. Again it was the serene, beautiful place it had been the morning before. Something did catch his eye.

He shook Tubar awake. "Isn’t that a tower?" he asked the sleepy dwarf. Tubar looked to where he pointed and nodded.

"That’s Quarter Tower," he said. "I have been to it once before. It is deserted except for the skeletons of those who died defending it." Lontel shook. The thought of skeletons didn’t excite him in the least. He sighed a breath of relief when Tubar said, "We’ll not be stopping there. I have the feeling it is haunted by those we couldn’t help."

He and Lontel sat back. "What do you mean you couldn’t help them?" Lontel asked.

"During the Great War, we dwarves sided with the elves as you know. We of Ingress were charged with keeping the Passage Road safe. To do that, we built Quarter Tower, the citadel of Midpost, and Tubar Tower." Lontel looked at him questioningly when he mentioned the last. "All of my ancestors have been named Tubar. The first was the builder of the posts and given the title of Passage Keeper. His grandson died at Tubar Tower during the Last Defense.

"The men attacked Ingress in such force that she nearly fell. At the same time, a tremendous army started through the Passage Road to Shangri-La. A small regiment of dwarves was left at Quarter Tower to hold the army until Midpost could be prepared to stop the invaders. Those brave souls were overrun before help could ever be sent. The men then marched against Midpost. The battle raged for months. Pigeons were sent again and again to both Ingress and Shangri-La for help. Both tried, but the men had the citadel completely cut off. Why the men didn’t march on to Tubar Tower we never knew. Probably, they didn’t want to leave a strong enemy behind them who could attack their rear.

"Eventually Midpost was overrun. The battle had decimated the men’s army to the point where my great-great-great-great-great grandfather successfully halted and defeated it shortly after losing Tubar Tower. He lost his life while trying to take back the tower from the last soldier of the men. The man held the tower for a day by himself."

Tubar stopped for a moment, then said, "The man and Tubar killed each other in what is said to be the most violent clashing of sword and axe ever. When they died, only elves remained alive. A troop of them brought his body to Ingress, which had finally driven off the invaders. The man who must have died after him had scrawled a message onto his breastplate. All Tubars must learn that message.

"’War is madness. May our blood wash it away, mighty foe, for surely nothing else can.’" Lontel sat silent. Perhaps not all of the men of that time were indeed crazed but just swept along by the wave of events. Tubar woke Davlena and said, "It is light enough. Let’s be putting some miles behind us. If we are lucky, we should reach Midpost in two days." Lontel grimaced. Hadn’t he heard those words before?

Two days later they were staring at the crumbling walls of a mighty fortress. Lontel stared at it and shuddered. It gave him worse chills than had Quarter Tower. There, as they had passed it, he had been sure he could hear voices crying out in the day. Pain, grief, and bloodlust seemed mixed in a cacophony that cowered his soul. His dreams, no, nightmares since passing there had all but made it impossible to sleep. And now they stood before a place that made Quarter Tower feel like a pleasant, happy tavern on a festive occasion.

"We are going to bypass this place, too?" Lontel asked faint-heartedly as he studied the valley walls that steepened into cliffs and narrowed until they almost touched the outer walls of Midpost.

"I think it best we do," Tubar agreed, his voice quivering slightly. Lontel smiled. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who could feel the evil coming from the fortress. Davlena said nothing. Lontel started to ask her what she thought but decided against it. She had been strangely silent for the last two hours. He had watched her eyes closely; thinking perhaps Oberon was again working on her. However, she remained alert, but her attitude was one of deep thought. It was almost like she was reaching for something with her mind.

The travelers reached a low fence about three feet high that extended the length of the valley. Lontel waded through the drift built up on its lee side and cleaned the snow off of it with his gloved hand. The powdery snow flew before his sweeping hand. Lontel gasped and fell back. His sudden retreat caught Tubar off guard, and the two tumbled into the snowdrift.

Cursing vehemently, Tubar roughly shoved Lontel off and got to his feet. "What has come over you?" he demanded as he dusted the snow off his clothing and grimaced as a cold trickle of it worked down his spine.

"Skulls," Lontel whispered as he slowly got up.

"What?" Tubar exclaimed.

Lontel swallowed and said in a louder, hoarser whisper, "The fence is made of skulls." Tubar snorted and stomped through the snow to the fence. A whitish sheen crept over his face. Lontel walked to his side and asked, "What is a fence of skulls doing here?"

Tubar scratched his cheek. "I don’t know. Nothing in our lore says anything about a fence of skulls." He kicked away more snow revealing even more grinning heads. Curiosity slowly smothered the two’s fears, and they cleaned away a large section of the fence. Tubar mused over their findings.

"The lower layers are much older, and from the helmets, I would guess they are the remains of men who died during the Great War. The upper layers are mostly goblin and troll and ogre heads. Some of them are recent, too. See, some of them still have dried blood on them." Lontel shook his head. "The question is, who put them here? What do you think, Davlena?"

Lontel looked around. She was gone! "Where is she?!" he asked frantically.

"There she goes," Tubar gulped pointing towards the gray, crumbling outer wall of Midpost. Lontel saw her disappear through the ruined gates. He and Tubar sprinted after her, tripping over the unseen drifts that blended with the white blanket covering everything. When they reached the fortress, Davlena was lost in the maze of burnt, one-story buildings. Breathing raggedly, they found her tracks and started following them as quickly as they could.

Lontel could almost feel the blackened window openings of the squat remains staring at him. He found himself slinking from shadow to shadow while Tubar strode ahead studying Davlena’s trail. The dwarf rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Lontel froze when he heard a muffled yell. Carefully he backtracked and melted into the darkened recesses of an alley. Silently he cursed the snow that so clearly showed his route. He found an open doorway and crept inside. He heard snow crunching under footsteps.

He flattened himself against a wall and watched the window on the far side. Several scruffy looking dwarves dragged an inert form by. Lontel could tell by the white apparel that it was Tubar. When the footsteps disappeared, Lontel eased outside and studied the footprints. There were so many that he guessed another set would never be noticeable. He stayed on the trail, following his companions’ captors, his ears and eyes straining to detect anyone or thing that could give him away.

Excited jabbering stopped him. It approached quickly. Lontel looked around frantically for a place to hide. Nothing! Sweat poured down his face. The voices got louder. Lontel saw a pile of snow-covered rubble ahead a short distance. The voices were practically on him; there was no time to reach it. He took a giant step that placed him next to the tumbled wall of a building, and partially in its shadow. Quickly he cowered over the one impression he had made in the snow and froze.

No sooner had he squatted than three dwarves appeared. They were dressed in ratty furs, but the swords they carried looked well honed. Lontel toyed with the hilt of Wizbane as the dwarves approached. They laughed and prodded each other as they walked by. When they walked out of his line of vision, Lontel could feel them suddenly turn and approach his backside. He fought back the urge to look. He heard the voices dwindle in the distance. After what seemed hours, Lontel rose and stretched the kinks out of his stiff legs. He jumped back onto the well-used path and cautiously continued on his way to find Tubar and Davlena.

Lontel’s nerves finally forced him to find a small niche where he could hide until night. He sat in the back of the narrow alley pondering his situation as the shadows lengthened and night once again dominated the land. This new group of dwarves had either captured or killed Tubar. Most probably they had done the same to Davlena. If they had killed his companions, then his best move would be to escape back to Ingress if possible and report what had happened. After that, he could try to make his way back to Sepultha. Surely by now they would realize that he had done his best. Sure, they probably wouldn’t smile upon his failure, and he would still be an apprentice thief, but better an apprentice thief than dead.

If Davlena and Tubar had only been captured, then he had the obligation to at least attempt to rescue them. The question was how? He didn’t know this place which put him at a disadvantage. Also, he had absolutely no idea as to where they might be held. Lontel’s mood darkened with the land. His mind mired in self-pity as he thought of all of the "gallant" things he had done, and for what? Nothing. He had not one ounce of booty to show for all his efforts. Now he was hiding in a hole in a strange land, in a strange fortress, occupied by strange beings called dwarves.

A scream shattered his darkening thoughts. Lontel bounced to his feet and crept to the alley entrance. He peered into the gloom and saw shadows scurrying about. It looked as though some were stopping long enough to fire arrows while others fled headlong. The world suddenly lit up as flame shot after the figures, enveloping some. More screams rent the air.

Lontel gulped as he saw the shadow of a huge beast fill the road down which he looked. It stalked its enemies on huge hindquarters. Its slender neck supported a head similar to a horse’s, but its nostrils were widely flared, and its ears were larger and pointed. Triangular plates lined its back, and went the length of its thick, long tail. Lontel gagged as he watched it pick up one of its burnt victims and crunch sickeningly into him. It picked up another dead dwarf with its small front legs and lumbered back the way it had come.

Silence returned as quickly as it had been shattered. Lontel felt his hands shaking badly. He damn sure wasn’t going to leave the citadel with that monster lurking about. He couldn’t sit still, either, so he decided to try to find his friends.

The task didn’t take long. He had barely crept out of his lair when he heard a steady booming begin. The tops of some of the taller buildings danced eerily in torchlight that appeared. Lontel fought back his fear and crept to the road where only minutes before the carnage had taken place.

The steady boom advanced, as did the lights. Lontel watched transfixed as a slow procession approached. Leading it, dressed in a black fur robe was a masked dwarf carrying a drum and sounding the slow beat. Behind him were three sleds being pulled by twelve dwarves in gray cloaks. They advanced with the beat of the drum. Behind the sleds were dwarves of every age carrying torches. They were dressed in ragged furs, as were the dwarves Lontel had seen earlier.

The sleds held Lontel’s attention. Each sled supported a frame to which someone was tied. From the garb of two of them, Lontel was sure they were Davlena and Tubar. The third prisoner didn't look like a dwarf to Lontel. He was too tall and thin. From the way his head lolled back and forth, Lontel wasn’t sure he was even alive. The procession crept by. Lontel watched the last of the torchbearers disappear and followed.

The black robed dwarf led the others out of the north gate to a fence Lontel guessed was made of skulls, also. Blackrobe stepped onto the fence and spoke. "Hear me, Satar. We have brought you the prisoners as you commanded. Take them. We the keepers do ask you to take them as we ask your forgiveness for not having given you the man elf when we first captured him. Take them and punish them for never having answered our ancestors pleas for help. Torture them for having left us to rot in this frozen rubble we call home."

The beast that had earlier broiled several dwarves trotted into the torchlight with bounding strides. Its eyes glistened red in the light, as did the saliva drooling from its maw. Lontel gulped as he watched a rider step lightly from its back, his golden robes flickering in the dull light. It was Satar!

The wizard studied the captives in the sleds. "Where is the man?" he asked, his voice quaking even the strongest heart. Unconsciously Lontel grasped Wizbane and felt the sword’s power surge through him.

"What man?" Black robe squeaked, his voice all but inaudible.

"What man!" Satar roared. The beast bellowed, and belched flame that incinerated Blackrobe. The other dwarves screamed and fled back towards Midpost. Lontel almost joined them as he felt the evil glare of the monster touch him, but he held his ground. The mob raced by him without even a backward glance. In seconds, the field was empty except for dropped torches that fizzled angrily in the snow, the three sleds, the monster, Satar, and Lontel.

Lontel unsheathed Wizbane. The snow glistened like thousands of green emeralds under the bright glow of the sword. Satar strode to his huge mount and approached his puny foe. Before Satar could speak, Lontel attacked.

He launched himself into the beast’s chest. The green sword shattered thick scales as it sliced into the monster. Lontel ripped upward, and black-red blood gushed from the gaping wound. Lontel fell back; his face and body drenched by the steaming life fluid. A sputtering flame escaped from the dying animal as it shrieked out its life and tumbled to the ground.

Satar lightly jumped off and landed facing Lontel. "You shall pay now, man. First you severe my hand, and now you kill my dragon." He pulled a golden mace from his belt. The two closed and the world exploded into fiery light as their weapons crashed together. The awed dwarves peeking from Midpost’s walls oohed and ahhed at the spectacular showers of color lighting the night sky. Green flashed to be met in an explosion of color by gold.

Lontel slipped on the icy ground where the snow had melted under the heat of the battle. Satar smashed down with his mace. Lontel rolled away, and the ground shuddered under the impact. Lontel caught the mace with Wizbane. It numbed his arm, but power quickly surged back through it. Satar’s breath was getting ragged, so Lontel pressed him. Slowly the battle raged to the cliffs on the east side of the valley.

Suddenly, Satar broke away and sprinted for a cave. "Demius, father. I, Satar, you child, call you. Help me!" A black flame suddenly sprang around Lontel. It choked the air from his lungs. He fell to the ground gasping. He could feel the heat cooking his skin. Wizbane pulsed futilely in his hand. Tears streamed out of his eyes as Lontel tried to fight against the blackness that crazed his thoughts.

Somewhere in his mind, Lontel heard a voice telling him to dig. Frantically he clawed at the ground with Wizbane. Earth leaped away from the sword. Soon Lontel had a hole dug six feet deep. He then tunneled. The heat behind him was overpowering. Finally, even with Wizbane’s power he could do no more. His mind was exhausted. He sat there as the black fire seared the world above him.

Sanity slowly returned. How had the blackness been able to cloud his mind, to make it useless? Weren’t men supposed to be immune to wizard’s magic? He looked at the smoking ruins of his coat. Maybe the blackness hadn’t been magically induced. Maybe it had been his mind reacting to the insane situation. Of course, that had to be it.

The heat was still overpowering. The only thing that kept him from succumbing was the power Wizbane fed him, but that wouldn’t keep him alive forever, so he began tunneling again. The ground around him began to cool as he dug upwards. In only minutes he could feel the cold air rushing down his hole. He sucked in the precious stuff, then squeezed out of his opening.

The first thing he noticed was the eastern horizon becoming lighter. He smiled. Daylight would soon be here. He then saw Satar watching the black fire that consumed the light around it.

"Satar," Lontel said, "turn and meet your doom." The wizard quickly turned. Lontel cursed himself for not running the wizard through the back.

"No! You are dead," Satar screamed. "My father’s fire has consumed you."

Lontel laughed. "It did burn up my coat." Before he could engage the wizard, Satar dashed by him and into the cave. Lontel ran after him. All the time he could not help thinking that he should be the one doing the running from instead of the one doing the running after.

He stopped at the entrance and stared into the pitch-black cavern. His nose wrinkled at the smell. It smelled like the worst sewer he could imagine. The impenetrable black was forbidding, too. Lontel looked back. In the early morning light he could see the three sleds standing starkly alone. The black fire had burned out. Only a few tufts of smoldering moss, burning a natural red and orange were left.

The burning moss gave him an idea. Once in Sepultha he had seen what could happen when ripe sewer gases ignited. He backed away from the cave, gathered some of the burning moss and using strips of coat he quickly cut, tied it to an exposed rock. He blew on it until even the strips of his coat were burning. He got away from the mouth of the cave and hurled his fireball inside.

Nothing happened. Lontel cursed. Well, he sure wasn’t going in. He couldn’t see in. Besides, he had used the last of his courage. He started to walk away when the cave exploded. The concussion knocked him ten feet. He landed on his face and felt the cartilage in his nose break. He got to his knees gasping for air and wincing at the ringing in his ears. Blood poured from his nose. He turned and saw the last of the cave crumble in on itself. Smiling despite his pain, Lontel grabbed a handful of snow and held it to his throbbing nose. By the time he had reached the sleds, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

When he reached the sleds, five dwarves approached him from the walls of Midpost. Lontel watched their approach carefully. When they were still twenty yards away, he said, "State your business from there. I don’t wish to have wizard worshippers too close to me. My sword will become uncontrollable."

The swarthiest of them stepped forward a little and said, "I am Eun. I am the captain of the Keepers. I have come to ask you to do us the honor of sharing our home so you can tend your wounds and your friends."

Lontel laughed. "Why should I entrust you with the lives of my friends and me when you just last night tried to feed them to Satar’s pet there?" Lontel pointed to the frost-covered hulk lying in its frozen blood.

The dwarf looked away for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a catch in his voice. "We were a proud people, but we have lived in fear so long that our actions are now dictated by our fears. I cannot tell you how it shamed us to turn Davon and your friends over to Satar, but the dragon and Satar’s magic threatened our very existence. I, we were hoping…" His voice trailed off.

"They are my people," Tubar croaked. "Please, let them make amends." Lontel looked at Tubar in surprise. He thought the dwarf was dead or at least unconscious.

"Help me untie them," Lontel said. The captain hurried to the sleds with his men.

Lontel forced himself to be content with only two helpings of the stew Eun’s wife brought him. He could see that each mouthful he ate came from the mouth of one of his hosts. He declined the third helping and sat back to enjoy the almost full feeling in his stomach and to listen to the Eun’s tale.

"…Without the reinforcements desperately needed, Midpost was finally overrun. All dwarves found were slaughtered. The pillaging lasted for days as the men sated their carnal desires on what women they could find. They didn’t find them all, though. Hiding in these catacombs were many of the nurses and wounded, one of which was the captain of the Keepers, the best division assigned to Midpost.

"It wasn’t until he was well that anyone ventured out of the catacombs. By then, since his wounds had all but killed him, the men had left and the vultures had come. Also, goblins had infested the countryside with ogres and other deadly beings. The survivors built a tremendous funeral pyre for the slain. The heads of all the dead enemy were placed in a row on the north and south side of the remains of the citadel. Only then did the survivors decide to try to reach Ingress.

"Their efforts were in vain. They had too few soldiers, so the goblins decimated them. Those who survived the aborted trek, of which the captain was not one, returned here and set up lodging in the catacombs where we are now. Every year a patrol has been sent to Ingress and Shangri-La, but none has ever returned."

"We did find some bodies that we thought were dwarves, but couldn’t tell where they could have come from last spring," Tubar said.

Eun sighed. "That was no doubt my brother and cousin. They had drawn the lots to go to Ingress. Anyway, about four years ago, Satar discovered us. He helped us through a bad winter, but for a price. We had to keep his pet fed. Because he was so much more powerful than we were, a small sect of worshippers to him came into power. We followed them out of fear until we captured Davon. It was then many of us rekindled the spirit of our forefathers and refused to follow the Satarans. We didn’t have the boldness to actually release Davon, but we did refuse to yield him to Satar. This didn’t raise his ire too badly, but when we did the same with Davlena and Tubar, he released his wrath and we capitulated shortly thereafter. We had no weapon that could stand against his dragon. The rest of the story you know."

Lontel nodded rubbing the bandage on his nose. He glanced at Davlena, and an angry streak of jealousy rippled through him as she fawned over Davon. "Why did you lead Tubar and I into Midpost?" he asked her more harshly than he had wanted.

"I could feel Davon’s call for help. He is my lifemate. It is he who I will join in the Passage of Life." Lontel studied the sickly looking elf. He had hazarded all the perils between Sepultha and here so she could join him?! Humph. Davon met his gaze for a moment then returned to mooning over Davlena. Disgusting, Lontel thought, and he unceremoniously stomped out of the room and to the cot he had been given. In no time, he was asleep, his dreams troubled by the new monster Davon had stirred to life.

For the next three days, Lontel kept to himself for the most part. He couldn’t stand to be around Davon and Davlena as they doted over each other. Tubar stayed busy talking to all of the families who had relatives in Ingress. When Davlena asked Lontel if he felt able to travel, he practically raced out of Midpost.