The white light that emanated from above the tall iron gate was both dazzling and terrifying. Barron growled his woody growl as they approached. “What is this strange light?” Veryyn said, bewildered. Perthran and Kotia exchanged an excited glance, and the three continued towards the imposing door. “That is what we have come for, elf.” Kotia said knowingly. “It is the best kept secret in Nearborne, Veryyn. We have been bound to secrecy by our partners in these mountains, but I do believe that it is time to bring you in on it.” Perthran spoke hesitantly. “Behold, elf. The wonders of fulminaurum.”
The bright light was unnatural white, and brighter than anything Veryyn had seen, save maybe the sun. It came from several metal and glass lanterns that hung high above, on the ramparts of a glorious steely gate. Crafted in high dwarven fashion, the blocky architecture was a marvel to behold up close. The dark, highly polished stone wall was reinforced with decorative bands of iron. As they approached, through the windows high above, light streamed out, and they could see shadows dancing inside. A voice boomed out, unnaturally loud and imposing against the quiet of the old dwarven road. “Halt! Who goes there? What a band of fools to come parading up to our gates! With the slimy Daemor crawling through our tunnels!”
The voice shook the walls around them, and was full of gravel. Barron took a defensive position in front of the group, spreading his large body, appearing somehow even larger and more brutal. “Come now Barron. We are among friends.” Perthran spoke, but his voice had a hint of uncertainty. Louder now, he raised his voice up and shouted at the ramparts. “My companions and I seek an audience with the coinmaster of Fulmin-Dum. We are traders from Garamas.” A chortle came down from high upon the ramparts before them. “You are a long way from Fulmin-Dum, human. And even further from Garamas. This is the gate of Protac, and you will go no further.” The gravel voice boomed from above, and ended with finality.
Veryyn looked at his companions uneasily. Perthran persisted. “We have come from across the sea and bring many treasures to trade!” “Treasures!” He was interrupted. “What treasures do you think that you can bring before the Minaurum dwarves? Do you think that I am a fool? Explain yourselves!” This time, it was Perthran and Kotia that exchanged worried glances. Veryyn sensed an odd moment between them. They seemed to be holding something back, and he grew suspicious of these humans again. “And don’t come here telling me you have come from Garamas with an old Sphagnon Elf and his Anima. Turn now, and return where you came from. This tunnel is not safe, and you will not find trade among us.”
“Come now…” Perthran began, but was sharply cut off. “Silence! Leave this place!” The booming gravel voice grew restless. Veryyn wondered how such a creature could fill the entire cave with his voice. He noticed that it had an odd and raspy quality, besides being unnaturally loud and projected. There was a moment of silence in the tunnels. Veryyn, Kotia, and Perthran exchanged glances. Perthran thought to speak again, but a trembling began underneath their feet. “Daemor.” Kotia spoke lowly and cautiously. Barron had turned his back to the gate now, and assumed a defensive position with his back to the looking gate. “Would you have us slaughtered upon your doorstep then?” Perthran shouted. There was no response. After a few quick exchanges between the companions, the three turned from the gate. Veryyn thought to draw his knife but reconsidered. He knew that his death marched toward him.
Veryyn turned again, and this time spoke. His words came out with an air of nobility that surprised and surprised his companions. “You are correct in naming me from Sphagna. I am Veryyn Fenvellum, son of Aryn, of the Aeforwood.” Kotia and Perthran stood speechless as their companion seemed to grow taller, and more upright. “You are bound by the old treaties to offer us safe haven from the Daemor!” There was silence from the door. He continued. “I come seeking a companion, one who is very dear to me.” His regal voice wavered for just a moment. “Evie Valerous, high born and heir apparent of the Norden-Dum, is my companion.” The familiar pungent odor filled the air. We are running out of time, Veryyn thought. There was a commotion atop the gate, but there came no response. With a heavy creaking, the doors split and opened, revealing a great many dwarven soldiers in full battle dress. The dwarven ranks stood parted, and a path was laid out before Veryyn and his companions. Warily, they entered.
As they walked through the gate, a skittering was heard behind them, followed by heavy thudding. “Quickly now!” The gravelly voice growled at them. Even as they entered, the voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Behind them, a horde of black-red Daemor, lead by a lumbering giant, rushed at the gate. Quickening their pace, they entered and the gate slammed behind them. As they walked deeper into the crowd of dwarven soldiers, the ranks closed behind them. A loud thud was heard against the gates, and there was a clamor of excitement. They were hurried along a narrow passageway just beyond the wall, through what appeared to be a strategic choke point. The walls grew close and forced them through an even narrower hallway. At the end of the passageway was another gatehouse, this one at least three stories high. It was pockmarked with portholes as high as you could see, and at its base was a door that Veryyn had to crouch through. Their escort, a band of four important looking dwarves, rapped upon the door. After he squeezed through the small entryway, the cave opened up greatly. What they saw beyond the entrance was unlike anything that Veryyn, in all his years, had ever seen.
Ricky Hurlich Shorts 