Jastillian loomed over me, wearing short black breeches. They matched his gorget, and his tight red tunic showed off his muscles. The colors, combined with his size, gave him a commanding presence. His beard was also trimmed, now only down to his chest. But the most notable thing about him was the huge battle-ax strapped to his back.
“You look good,” I said.
“Aye, I must say it feels good to be cleaned, shaved, and have clothes that fit. But what really makes me feel good is to have some kind of weapon on me. Even though this isn’t my true weapon.”
“It isn’t?”
“Premier took my weapon!” Jastillian clenched his fist and growled. “I’m going to get it back, even if I have to pry it from his dead corpse.”
“What’s so special about the weapon? Is it expensive or something?”
Jastillian laughed. “No, lad. We teach that all weapons are special. They’re used to defend you, your home, and the ones you love. And that weapon was an ancient relic I got from the war and had repaired. It’s impossible to replace, and I went through a lot to get it.”
“Were your wounds tended?”
“Our healers patched me up well enough. I had to send them away when they wanted me to rest.” Jastillian frowned, and his right cheek muscle flexed. “I must warn you. After talking with my mother, it's going to be a lot more difficult than I thought to get our army to help. There will be…resistance. There will be those who oppose us. It's them you must convince. You must secure three-fourths of the table.”
I knew I shouldn't have wasted my time coming here, but it was far too late to turn back now. “I'll do whatever I have to do to convince them to help me.”
Jastillian smiled. “I know. Now let me turn around while you get dressed.”
I was going to protest, but Jastillian was right about humans being bashful, at least when it came to me. Not having any clothes and having someone stare at me made me shy. I wasn’t that comfortable with Jastillian yet, and he wasn't a pretty girl.
I got out, dried myself off, and put my not-so-clean clothes back on. When I put on my wizard’s robe, I inhaled its scent. It smelt surprisingly clean.
Master Stradus once said a wizard’s robe is a part of the wizard, and the two become one. In time, I’d understand. Maybe the robe was clean because I was clean? Although it might have been because of the fact that it soaked up all the steam, and I had been in the room for a long time.
I rubbed my wrinkly fingers through my slick hair and said, “I’m ready.”
“Good, lad. Before the questioning, we’ll get to eat first. I’m sure you're as hungry as I am.”
My stomach rumbled so loud I’m sure Jastillian heard it. “Just a little bit.”
We left the quiet sanctuary of the bathhouse. Jastillian led me through the halls. We walked up a broad flight of stairs, passing four guards before we reached a set of large double doors carved out of granite and etched with the dwarves’ symbol. Jastillian opened one of the doors.
The room was much larger than those in the rest of the castle. In the center was a large, circular stone table, and about two dozen well-armed dwarves of varying ages surrounded it. The room was surprisingly stark. I had expected it to be as richly decorated as the rest of the castle. There were no paintings, statues, or even banners. The only decoration was the dwarves’ symbol carved into the middle of the table, just visible under the platters of food.
All heads turned towards us as we entered, and the conversation stilled. Jastillian led me to a seat on a stone bench, next to an elderly female dwarf.
“Hello, my son,” the old dwarf said. Her short, thin hair was as white as snow. When she smiled, her face creased with wrinkles.
“Hello, Mother,” Jastillian said. The pair embraced.
Jastillian’s mother looked towards me. Her vital, dark blue eyes had that same piercing gaze as King Furlong had. I wondered if all military rulers had the same way of sizing a person up. I inclined my head. Jastillian’s mother was the only dwarf present who didn’t wear a huge weapon. She chose to carry a short sword sheathed at her side.
“Hellsfire,” Jastillian said, “this is the leader of Erlam, Lenora.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I’m grateful you allowed me to come into your wondrous city.”
“Thank you for helping my son, Wizard Hellsfire.”
“Please, just Hellsfire.”
“He shouldn’t be here,” said a younger dwarf with red hair.
“That’s right,” another said with a fierce gaze. “There should be no outsiders here in the heart of Erlam at this time.”