The Paladins of Naretia

Chapter 15

Olórin was hoping that the dwarfs wouldn't pay much attention to Aramus as they walked through their underground city. But how could a community of half-men not notice two tall strangers wandering their streets? Especially as one of them had large black wings and eyes that glowed like the lava. He was at least grateful that they didn't point and stare, or run screaming in absolute terror at the mere sight of him. But there was the odd shuffle of small children, with bristly moustaches, being herded back indoors by their equally hairy parents as they approached; not to mention the distinctive clatter of silver as it was shoved into various hiding places. Aramus returned the befuddled stares at the whiskery children. He nearly followed them into their houses to get a better look too, and Olórin worked hard not to laugh.

"Are all the children like that?" Aramus asked.

It was only dwarfs crossed with other species, such as humans, which seemed to be immune to the tufty look that usually accompanied their kind. But none of those children lived underground with the rest of the hardened dwarfs; the particulars of their heritage also seeing them need sunshine on more than one occasion in the year. These would be the dwarfs that most above ground dwellers would be accustomed to. And so, Aramus's marvel at the strange little creatures around him was to be expected.

"You should know better than to stare at the unusual," Olórin scolded.

Aramus let the grip of his probing eyes go immediately and stared at the ground instead.

"You're right," he replied quietly. "Out of all the people in existence, I know what it is like to be stared at like that. But it's so hard to look away. I couldn't help it, and now some small child might think that I believe him to be a monster. What kind of person does that make me?"

"Don't feel too guilty," Olórin replied sympathetically. "I think you'll find that they were staring at you too. The inhabitants of Naretia are all curious creatures and it should bring you some comfort to know that you are no different."

Aramus smiled weakly as they made their way through the streets of houses fighting for space. But as his guilt trained his eyes to the obsidian rock beneath his feet, Olórin couldn't help but notice that there was something very odd about Aramus at that moment. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something about the way he was carrying himself, the glow from his amber eyes, the lack of any sweat on his perfectly tanned skin, all cried a warning in his old head. But Olórin couldn't hear the words no matter how hard he tried.

"State yer business!" an authoritative voice boomed over the hustle and bustle of Balbuldor.

Olórin nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been too busy listening to the foggy voices in his head to notice the looming palace only three feet in front of him. Standing beneath an ornately carved, golden arch was a soldier. His dwarven armour was considerably shinier, and better fitted, than that of Bernard's. His physique was leaner too, and his straight, black beard was neatly plaited into long ropes, tied off at the end with bobbles of the same shiny metal as his armour. His large broad axe glinted in the dim light of the dark streets.

It was only after a moment of clearing his throat that Olórin realised there were, in fact, two of them standing by the heavy gold door. Each one gleamed in their armours brilliant lustre, and each one eyed him suspiciously with beady brown eyes that turned down at the edges.

"We have come to see your king," Olórin replied.

"King Thrais willnae see peddlers and..."

Both of the guard's small eyes widened at the sight of Aramus. Their tanned skin paled, and their mouths dropped open as they struggled to form whatever words they had meant to come out.