Tubar Tower

Lontel stared up the sheer face of one of the rock walls closing in on them and turning the valley into an icy, wind-whipped gorged. They were resting for the tenth time in less than six hours because Davon was so weak from his long stay in the Keepers’ prison. Under his breath, Lontel cursed the wind that knifed through the coat Eun had given him and Davlena who fussed over her puny, newly found love. Tubar was no help. All he could do was exclaim how wonderful it was that some dwarves had survived the sack of Midpost and had kept it alive.

Lontel smirked. Alive? Hah! Those poor souls were living death if you asked him. As his mood darkened he said, "Let’s get moving. We can’t dawdle here forever. There is no telling what sort of beast lurks in this ditch of hell during the night."

In response rocks suddenly showered down from above. The four travelers jumped to their feet and began running. The rocks continued to rain down on them. Lontel yelped when a small pebble struck his shoulder. Small boulders began thudding around them with sickening crunches.

"There is a shallow cave not too far ahead," Davon wheezed as he struggled to keep pace. Lontel studied the cliff walls ahead of them. Ahead he thought he saw a dark place in one of the walls that didn’t look like a shadow. He started to yell his discovery when Tubar cried out.

Lontel turned and saw the dwarf writhing on the ground. Davon and Davlena stopped, also. "Get to the cave," Lontel barked as he raced back to Tubar.

"My leg is broken," Tubar moaned through clenched teeth. Lontel could see the red stain forming on the dwarf’s pants. He flinched as more boulders crashed around them, then picked up Tubar with a grunt and stumbled towards the cave. The rock rain intensified, and one caught Tubar in the head. He slumped in Lontel’s arms. When Lontel finally reached the cave, he could barely stagger forward with his burden.

Davlena met him at the mouth of the cave and helped him lay Tubar gently on the ground. "His leg is broken," Lontel said, gasping for air. "I saw blood on his pants’ leg." In the darkness of the cave, he could see nothing but the dim outlines of the three others. Davlena leaned over Tubar’s leg, and Lontel heard the fabric being cut.

"The bone isn’t protruding," she said. "The rock that hit him must have had a sharp edge, because he has a bad cut." Lontel stared down where she was working and shook his head. It amazed him how elves could see so well in the dark. All he could see was a black gap where the lighter cloth of Tubar’s pants had been cut open.

The rocks continued to shower down for three hours after dark. After that, Tubar’s snoring was the only thing to break the utter silence. Even the wind had deserted them. Lontel stood and felt his way to the cave’s entrance and stared up. He could see nothing but black. He felt the cold dampness of a snowflake hit his face. Just what they needed, a snowstorm.

"They will be waiting for us in the morning," Davon said.

Lontel turned towards the voice. "Who will be?"

"The rock throwers. I think they are either trolls or ogres. Probably ogres, since trolls don’t often have the patience to work together on any sort of plan." Tubar moaned.

"How do you know they’ll still be there?" Lontel asked.

Davon laughed. "They were there when I came through here the first time. They killed my horse, and I hid in this very cave. The next morning I tried to make a run for it, but they drove me back. I escaped two nights later by sheer luck. They can see as well at night as we."

"As you," Lontel corrected him. "I can’t see a thing." Another silence hung over them. Lontel stuck his hand out of the cave and felt the snow pouring down. He slumped down against the wall, trying to sleep.

"You are going to have to drive them off," Davlena said.

"What?" Lontel asked amazed.

"You are going to have to drive them off," she repeated.

Lontel laughed. "You’re joking, of course."

"No."

"How do you propose I drive them off?" he asked angrily.

"You will have to climb up there and drive them off," Davlena answered. "Tubar can’t do it, and neither can Davon. I might be able to, but you are more expendable than I, so you must do it."

Lontel fumed. He was more expendable?! Who did she think she was anyway? He started to blast her with that question when Davon’s touch stopped him.

The elf sat next to Lontel grunting at the slight exertion. "You must excuse Davlena. The time is very close for the Passage of Life. Her entire being is beginning to think of nothing else. She won’t be herself until it has been consummated."

Lontel sighed. If it wasn’t one thing making her weird, it was another. No doubt she would stab him in the dark if he didn’t go. He visualized the steep cliff he had seen by day and shivered. It would take a fly to crawl up it. Still, he had to try. Why, he didn’t really know. Maybe he hoped he would get killed. Surely that would destroy Davlena with remorse.

"Take good care of Tubar," he said as he started for the cave entrance.

"We will," Davon replied.

The snow tickled Lontel’s face as he looked up where the cliff wall was. His heart pounded loudly as he moved along the cliff face slowly hunting for a starting point. He flinched when his hand actually found a crevice. Straining his leg, he got the toe of his boot into it and shoved. His effort pushed him up and away. He fell onto his back with a muffled whoosh. The snow flew away then settled on his prone form.

For ten minutes he lay there, trying to regain his breath and stop his trembling. All he could imagine was what would have happened if he had been higher. Finally, still trembling slightly, he resumed his search for a lower toehold. He found one and started up. Sweat trickled off his chin and nose while his fingers ached from the strain and cold. He looked up and could see nothing but the blackness that enveloped the world.

Slowly he inched up. He stepped onto a small outcropping of rock and started to put his weight on it. It broke free and fell. Lontel froze, listening. After an eternity, the rock hit with a chink that echoed hollowly. He sobbed. He couldn’t go on. His fingers were numb shreds of flesh, and his legs were little more than trembling mush. He stuck his foot into the hole left by the fallen rock and gingerly pushed up. His hand found a ledge. He tested it, then scrambled onto it.

As he knelt on his tiny perch resting and fighting back sobs of fear, he heard a movement above him. Snow crunched. He thought he heard whispering. It sounded close. The whispering stopped. Lontel worked his feet under him and stood.

He screamed madly as he was suddenly yanked up by his coat. Still screaming hysterically he unsheathed Wizbane. The world around him suddenly turned into scowling, green apparitions of ogres. He hacked at the one holding him and sprinted away from the gorge as his captor sank to the ground, nearly severed in two.

The stunned ogres stared at their fallen comrade. Growls built into angry roars as they turned on their small prey with his glowing sword. Lontel gave ground as they stalked forward. One suddenly dashed forward with its upraised axe. The weapons crashed together, the axe shattering upon impact. Lontel drive Wizbane through his startled attacker’s vitals. The other ogres circled him. When he was surrounded, they charged. He dove at the feet of the smallest one.

Its foot smashed into his shoulder like a sledge. The ogre bawled as it tumbled over him. Others fell over it trying to reach Lontel who rolled away from them. He got to his feet just as one broke away from the confused knot. It swiped at him with a huge broadsword. Wizbane broke it, but the impact numbed Lontel’s arm. Quickly he switched arms and gutted the ogre. Feeling death’s grip tighten, he decided to take as many of them as he could and he rushed the ogres, Wizbane chopping through the frightened giants.

They fled into the wilderness with Lontel ranting crazily as he staggered after them. Exhaustion finally stopped him. He bumped into an outcropping of rock and slid down next to it and fell asleep. He awoke shivering the next morning. He heard his name being called. The sound was faint and distant.

He looked around at the white wonderland sparkling under the sun’s bright rays. Again he heard his name called. He followed the sound dodging around snow covered boulders that were strewn about until he reached the edge of the gorge. He peeked over it and felt the abyss pulling at him with invisible fingers. Quickly he backed away. He had climbed that last night! Terror again tried to worm its way to the surface. He stopped it with several shivers.

"Lontel!" It sounded like Davon.

"I’m up here," he shouted back.

"Are you alright?" the elf asked.

"Yes, but there is no way I can climb down the cliff. It was sheer luck I made it up here."

Davon laughed. "Somehow I doubt if luck had anything to do with it. There is no need for you to climb down. Tubar Tower is at the head of this gorge. After that, the cliffs disappear and are replaced by steep mountainsides. You should have no trouble getting down it. We will meet you at Tubar Tower. It shouldn’t take us more than two days to get there."

"How is Tubar?" Lontel asked.

"Fine," the dwarf answered.

"I’ll see you at Tubar Tower," Lontel said.

"Thank you," Davlena called. Lontel didn’t answer. She had expected no less he knew. He started towards the fabled tower. From there it was probably just a short way to Shangri-La. He could deliver Davlena, collect the riches they would no doubt give him and return to Sepultha a master thief.

Many times that day Lontel had the urge to look over the edge of the gorge to see what kind of progress his companions were making, but his new aversion to heights stopped him. The rugged plateau surrounded by mountain peaks on which he walked kept him interested most of the day. Huge boulders were sprinkled intermittently among lesser rocks that dwarfed Lontel. These didn’t bother him nearly so much as the smaller rocks hidden by the snow. They continually ambushed his aching toes. The wind began moaning through the rocks as darkness approached. Lontel found a niche on the lee side of a boulder and fell asleep after curling as deeply as he could into his coat.

The next morning, Lontel awoke to the sounds of snuffling nearby. He looked around the boulder and stared directly into the eyes of a huge, hairy, brown beast. His mind flashed back to a large skull on the fence at Midpost. Tubar had called it a bear’s skull. He yelled at it then took flight. He ran nearly a hundred yards before turning around expecting to see the monster’s square head with its beady eyes breathing down on him. Instead, he saw the bear loping away in the opposite direction, the hump on its back undulating rhythmically with its strides. He giggled nervously as it disappeared from view, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Growling caught his attention. He turned still laughing and gaped at three huge trolls holding the leashes to as many gray wolves. Quickly he unsheathed Wizbane. His stomach knotted as he watched grins slowly spread over the faces of the giants.

"Our bear hunt has taken an unexpected turn," the largest laughed as he pulled a huge sword from his belt. He casually approached Lontel and sliced down at his small opponent. Lontel easily dodged the blow and quickly severed the troll’s hand at the wrist. Hand and sword clattered to the ground. Blood spurted from the open arteries. The troll screeched in pain. Lontel backed away. Slowly he sidled by the now wary hunters. They made no move to attack him. The wounded troll grabbed his sword and backed away from the other two.

When Lontel was twenty yards away, the two smaller trolls turned their attention from him to their wounded comrade. The wolves did the same. The wounded troll laughed and attacked them howling like one of the gray wolves. Metal clanged against metal. Lontel turned and ran. He walked only long enough to recuperate so he could run again. When night came, he squeezed into a small hole made by two boulders and fell into a troubled, exhausted sleep. All night, the bear, trolls, and wolves swirled through his dreams in different nightmares. He awoke to the sound of his own voice cursing the insanity. He saw that a light snow was falling. He stretched the kinks out of his body and tried to ignore the complaining of his empty stomach.

The world around him began changing radically as he walked. Shrubs replaced the boulders, and the plateau became a gentle incline that soon steepened until Lontel was struggling along the side of a steep mountain. "Time to head down," he said to no one. Using the slick, snow-covered bushes for handholds, he began sliding and scrambling down the mountainside.

"May your roots never taste water again, and may your limbs be scorched by the hottest fire ever," Lontel cursed at the impenetrable alders that had stopped him. He angrily slashed at them with Wizbane, but always there were more to replace those he cut through. When he was nearly spent, he sheathed Wizbane and leaned against a thick growth of them. He stared absently through the close growing limbs and saw what looked like a tower. He stared at it intently. It was a tower! I looked just like Quarter Tower. Turbar Tower! He was there.

Fortified with new strength, Lontel fought through the few remaining alders and slid, rolled, and ran the rest of the way down the gentling incline. He kissed the base of the tower when he reached it. He walked around it slowly, studying it before he entered it. He couldn’t feel the death he had at Quarter Tower, but he could feel something. Probably just awe at the size of the stone slabs used to build it, he thought as he ran his hand along one of the smoothly hewn blocks on which the hundred-foot cylinder sat.

When Lontel reached the single door into the structure, he stopped. The snow was deeply packed by numerous footprints. He backed away and studied the numerous slits and windows encircling the tower at each level. No one looked back.

"Hello in the tower," Lontel yelled. No reply. Lontel returned to the door and tried it. It opened quietly. He peeked inside. Unlit torches sat in the brackets. The only light was that filtering through the windows. Quietly he slipped inside. Instantly his nose teased his stomach with delicious smells. He stomach retaliated by growling loudly. The noise echoed off the silent walls. When no one challenged his stomach’s call, Lontel quickly searched the first story of the tower and found it empty. He worked his way up until he was on the top floor. There he found enough water and food to last him a month. He gorged himself and fell asleep.

Noises below stirred him out of his slumber. Metal clanked as it hit stone. Voices talked good-humoredly. Lontel heard steps start up the stairs. Quickly he hid behind the foodstuffs, but when elves appeared, he relaxed and stood.

"Hello," he said. The two elves dressed in sky blue uniforms stopped at stared at him dumbfounded.

"A man," one whispered. Both of them backed away.

"Is there something wrong?" Lontel asked.

"Man in the tower," one of them yelled as he and his partner unsheathed their swords. Lontel did the same. Wizbane stopped the elves in their tracks. They stared in awe at the glowing green sword. Footsteps raced up the stairs, and soon five more elves stood with drawn swords facing Lontel.

"How did you get in here?" one asked.

"I walked," Lontel answered.

"A man surely," another said. "The magic at the door would have stopped anything else." Excited, nervous whispers burst from the elves’ lips. All Arlin and Tubar had said about the Great War suddenly flashed through Lontel’s mind. A great dread formed and settled in his stomach like a leaden knot.

"I have come here in peace," Lontel said, trying to think of something to say that would pacify his hate-filled hosts.

"Just like any other spy," came the reply. Two of the elves attacked. Wizbane flashed and they fell back holding the remains of their broken swords.

"I mean no harm," Lontel said. "I am just waiting for…"

"Waiting for your army," one of the elves with a broken sword finished for him. The others intoned a low chant. When they were through, they attacked. Lontel retreated behind the sacks of food. Wizbane clanged against swords that no longer shattered. One elf lunged at Lontel. Lontel drove his sword through the attacker’s eye. A sword creased his arm, but the owner fell clutching his vitals, which spilled from around his reddening hands. The attackers became the attacked as Lontel stemmed their initial push and began forcing them back. Two more fell into the widening pool of blood soaking the stone floor. The last three fled down the stairs and away. Lontel watched them flee as fast as their gazelle-like strides would take them.

He looked at the four dead elves and wept. Why? Why hadn’t they let him explain? Davon could explain when he got here. Lontel waited out the rest of the day watching for the approach of his friends, but they never appeared. When night came, he gathered all of the torches he could find and took them to the top floor after dragging the bodies of the dead elves to the bottom one. He then nursed a small fire out of sparks made by striking a dead elf’s sword to the floor. Using the fire to light a torch, he settled down to wait.

The tower door crashed open at midnight, and elves stormed up the stairs. Lontel met them at the top of the stairs. He beat them back with sheer ferocity. He saw an archer taking aim at him from below as he shoved another elf down the stairs towards his fallen brethren. Lontel ducked just at the arrow whistled by his head. Another wave of elves attacked. They pushed him back from the stairs. He retreated quickly over the slick floor so he couldn’t be surrounded. Soon, they had him pinned against a wall. Lontel fought viciously, hacking at his smaller opponents. Again his barbarity drove them back. He followed them down the stairs. An arrow chinked near him. Another stuck into his arm. By then, he had pushed the frightened elves to the bottom floor. Behind him was the carnage of a madman. He hacked off the head of a hapless archer who hadn’t been able to flee out of the tower. With the last of his strength Lontel shove the door closed. He bolted it closed and sank to the floor.

He stared at the death all around him. The eyelids of the beheaded archer fluttered. Lontel retched as he looked away. His body shook as his stomach heaved and he threw up violently. Finally, only bile spilled from his lips. He climbed up several floors and went to a window.

"Why do you want to kill me?" Lontel cried. "I have done nothing to you. I am waiting for an elf you know as Davon and for his lifemate Davlena whom I brought all of the way from Sepultha. So, why do you battle me?"

"You are a child of blood and killing just as your forefathers," a deep voice answered. "Look about you. There is nothing but death. That is how it always has been and always will be with men. You are born to kill and destroy."

"I am only trying to stay alive," Lontel said. "If that means killing all of you, so be it. I’ll not die willingly for anyone. I’ll certainly not die for you idiots living in the past. What our ancestors did ages ago is history. Let it go." No answer came. Lontel returned to the top floor and lit another torch. He thought about his ancestor who had died here. Apparently his blood and that of Tubar’s ancestor’s weren’t enough for the elves. They wanted more. Well, they would get it, and most of it would be theirs.

A banging on the door roused Lontel. His arm throbbed terribly. "Lontel, unbar the door," Tubar yelled as he pounded on it again.

"How many elves are going to rush me when I do?" Lontel asked.

"None. Now unbar the door and let me enter." Lontel opened the door, and Tubar hobbled in using a makeshift crutch. He looked around at the gore and shook his head sadly. "So more blood has had to be spilled uselessly."

"At least none of it was dwarf blood this time, and very little of it is man’s," Lontel said. Tubar studied him. The broken shaft of the arrow still protruded from Lontel’s arm, which was crusted over with dried blood. His clothes were tatters. The rest of his body was zigzagged with cuts both small and large. All were scabbed over. This man had stared death in the eye and spit at it. The fire in his eyes said that and more.

"Come along. Davon has told his people who you are, and we need to have someone look at your arm and, well, all of you. That arrow can’t be doing you any good."

Lontel looked at it and shrugged. "I don’t think I like the idea of going out in the open where an entire army can get at me all at once."

"If they attack you, you can be sure they will have two of us to kill," Tubar said solemnly. Lontel smiled weakly at the dwarf. Tubar meant it, he could tell. He followed the dwarf out. Waiting for them was rank upon rank of soldiers dressed in completely different uniforms from the elves Lontel had fought the night before. At the head of them sitting upon a pawing, white stallion was Davon dressed in the same brown uniform as his men.

He rode up to Lontel and winced at what he saw. "I am truly sorry," he said. "Tarlin and his priests have certainly given you an inhospitable welcome. I hope you won’t hold that against the rest of Shangri-La. His sect was very small and is now nearly extinct thanks to you." He motioned to the corpses being dragged from Tubar Tower.

"I didn’t think they fought much like soldiers," Lontel said. "Their arrows do hurt, though, so if you could get a physician…"

"Of course, of course."