The dusty roads, parched from lack of rain, soon gave way to a dark landscape devoid of trees, grass or any indication of life whatsoever. The intense sunshine of southern Naretia was swallowed greedily by vast fields of blackness, which refused to let any light reflect off its glassy surface. Dark waves, frozen in place by some magical spell, stretched out as far as the eye could see, and looked as though it could have consumed every vector of life instantly.
Though they had not yet stepped onto the ominous terrain, the intense heat radiating off the surface blew suffocating air in Olórin's direction. Dwarven legends tell of how they used the blood of the fiercest demon, the heart fires from the hottest volcano, and the strongest diamonds from their mines, to create this impenetrable obsidian landscape. There were many legends too about men spending weeks, and all of their resources, trying to break though the surface so that they might lay hands on the dwarf's riches. But all perished in the end.
"What is that?" Aramus asked, squinting against the bright sunlight.
"That, is the city of Balbuldor," Olórin answered, pausing to riffle through his hat.
The heat had forced Olórin to relinquish his thick cloak and fur boots into his hat, in favour of lighter clothes. Aramus, however, seemed unperturbed by the heat, despite his black leather jacket (which now had a sizable hole in the shoulder) and heavy boots. Olórin felt faint just by looking at him, and wondered if his tolerance for the climate wasn't another trait passed down to him by his father.
"I see no city, old man."
"No, of course you don't," Olórin replied, fishing out a small bundle of pink wool with a sigh of relief. "It wouldn't be protected very well if it were just lying around in the open, now would it? The city lies beneath the ground."
"How do we get there?"
Olórin plopped his hat back on his bald head and proceeded to detangle the lumps of pink wool until four knitted tea cozies emerged.
"With these," he said handing two of them to an astonished looking Aramus. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not crazy. The dwarfs have enchanted this obsidian with an Infernos curse. Should any living, or non-living thing rest upon its surface, it will superheat it until the object melts or bursts into flames. So, I would suggest that you put those on your feet before you walk any further."
Aramus shot Olórin a sceptical look. Throwing his eyes to the heavens Olórin sighed and shoved his staff into his hat. He slipped on his own tea cozies and walked, unharmed, onto the obsidian. Reaching into the pockets of his robes, he pulled out a small item, and tossed it toward Aramus.
A round, yellow pebble skidded to a halt no more than a foot away from the young man. Slowly the black rock beneath the pebble began to change. It turned a bright crimson colour and an intense heat began to emanate from it. Olórin watched as Aramus shielded himself from the rising heat with his arm. Within seconds the pebble shattered into a thousand pieces from the heat.
"You must take care not to accidently drop anything onto the surface," he continued. "Don't sit down, or lean on anything, because it is only these pink shoe coverings that prevent us both from being burned alive. You can thank my good friend, Zerran, for these."
"Was Zerran a wizard too?"
"Heavens no. Zerran is a somewhat dim-witted farmer that lives in the middle of Lothangard, where he has no fields to plough. But what he lacks in common sense, he makes up for with his gift in creating heat-absorbing tea cozies. Although, I think it may have more to do with his one and only livestock, Bella the sheep, who lives in his kitchen. According to Zerran's neighbours, Bella was involved in some kind of horrendous incident involving the raspberry bush and an overprotective wizard. Since then, she's lost her taste for raspberries, and given Zerran nothing but magically imbued pink wool that protects from all things hot. Fascinating really. Of course, being the dim-witted soul that he is, he lacks the imagination to fashion anything but tea cozies from it."
Aramus paused and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. After a moment longer he closed it again, straightened the strap of his backpack across his chest, and put the pink woollen covers over his black boots.
"All right, old man, where to next?" he said with a defeated sigh.
"Next, we must get lost. That is the only way to find the entrance to Balbuldor."
Aramus rolled his eyes before cautiously stepping onto the black obsidian. With little more than a sigh of relief at not bursting into flames, he followed Olórin into the featureless landscape.
They had only walked for a little over twenty minutes before they became aware of the sound of ogres screaming in the distance. The two companions spun around in unison, and standing at the outer reaches of the obsidian border was the queen of Naretia. Her red armour glinted brightly against the dark landscape, and a long line of cleaver wielding ogres paced excitedly behind her.
Olórin watched as she pointed to another ogre and gestured him forward. He diligently marched onto the obsidian without fear, but within seconds was consumed in a blaze. His arms and legs hit out wildly, and his bloodcurdling roars of pain reverberated over the glassy landscape. Olórin couldn't look, so instead turned his gaze toward Aramus, who appeared unruffled by the torture that was happening.
"We must quicken our pace to get ourselves lost," Olórin said, taking Aramus by the elbow and turning him in the opposite direction. "I'd wager that she doesn't know my friend Zerran, but she is also resolute to reach us. I don't doubt that if she could create a path of dead ogre bodies to reach us, she would."
*
Aria screamed in frustration. She had everything she needed to defeat Olórin and capture Aramus, but now they were too far away. She fingered the Etherium arrow and wondered if it might be able to reach the wizard and weaken him from this distance. But even if it could, she was too far away to be able to take advantage of it, and to have come so far only to be stopped by something as innate as rocks, infuriated her.
"You there," she shouted at the nearest ogre, "find a way to them."
The ogre grinned a stupid, toothy grin and saluted the young queen, like he had been the first to be asked. Raising his cleaver above his head, and letting out a brutish roar, he ran across the dark rocks as fast as he could. Within seconds the black surface under him turned a bright crimson colour and the ogres cries of war soon turned into screams of anguish. Aria clenched her jaw so tightly that she thought it would never open again.
"My Queen," Edwel began in an aggravatingly calm voice. "This is enchanted obsidian, there is no way for us to cross it."
"There has to be," she shouted at the golem. "If they can cross it, so can we."
"They may have knowledge of magic that we do not," he replied. "But never fear, we can just wait for them to emerge again. They cannot spend an eternity beneath the ground."
"Wait? Wait?" she said, picking up some nearby pebbles and throwing them at the obsidian. The pebbles exploded one by one as the black rock beneath them reacted to even the smallest one, confirming that she couldn't use Edwel to cross it either. "And where exactly should we wait? The badlands are vast. Should we circle around and wait to the east or the west of them? Or perhaps we should just wait here, because they are bound to emerge in the exact same spot as they left, right? I have no idea where they will be headed once their business with the dwarfs is finished, do you?"
Edwel clasped his hands in front of him, like a scolded child, and solemnly shook his stone head.
"Two years I have been waiting to gain the upper hand over that murderer Aramus. Two years! But it seems that I am to be blocked at every pass by whatever forces protect him. Why?" she screamed at the skies. "What would you have me do? Should I ignore his crimes and content myself to sit on a golden throne, pretending to be ignorant? Is that the kind of ruler you would have me be? Answer me, Edwina!"
Aria's last words rang out across the barren landscape, but there was no reply. She was resigned, the goddess Edwina had forsaken her mission too.
Her chest heaved with the effort of breathing in the heat. Sweat rolled down her neck and disappeared under her armour. Despite Edwel's multiple requests, she had refused to remove it; choosing to be battle ready at all times instead. She was beginning to regret her decision now as her mind, made mad from the heat, conjured the sound of hundreds of hooves galloping closer and closer. She knew that it couldn't be, because animals needed grass to graze and water to drink, but there was nothing in the arid southern region of Naretia except sand and black obsidian.
Aria watched Olórin and her enemy disappear beyond the blackness. She hung her head in defeat and fell to her knees, a small tear escaping the corner of her eye. A queen shouldn't cry, especially not in front of her army, but the girl inside her wouldn't allow her the dignity of stoniness and she hated that.
The sound of galloping grew louder as the heat reached its choking hands around Aria's face. She ignored it.
"Aria!" Edwel whispered, pointing his stone finger toward something in the distance.
The sound of four legged creatures racing toward them grew louder still, as did the grumbling from the line of ogres. Aria stood up and squinted in the direction Edwel pointed. A small flutter of something made itself known in her stomach, she wasn't quite sure if it was fear or delight. Kicking up a cloud of dust from the path behind them, was an army of worgen. And leading the charge, was Luscious.
"Be still," she ordered her army.
Their voices hushed and their weapons lowered instantly. Within minutes, Luscious and his pack, of at least thirty worgen, skidded to a halt in front of her.
"Queen Aria," Luscious growled, the corner of his lip curling to reveal the missing canine tooth. "I see the wizard and Aramus have escaped you."
"Do you come here to gloat, Luscious? Because if you have, I have better things I could command you to do with your time," Aria warned.
"There is no need for the amulet, Your Majesty. I have no intention of harming you or your pride. In fact, I come bearing wonderful news."
"Is that so? Please, do go on," she said, eyeing the large number of worgen with a small amount of trepidation churning the contents of her stomach.
"We know where they will travel after the dwarfs," he said, absently scratching his pointed ear with his hind leg. "But I fear they may gain the support of the half-men and, should that happen, you will need more than a subservient army of mindless beasts to defeat them. Small as they might be, the dwarfs are nothing short of powerhouses built to level mountains. Although they are not warriors by trade, if you should put a sword in their hands instead of a pickaxe... well, you can imagine the damage that they could do."
"Nothing short," Edwel sniggered at the unintentional pun.
Aria shot him a pointed look which stopped his scoffing instantly.
"Where do they travel to next? And how did you come across this information when I have scoured every inch of Naretia and heard nothing?" she asked.
"Like the worgen, not all of the dwarfs follow their god blindly," Luscious said, turning toward the setting sun, "I find that sugar has always been more appealing to flies then a swot. However, the real truth only comes to light when the flies are made aware that the swot is still nearby. Gold is a very persuasive incentive for the dwarf's."
Luscious, followed by his army of worgen, skirted around the grumbling ogres.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked Aria.
"Where to?"
"There are a number of underground passages from Balbuldor which lead outside the reach of the obsidian. They are well guarded and commonly used by the dwarfs. But there is only one passage that leads to the west, toward Elwood. If we beat them to it, I am sure we can ambush them."
"They go to the elves? Are they mad?" Aria said, waving on both Edwel and her army. "Of all the creatures in this kingdom, the elves are most likely to strike Aramus down where he stands."
"It is true that the elves are puritans and may not allow the son of Dantet to take a single breath of their air, but they may also take the word of the Supreme Wizard over their own instincts. Either way, it is imperative that we make sure he dies. We cannot afford another mistake like the one on the mountain. If we can get to him before the elves do, to ensure the job is done properly, all the better."
"But he will die by my hand, Luscious, remember that," Aria sneered.
"I would not have it any other way, Your Majesty."
*
The heat was unbearable and the shimmering mirages in his periphery only served to make Olórin more unsteady. How he longed to be able to take out his staff and lean against the stubborn burls. But he knew he couldn't. The only thing that could touch the enchanted obsidian were the two pink tea cozies covering his feet. Even the ends of his brown robes had been singed off where they had accidently trailed along the ground. While Olórin struggled to stay upright, Aramus appeared to be immune to the heat. Despite the fact that Olórin was sure it was only getting hotter the more they walked, his young companion did not break even the smallest sweat. And that troubled him.
"How long have we been walking now, about a day?" Olórin asked, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
"Two hours," Aramus replied.
"What? Are you sure? I was positive that it was longer than that."
"I'm sure," he replied. "The sun has hardly moved in the sky."
"Yes, you're right. It's just hanging there like a maddening itch you cannot scratch."
If Olórin had had the energy he would have balled his fist at the sun and cursed it for existing in the first place. But as luck would have it for the sun, Olórin couldn't manage to do anything more than plop one pink foot in front of the other, and breathe.
"Let me carry you, old man," Aramus said, stepping toward Olórin.
"What? Wait! Don't be daft, get your hands off me. I don't need carrying. I said no, Aramus. Goddess be, why won't you listen to me? Aramus, put me down this instant."
Despite his objections Aramus did not listen to him and, in some small way, Olórin was glad. He didn't know how much longer his old body could have sustained the heat without collapsing to the ground and erupting into a ball of flames.
"Fine!" Olórin relented. "But if you're going to carry me you must promise not to fly."
"Why don't you like flying?" Aramus asked.
Olórin's fear of heights stemmed from being hung upside down off the wizard's tower in his youth, but he had never told Aramus about it. He had never told him why he was so disliked as an apprentice, and he didn't think now was the time either.
"Because flying isn't natural," he answered, keeping a firm hold of his hat. "If humans were meant to fly we would have been born with... oh."
It was the sight of Aramus's jaw clenching repeatedly that alerted Olórin to his mistake. He could tell that the young man was trying to hold in some persistent emotion, which wanted to burst from his chest, and it flooded Olórin with guilt.
"I'm sorry," Olórin said quietly. "I didn't think..."
"Don't," he spat. "Don't backtrack now for the sake of my feelings. It's true, isn't it? Humans aren't meant to have wings, are they? That's why people are scared of me. Well, one of the reasons anyhow. That's also why my childhood was spent scavenging for food instead of in the warm embrace of a loving mother and father. That's why I slept under bridges and behind barns every night, while other children were tucked up in their beds, isn't it?"
"The prejudices of man are cruel," Olórin said, his voice more quiet then he had intended. "You didn't deserve to be treated like that, Aramus. No one does."
Aramus was quiet for a time. In his eyes, Olórin could almost visualise his memories of being a small child, shivering and huddled alone under a bridge in the depths of winter. If Aramus's heart couldn't break, Olórin's did for him.
"None of that matters now. You're going to cure me with this potion of yours, aren't you?" Aramus said, giving Olórin a crooked grin. "And then I'll be just like everyone else, won't I?"
Olórin hesitated, his mouth ajar and his stomach suddenly clenching.
"I will, won't I, Olórin?" Aramus asked again, turning his slatted amber eyes squarely on Olórin and knitting his dark eyebrows together. "I mean, that's the whole reason we're travelling to these God-forsaken lands, isn't it?"
"It is the reason we travel, Aramus, yes. But if I am to be completely honest, I do not know how the potion will affect you physically." Olórin could feel the tension build in Aramus's arm muscles. He heard the young man's breathing becoming terser with every step and knew that it wasn't from the effort of carrying him.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. "What would be the point of all of this if people are still going to fear me?"
"As the son of Dantet, you are plagued with his curse of soullessness. As such, you cannot appreciate love, happiness, and all the mortal pleasures of life. More importantly, should you die before you take the potion, then your being would undoubtedly be returned to Dantet, where you would suffer an eternity of his cruelness. But with it, the Goddess Edwina would surely see her light within you and embrace you as one of her own children."
"So," Aramus said slowly. "You would give me a potion that would allow me to feel how much I am hated, to truly know my aloneness, until the day that I die in the hopes that I would be redeemed in the afterlife? How long will I live, old man? I am the mongrel son of a mortal and a God. Which side do you think my longevity will take after? What if I can't die? What if I am immortal, like my father?"
"I, I do not know," was all Olórin could mutter.
He had hoped that Aramus might long for a chance, any chance, to connect with humanity, but never once stopped to think that he could be condemning him to a life of loneliness – an eternity of isolation and rejection.
Olórin pondered on this for the longest time. The Goddess had told him that he must not stray from the path he was on or it would spell the end for mortal life. But he was beginning to think that perhaps Aramus would be the collateral damage in her bid to save them all. 'Would the Goddess truly care so little for a living creature, even if he was the son of Dantet?' he thought.
Although he had always known his Goddess to be loving and kind, he was beginning to suspect that that was the true reason he was not permitted to speak when they had met. Perhaps the answer to his questions wouldn't have been to his liking, and knowing them would have condemned her children to their deaths. 'Would a loving parent really sacrifice someone else's child for their own?' Having never had his own children it was a question he knew he couldn't answer.
"I would rather have you live an eternity with the smallest chance that you might find happiness, than condemn you to one with no hope of it at all," he finally answered.
It was the truth, and Olórin clung to it desperately. Aramus, however, didn't appear to share in his optimism. Olórin didn't blame him. Had he been faced with the same bleak outlook, he might not have been so calm. In fact, Olórin was positive that he would have thrown the greatest hissy fit known to man.
The two walked in silence for what seemed like hours, or rather Aramus walked whilst carrying Olórin. The heat from both the sun and the enchanted obsidian, made it almost impossible to breathe. Olórin was beginning to empathise with the lobsters he had seen thrown into pots of boiling water in the queen's palace.
"It will soon be night, where is this entrance?" Aramus asked.
Olórin couldn't be sure, but he thought that there was still a hint of irritation in Aramus's voice.
"Do you know that feeling you get when you think all is lost, and a knot ties itself in your stomach?" Olórin asked. Aramus shrugged indifferently. "Well, the entrance will only make itself known at that point. While the dwarfs do not encourage visitors to their kingdom, they are not without their sympathy for those who manage to cross their land."
"And what if one of us cannot feel that desperation?"
"Ah, well, I actually hadn't thought about that. I'm not too sure if both of us need to feel hopeless. Em, well, that is a bit of a conundrum, but we have come too far to turn back now. My old body wouldn't be able to tolerate another day of this heat. Oh Goddess, perhaps we should turn back and look for another way in. But we've come so far I... wait, I see it, over there Aramus."
Olórin gestured to a small grey stone which had suddenly appeared amidst the endless obsidian, and breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't banked on it being him that would panic, but was relieved nonetheless, to see it. That is, of course, if it was the opening to the underground city.
If the truth were to be known, Olórin had never been to Balbuldor. His only knowledge of its whereabouts had come from drunken conversations with far travelling dwarfs. He was only too aware that those dwarfs had more heed to exaggerated tales and win an extra tankard of ale from listening patrons. But regardless of how he came to know about it, the sight of the round grey stone was like a much needed rain shower on a stifling summers day.
Aramus carried Olórin toward the stone and looked questioningly at the palm-sized rock, before carefully standing him up again.
"If that's supposed to be a door, I don't think I'm going to fit through," Aramus said.
"No, no, of course it's not a door, that's just the knocker," Olórin replied, fishing through his hat again and producing his wooded staff.
Taking careful aim at the small stone, Olórin raised his staff high above his head and, after only a moment's hesitation, brought it down hard onto the rock three times. With each strike, a resounding boom echoed across the obsidian landscape, like a mallet striking a gong. Olórin could feel the vibrations reverberate through his chest.
"What now?" Aramus asked after a while.
"Now we wait," Olórin replied.
"What are we waiting for?"
"Aramus," Olórin said, giving him a weary look, "These mines run deep and the dwarf's legs are short. It's going to take them some time to answer the door."
Aramus rolled his eyes again, and Olórin was beginning to wonder if the young man really did think that most of what came out of his mouth was nothing short of fantastical poppycock. Olórin, highly offended at the idea, thrust his staff into his hat again and crossed his arms tersely across his chest. He turned his back on the young man and huffed loudly. That is the way they remained until a sudden shift in the obsidian, and a deep rumbling, unsteadied Olórin. If it hadn't been for Aramus's quick reflexes, he would have landed his bottom squarely on the obsidian surface, to a rather uncomfortable rump-roasting end.
Below their feet the black stone slowly shifted and changed. It swirled and shunted alarmingly until a set of narrow steps began to burrow their way down into the ground in a spiral. The two companions took a step back, so as not to be accidently swallowed by the invisible, ravenous worm they imagined was chewing up the obsidian in front of them. Slowly, the din of stones shattering and grinding, came to a halt. The silence was only broken by the shuffle-clank sound of heavy iron-clad footsteps from below. Whomever was approaching was taking his time and huffing loudly along the way.
After a time, Olórin could see the dim glow of a lantern on a stick begin to emerge from the dark staircase, and following closely behind it was the stout figure of a fiery-haired dwarf. The mass of red hair rocked from side to side as a short legged, half-man struggled up the last few steps. His beard almost seemed to walk before him in a bushel of wiry, red whiskers, peppered with his last meal.
From within the hairy hedgerow, two beady blue eyes and a bulbous, red nose poked out. The hirsute dwarf huffed and puffed as he reached the last step. He leaned a solid, broad hand against the centre pillar of the stairs whilst he regained his breath. Clad, from his neck down in dwarven armour, Olórin had no doubt that the effort of ascending to the surface in such attire would have exhausted even the strongest of ogres. He waited patiently for the short man regained his composure.
After some lung-squeezing huffs, the dwarf finally cleared his throat.
"Whot do ye want?" he demanded.
"We seek an audience with your king, kind dwarf," Olórin said humbly.
"Och, aye, and I want a twelve foot keg of ale every night tae sooth me, like a wee babies bo'le, but I'm no' gonnae get that either," he replied gruffly. "The king has heard of yer coming and will no' be bothered wih' yer business. Be off wih' ye now. We have no use for peddlers and, and, whatever you are," he said, gesturing toward Aramus.
Olórin gripped Aramus's wrist to stay the offensive retort he could see was ready to leap from the young man's mouth. Dwarfs were not the kind to take insults lightly, however much they might dole them out. They would usually settle their differences in battle; something Olórin and Aramus could ill-afford in the heat of the obsidian landscape.
"Good sir," Olórin said kindly. "I would normally never bother such an important man as your king, nor indeed yourself, but we are here on the gravest of matters. I am no ordinary peddler, although I have been known to sell the odd potion of fortune or two. I am Olórin Talfan, the Supreme Wizard of Lothangard, and this is my friend Aramus. It is imperative that we speak with your king on a matter which will not only affect those above ground, but also the dwarven city below it. Believe me, your king will thank you for allowing us in and exercising your wise judgment in this matter."
The dwarf scratched his beard, dislodging a crust as he pondered the problem. Olórin knew that, in general, appealing to dwarfs' vanity and greed would have more sway with the half-men then his grand title. But the age old paranoia of their people was no guarantee that his tactics would work.
"Potions of fortune, ye say," he said, eyeing Olórin suspiciously, ignoring the more imperative subject at hand. "And whot is it, exactly, that is so fortuitous about these potions?"
"Multiplicity," Olórin replied simply. "It multiplies whatever good fortunes the drinker has already."
"Right!" he said, straightening his armour and taking a step toward Olórin whilst holding out his hand. "I'll be having one of those, and then ye can come in tae see the king."
"Olórin, is it really necessary to..."
Olórin waved off Aramus's objections about bribing a dwarf, and the dwarf, in turn, shot Aramus a poisonous look. Taking a moment to riffle through his hat, Olórin produced a small phial containing a glistening golden liquid.
"I must warn you first," he said, handing over the phial, "to only take a small drop at a time. Too much fortune, even if it is the good kind, can be bad for a man."
"Aye, aye, I heard ya," he said, shoving the phial into the entanglement of his beard.
Although he could have been carrying a pouch around his neck, Olórin knew it was more likely the phial was, instead, caught up in the bristle, along with his last meal.
"Well, ye had best follow me then. Come on, down the stairs, you first strange fella. That's right, come off the nasty surface before ye burn yer britches, and in the name of the wee man, would ye ever take off those pink slippers. Ye'll be laughed outta the place, ye big Jessies."
Aramus grumbled profanities under his breath at the dwarf's insult, but followed his instructions and whipped off the pink tea cozies. Olórin, on the other hand, was quite fond of his new foot coverings and was slower to comply. They were a damn sight more cheerful looking then his brown wizard shoes, which curled up into a point. He could never understand why women were the only ones that this particular colour was suited to. 'Be it black, pink, turquoise or puce, a colour is a colour,' he thought. 'Why one has to be denoted for a gender is nothing short of sexism.'
Knowing that he wouldn't solve the discriminations of custom at that moment, or in the present company, he took Aramus's pink cozies and thrust them into his hat along with his own.
"Thas way," the dwarf said.
The dwarf pushed past them both and led the way down the spiralling stairs. It was made out of the same obsidian stone as the surface above them, only without the Infernos curse for which Olórin was very thankful. Although the blackness of the walls and ground was engulfing, the roof above them was a smoky grey. Olórin could see the setting of the sun through the transparent ceiling. He could see for miles around them and marvelled at how the emerging stars resembled diamonds lodged into the stone.
Aramus followed after the half-man and Olórin took up the rear of the small party. The dwarf huffed and puffed, his heavy metal armour clanked nosily as he waddled down the narrow flight of steps, which seemed to go on forever. His lantern swayed from side to side and made Olórin quite seasick.
"My apologies, kind sir," Olórin said, his voice echoing for a long time down the darkened passage ahead of them. "I'm afraid that I did not catch your name."
"Bernard Barrelbasher," he replied between puffs. Olórin could hear Aramus stifle a snigger and hoped that the dwarf's hair-stuffed ears didn't pick up on it too. Seemingly oblivious to Aramus's amusement of his name, Bernard continued to amble clumsily down the stairs. "I'm second in command of the Stair Guards of Balbuldor."
"My, that sounds like a very important position to have."
"Aye, aye, it is. Mind you, I could easily get tae first in command if I wanted, but I dinnae want tae do that. Once yer at the top of the Stair Guards ye cannae switch yer duties. And everyone, who's anyone, knows that it's the King's Guard who get the best pay. Bunch o' uppity, namby-pamby, girly-boys if ye ask me. All they do is stand around looking like a shower of polished doorknobs and pretend they're better than us hard-working folk."
"Hmm, I see," Olórin said, now feeling quite nauseous with no end in sight to their gyratory descent.
"But you wouldn't mind joining them?" Aramus tone was laced with the acknowledgement of Bernard's hypocrisy.
"Whot do you think? I have five wee ones, a wife that would near eat me outta house and home these days, and an extended family of fifty-two that try to peddle their accursed cured sausages tae me every day. I lost me taste for those blasted things as a wee lad because of me Da's inability tae say "no" tae them. But still they come, every bleedin' day, and not only that, they actually want me tae take over the family sausage business. Can ye believe that?"
"How dreadful," Olórin answered, wanting the talk about sausages to end quickly. "How much farther, Bernard?"
"We'll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail," he answered.
More than ten minutes later, the three finally arrived at level ground. Olórin was so relieved to not have to walk in a clockwise direction anymore that he could have kissed the slick black obsidian beneath his feet, but he didn't. Instead he cast his eyes to the ceiling where the starry night still twinkled above them.
"Are you all right, old man?" Aramus asked. "You've gone a sickly colour of green."
"Ugh, don't say the word sickly, it doesn't help."
"Och, here. Dinnae go cowking over me nice clean stairs or I'll be making ye clean it up wih' yer tongue. Ya hear me?"
"Unfortunately," Olórin replied, holding his hand to his mouth.
"Right, thas way," Bernard said, waving them onwards.
Aramus caught hold of Olórin's elbow and helped him forward. Olórin smiled and glanced at the young man appreciatively. He noted that Aramus seemed taller in the dark mines, or perhaps his own stoop had gotten worse, he couldn't quite tell. But one thing was for certain, Aramus had a glow about him, like he had taken a potion of fortitude. His shoulders seemed broader, his muscles seemed stronger, and even his slatted amber eyes glowed more ominously than ever. It brought a flashback of the vision he had had of Aramus whilst in the presence of the Goddess Edwina. Olórin said nothing, but inside his innards ran cold, and this time it wasn't because of the nausea.
Bernard led them out of the stairwell and into a wide corridor, dumping his lantern along the way. Its black walls stretched up to an impossibly tall translucent roof, which was at least a hundred times Olórin's height, if not more. A network of pipes ran along the dark walls, supplying a multitude of gas lanterns that burned with an incessant hiss.
Olórin couldn't help but marvel at the dwarf's ingenious engineering. He was amazed at the resources they found beneath the ground, and wondered if these gas lights couldn't be used to replace the oil lamps and candles above ground. In the orange glow, large divots and hollows along the wall stretched shadows across them. For all intents and purpose it looked as though the tunnel had been chewed instead of mined, leaving the walls uneven and serrated.
"Why do such short people need such big corridors?" Aramus asked, dropping Olórin's elbow once he had stopped listing to the right.
"There are things far larger then Bernard down here," Olórin answered.
"What kind of things?"
"Beasties!" Bernard replied. "Beasties as big as thas tunnel whose jaws can easily crush stone. So I wouldnae be getting any ideas about thieving from us or ye might end up as their supper."
The three walked in silence after that. Although Olórin couldn't help but visualise being shredded by whatever kind of monster Bernard had mentioned, he noted that Aramus seemed as calm as if they were walking through a meadow of wildflowers. The corner of his mouth turned up into a handsome smirk, and his glowing amber eyes perused his surroundings lazily. That same chilling warning he had felt before, ran up and down Olórin's spine now, like a trickle of frigid water.
After a lengthy walk, the three emerged into an enormous cavern of black obsidian. Several irregular stairwells clung to the sheer wall, like ivy, and led to a large city resting on a plateau below. As large as the city was, it was crammed with rows upon rows of tightly packed stone homes. They lined winding streets, making the city look like an oversized thumbprint. Smoke billowed from the chimneys and rose high into the air. It culminated into a dense cloud which bubbled on the caverns roof, hiding the stars from view. The cloud fought to escape the city of Balbudor through small holes high in the wall, but despite the effort, the air still tasted of soot.
Snaking around the homes, from which the voices of many animated dwarfs could be heard, was a thick stream of lava that encircled the city. The hot haze tried to suffocate Olórin, and he couldn't fathom how any living creature could survive in such a place.
"There she be," Bernard said, pointing to the centre of the underground city. "The king's palace."
Nestled in the middle of the expanse of ordinary homes, was a tall building. Its gold walls shone brilliantly in the light the lava cast upon it, and three enormous golden spires pierced the smoggy clouds above. Even its narrow windows sparkled to such a degree that Olórin was convinced they must have been made out of diamonds. In all his years he had never seen such a spectacle of wealth.
"Ye'll be wanting tae follow the stairs down there and make yer way to the palace," Bernard said. "I can bring ye no farther cos I have tae be off tae me duties again. Heaven forbid should the stairs need another sweepin'."
"Thank you, Bernard," Olórin said.
The plump dwarf made his way back toward the stairs, mumbling disgruntled utterances as he went. Olórin looked toward Aramus.
"Well, I guess there's nothing left to do but find the king."