----
We continued our long journey, traveling parallel to the jagged Daleth Mountains. We didn't run into any more soldiers from Alexandria. Every time we stopped and rested, we had a conversation of some sort. I got to know Jastillian well in the short days we were together.
He told me about some of the travels he had embarked upon, and about his children, who traveled as much as he did. In return, I told him some of the information I knew about the War of the Wizards—things I’d read and heard. I didn’t tell him about Master Stradus though. I wasn’t sure if my master wanted people to know he was next door to them, along with a dragon. The trek was a tiring one, but we did make it to Erlam exactly when Jastillian said we would.
Would coming here be enough? And could I return to Alexandria in time?
CHAPTER 17
We trotted our horses up the slanted plateau that led to the dwarven city of Erlam. It had been cleared of trees, so there was only scrub, low-cut grass, and a few flowers as far as I could see to either side. Jastillian said that the landscape was very similar to the Wastelands, but this had been done deliberately. The dwarves felt they could win on the field of battle against an invading army if they were able to face them in the open. If things went wrong, they could always fall back to the mountains.
A patrol rode out to us, well before we reached the city. The dwarves’ short, stocky, armored bodies on horseback looked awkward, almost comical to me. What didn’t look comical were their stern, angry faces. Their beady eyes got even narrower when they rested on me. Their riding style may have looked awkward, but their armor and weapons didn’t.
They wore red and black uniforms that blended into the landscape, the faded red ochre of their helms and breastplates matching the loose red dust, while the black of their gauntlets, boots, and helms resembled the cracks that spiderwebbed the ground. The varied browns of their beards and bare, muscular arms were like the rocks that dotted the plain. The dark, aggressive colors made them even more intimidating.
“Greetings, Jastillian,” one said.
“Greetings.”
“It's good to see you again.” The sentry's brown eyes scanned Jastillian. “I heard you were in the Wastelands. You look like the cat dragged you out of the Inferno. Rough time?”
Jastillian smiled. “Aye, you could say that.”
“Who’s the stranger?”
“A friend.”
“We have orders not to let outsiders in.”
“Says who?”
“Who do you think?”
“He’s coming with me.”
The other dwarves looked to their leader, waiting for his response. Despite being beaten, bruised, and outnumbered, Jastillian’s fierce gaze didn’t waver. It intensified, making the dwarves squirm in their saddles. All except the leader, who didn’t falter, either.
Seeing the implacability of the leader made my anger rise, and with it my fire. I clenched my fists and bit down on my inner cheek to control it. I wasn’t going to let this patrol bar me from getting help. I would never get into the city if I did anything foolish. I had to trust in Jastillian and let him handle this.
“On your head, Jastillian,” the guard said. “So be it.”
Jastillian nodded and the dwarves rode off.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Jastillian sighed and scratched his cheek. “No idea. We'll find out soon enough.”
At the foot of the Daleth Mountain Range, the plateau dipped into a small valley. The green of the valley contrasted with the stark browns and grays I had just seen. A blue river flowed out of the mountains, feeding the city with life. We dropped our horses off at a stable on the outskirts of Erlam, finishing our journey on foot.
People made their homes and shops in the valley, and unlike in Alexandria, the people and buildings weren’t run down. The wood used in construction wasn’t rotting or in need of repair. There were crowds of dwarves shopping and bargaining in the marketplace and on the main streets, but there were no guards or starving mobs. The aroma of chickens, cows, and pigs dominated the air. The smell of meat was so strong, it permeated my clothes. I breathed in relief when we passed a baker.
A huge marble scene decorated the middle of the marketplace. A white statue of a dwarven hero battled ferocious monsters that I had never seen or heard of before. His axe was stuck in the middle of one. The carvers had captured the monsters’ sharp fangs and claws, and the dwarf’s rage while killing them. The inscription beneath the statue said, ‘You can achieve your heart’s desire, only if you’re willing to die for it.’
“That’s Eostar, lad,” Jastillian said. “Some consider him the greatest dwarf who ever lived. Have you heard of him?”