Tortilladas, the 19th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

“Where did you get to?” asked Master Arnie as Kharla and the others made their way back into the Academy. The pots and books had been picked up and arranged neatly down the sides of the chamber. Cobwebs had been cleaned away, and more interior lighting now dotted the area. “Oh, never mind. I wanted to say that Thral’s mastery of a new Boo’m is … astonishing. I’d heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonbore, but to see it for myself…”

“Will you marry me and the Orc lady?” blurted out Thral.

“Ignore him,” said Kharla. “He took a knock to the head on the way back.”

“Oh right,” said Master Arnie. “I hope it isn’t too bad.”

“No, though the next one might be,” Kharla replied. “Especially if he doesn’t behave.”

Master Arnie frowned. “Yes, right. Anyway, Thral is now ready for his last trial: Retrieve the Trumpet of Jargon Namecaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Austengrave. Remain true to the way of the Voice, and you shall return.”

Jargon Namecaller was a great war leader among the ancient Nords known for his overuse of specialized military terminology, and also as a winner of the very first season of the Voice—Skewrim. After the disaster of the Rude Mountain, where the Nord army was annihilated, he spent many years reading novels and contemplating the meaning of that terrible defeat. He finally came to realize that the gods had punished him for misusing the Voice to call his enemies—and people he generally disliked—bad names. He was the first to understand that the Voice should be used solely for really violent, world-changing matters and not petty name-calling.

“All right, but can you tell us anything about these dragons?” asked Kharla.

“The appearance of a Dragonbore at this time is not an accident,” the Greatbeard began. “His destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. He should focus on honing his Voice, and soon the path will be made clear.”

Kharla sighed inwardly. She just needed to find out more about that black dragon at Helga and how she could kill it. “And why exactly do we need this Trumpet?”

“So that you can journey to the peak of the Thrill of the World and meet our leader, Poorthorax. He can tell you far more about the Dragonbore, and, yes, dragons as well. Indeed, he’s quite the expert on that topic. Plus, Master Barry is thinking of taking up the Trumpet again. Did you know we were all in a barbershop quartet together before the vows of silence were taken? Yes, we were quite the attraction back in…”

Kharla didn’t hear the rest. She was thinking about what she could learn from the Greatbeard leader, Poorthorax. Yes, they’d find this Trumpet and then she could finally find out about the dragon that had bested her at Helga and decimated the circus troupe. She wondered what Master and Madame Jambaree were doing now—if they’d survived the dragon and the Legion. Dullius would pay for what he did. And that dragon. “So, where is this Austengrave?”

Master Arnie stopped waffling on about his old quartet, a look of surprise on his face at the interruption. “Ah, let me show you on your map.”

“I don’t have a map,” replied Kharla.

“Oh,” said Master Arnie. “Hang on, I believe we have a spare one just out here in the corridor.” He shuffled away, but stopped and glanced over his shoulder before he left the room, adding, “I’ll be back.”

“Where’s Ti’lief?” asked Draloth.

“Judging by this room, I’d say he’s already taken that cleaning opportunity,” said Kharla.

The merchant stroked his chin. “This Shout opens up a lot of opportunities for us too, you know. We can outdo all those traveling caravans. Source and move in-demand products quicker than anyone else…now, if we could just strap Thral up to a cart or—”

“Focus on the sponsorship deal and the fulfilment of the Dragonbore’s destiny, Dark Elf! Not your future business plans!” Eilgird scolded.

Draloth grumbled.

Master Arnie appeared from the side corridor. “Sorry about that, the Khapiit’s rearranged all the scrolls and papers. Took me quite a while to find it.” The Greatbeard handed Kharla a map and pointed to Austengrave. “Here. Not too far from the city of Mirefull.”

Mell looked at the map. “Doesn’t sound like a very happy place.”

“Quite some distance from here too,” Kharla said. “Thral, you ever been to Mirefull?”

The Nord stared back at her. “I go to Mirefull if Orc lady want! We have big wedding feast there? Where is it?”

Kharla sighed.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Eilgird. “Thral, do you know the Mireside Inn?”

Thral frowned. “Maybe! Thral knows all drinking places by sight, though cannot remember names.”

It was Eilgird’s turn to sigh.

“Wait!” piped up Mell. “Master Arnie, you wouldn’t happen to have a copy of The Inns and Taverns of Skewrim? I forget the author’s name.”

Master Arnie frowned. “It’s not a book with which I am familiar, but there may be a copy in our library. It’s quite extensive. I’ll show you the way and you can have a look.”

The Greatbeard led them down a couple of dark corridors and then pushed open a door to reveal the library. The shelves were all empty and all the books sat in neat piles on the floor, and in the middle of these piles Ti’lief stood scratching his head.

“Oh, my,” said Master Arnie, looking at the scene before him.

“Ah,” said the Cat, looking up at them. “Books again. Such a difficult thing for this one to organize. Does one go with the title? Author’s name? The genre? Subject matter? Height?”

“Ti’lief, have you come across a book called The Inns and Taverns of Skewrim?” asked the Breton.

“Hmm…let’s see. That would be in the entertainment pile. This one thinks he saw it. Let’s see...” The Cat sorted through one of the taller piles. “Ah yes, here it is.” He held up a yellow book. “The Inns and Taverns of Skewrim by Tipp C. Drinker.”

“That’s the one!” Mell said, weaving between the piles and taking it from the Khapiit.

“Glad to be of service!” Ti’lief said, a smile spreading across his furry face.

“Ah, yes. Just as I remembered,” Mell said as she flicked through the pages. She turned the book toward Kharla and the others. “Sketches of all the drinking establishments in Skewrim.”

“Excellent!” said Eilgird, taking the book. “Ah, yes, here it is. Mireside Inn, Mirefull. She showed it to Thral and his eyes lit up.

“Inn with bad Orc bard! Make Thral’s ears ache.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Eilgird. “I know a Whiteruin guard who used to live in Mirefull. He said the bard there was an Orc who couldn’t string two notes together if his life depended on it; which, I hear, it very nearly did on more than one occasion.”

“See,” said Master Arnie. “I told you Orcs could not sing.”

Kharla ignored him. “So now we have a way of telling Thral where to go. Well done, everyone. Shall we go now or first thing tomorrow? Ready for a trip of a lifetime, Cat?”

“Oh yes,” said the Khapiit, “Ti’lief looks forward to his next cleaning project. Though he wishes to finish this library first or else he won’t be able to sleep.”

“You may get your wish, Ti’lief,” Master Arnie said. He turned back to the others. “There is something you should know. The Shouts require a ‘cooldown’ period. Usually not very long, but using the Worldwide Sprint over a large distance…well, that could take a whole day to cool down before Thral can employ it again.”

“But we did it twice today,” Kharla said.

Master Arnie folded his arms into his sleeves. “Yes, return trips do not count—not quite sure why that is. Anyway, the point is that you may have to wait until tomorrow afternoon before the Shout can be used again.”

“Well, I’m not going down those steps in the dark,” said Draloth. “Even with Mell’s lights. Besides, I’ve had enough for one day.”

Master Arnie leaned forward and stared at Thral’s chest. “Ah, I see our Dragonbore wears an Amulet of Toeless.”

“Is that important?” asked Eilgird.

“Why, yes,” replied the Greatbeard. “It means you can shave off a fifth of the cooldown time.”

Eilgird nodded. “So we only need to wait until about midday tomorrow.”

“Indeed. You are welcome to stay here overnight in our health resort accommodation and take advantage of the facilities. All, of course, at no charge for the Dragonbore and his companions,” said Master Arnie.

Draloth smiled. “No fee, eh? Well, that sounds like a fine idea. And it will give Thral a good rest before he embarks on this next arduous quest. What do you think, Kharla?”

“Seems we have little choice. But no losing focus. Midday tomorrow and we’re off. Got that Thral?”

Thral nodded. “Yes, my little green gooseberry!”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Kharla rolled her eyes. A week. A whole week. How was she going to get through a whole week?

***

The High Healthspa health spa occupied the entire upper floor of the building and, unlike the floor beneath it, had been painted white and had large windows with fine views of the mountainous scenery, even now as darkness rested upon the snowy landscape. Earlier they’d visited the snow-water dips adjacent to the courtyard outside. Essentially these were holes in the ground filled with meltwater. Patrons jumped into them in the belief that freezing themselves half to death (or quarter to death in the case of cold-resistant Nords) had health benefits. The dips were flanked by large wooden tubs of hot water that patrons eased themselves into after plunging into the icy water.

Mell had a go, telling Kharla that a cold dip was good for depression, but even the thought of it made Kharla depressed, so she declined, though she joined Mell afterwards in the hot tub, which was tolerably pleasant. Ti’lief had decided to forgo the icy holes and steamy tubs to finish organizing the library. Draloth had declined to even entertain the thought of such experiments in hot and cold and, instead, took advantage of the time to thrash out the details of the sponsorship deal with Master Arnie. Kharla wasn’t sure what Thral had been doing. To be honest, she’d given him the slip, leaving Eilgird to watch over him. Well, after all, she was a guard. And a thane had a right to his stand-in housecarl.

Kharla had to admit she’d enjoyed the mud baths, but the food was awful. No meat. Not even any cheese. She tried one of the drinks because it was her favorite color—green—but it tasted like pond water. It was supposed to be a health resort, but the cuisine made her feel sick.

Eilgird walked in and rested her back against the door. “Well, he was wandering around all evening like a lovesick teenager, but he’s finally asleep. He wore himself out in the gymnasium. The few other men left. I think they felt a little embarrassed at their own efforts after seeing Thral lift all the weights…with one hand…and then there were all the women who gathered around to watch him…”

Kharla, leaning back on her own bed, hands behind her head, snorted.

Mell, stretched out on her bed, looked up from the book she was reading. “Did you try anything out at the spa?”

“Part of the sponsorship deal is that I stay fully uniformed at all times in public—so no, I didn’t. Wasn’t even any criminal activity to put a stop to—this place is technically still under Whiteruin’s jurisdiction.”

“Is he in the same room as the others?”

Eilgird took off her helmet and shook out her blonde hair. “Next door. With the Cat. I guess the merchant’s got his own room.”

Kharla knew why that was but said nothing. At least the rooms here were made of stone and not wood. Even the beds were made of stone. Maybe they were that way to confer some health benefit too; at least they would for Draloth—he wouldn’t burn to death at the hands of his ancestral arsonist tonight.

***

Verandas, the 20th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Kharla awoke at the first glimmer of light through the windows. Eilgird was standing by the door.

“Eilgird, what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Eilgird said. “Old habits. Just guarding the door while I wait.”

Kharla and Mell got ready but before they left to rouse the others there was a knock at the door.

“Who goes there?” said the Nord woman.

Kharla put her axes into her belt. “Just open the door, Eilgird.”

The Nord complied. Standing at the door was Master Arnie with a tray in his hand. Upon it a welcome sight: meat, cheese, a bottle of mead, and even a Sweet Roll.

“Hello! I hope you slept well. I thought you might like a little real food before you leave. Don’t tell the staff, they will give me the cold treatment if they find out—and, yes, I mean that quite literally.”

Kharla’s stomach growled. “Thank you!”

“Want me to go wake Thral?” Eilgird asked.

“No, let him sleep as long as he likes, so long as he’s up by noon.” Kharla didn’t want to endure the Nord strongman’s inane attention for longer than she had to.

A familiar voice thundered high above and the building shook.

Master Barry appeared at the door, his hands and fingers, with occasional touches of the beard, communicating some kind of sign language to Master Arnie.

Master Arnie responded with some signs of his own and Master Barry departed. “Oh dear, it seems we are under attack from a very large black dragon.”

“Yes, that boom sounded familiar,” said Kharla. “It must be the black blighter that came after us at Helga!”

“Are we safe in here?” asked Mell.

“The building is built to withstand a dragon attack,” Master Arnie explained. “But we’ll need to get to the lower level. Too many windows up here. I’ve asked Master Barry to evacuate the spa staff and patrons to the Academy levels.”

“I’ll wake up Thral,” said Eilgird, disappearing out of the room as Ti’lief and Draloth appeared.

“What’s going on?” asked the merchant.

Windows shattered and people screamed across the other side of the floor.

“Dragon. We have to get downstairs,” Kharla shouted.

Eilgird appeared with Thral as Kharla and the others exited the room with Master Arnie.

The Nord strongman, on seeing her, ran over and gave her a big hug. “Thral missed you!”

Once Kharla had recovered from the bear-like embrace, she followed the others downstairs, pulling Thral along with her. If only there was a way of doing all this without the Nord being included. But she needed him, so she had to put up with the foolish effects of the love potion. Mell and Draloth, however, weren’t going to get away with it scot-free. No, Kharla would make sure of that.

Not much later they were all gathered in a corridor of the Academy along with the spa staff in their white flannel uniforms and patrons in various states of undress or linen bedclothes.

“This one has heard,” said the Khapiit to Draloth, “that in some cultures they put coins on the eyes of the dead.” The Cat looked askance at the spa staff down the corridor. “Here Ti’lief sees them put cucumber slices on the eyes of the sleeping. What does it mean?”

“I’ve no idea,” responded Draloth as the walls reverberated for the fifth time.

Kharla sighed. Boredom had set it and the Cat had tried starting up several interesting conversational points to relive it, none of which had been taken up by Draloth or anyone else. At first, he’d tried to tidy up, but the shaking kept knocking the pots and books back off their shelves, so he’d given up.

“Is that dragon never going to let up?” Kharla asked. “We have to get outside for Thral to use that Shout.”

“I wouldn’t advise going out,” said Master Arnie, who had stayed with them. Master Barry has indicated to me that the beast is keeping a close watch on the building and the steps near the doors.”

“What if we open a door and do this Worldwide Sprint pointing toward it?” asked Draloth.

Master Arnie shook his head. “If the dragon doesn’t see the door open and roast you all alive, which it very likely will, then there is a good chance that so many people traveling together through even our largest door will find themselves at the other end missing an arm, leg, or head.”

“Yes, maybe not a good idea, then,” said the Dark Elf. “There must be some way we can just slip away.”

Master Arnie’s eyes narrowed. “Slip away. Yes? That is it! I had almost forgotten.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kharla.

“A way out,” said the Greatbeard. “Follow me!”

Master Armie led them down a trapdoor into the basement. The floor was filled with shelves full of soap, white flannel uniforms, and bottles of the green drink Kharla had tried earlier. The Greatbeard stopped at the far end and pulled a chain in the wall. There was a sound of flushing water in a nearby pot fixed into the floor and surrounded on three sides by dividing panels. “Oh, sorry. I always get them mixed up.” He pulled another chain on the wall and a stone block of the wall slid up to reveal a narrow tunnel.

They followed the Greatbeard through the tunnel, light provided by one of Mell’s orbs—dim and blue and floating as far away from Thral as possible for fear of them all being blown down the tunnel to their doom. The tunnels went on for some way before they ended at a ladder that led to a trapdoor above. “We had this put in years ago in case we were ever besieged. Never thought we would ever have to use it, to be honest. I mean, who would march an army up seven-hundred and thirty-two slippy steps?”

Kharla was the last to exit the trapdoor. She found herself in a wooden barn-like building. It had a big hole in the floor at one end through which she could see the edge of the mountain and, through the cloudy mist, the shape of the slopes immediately below. The long grooved wooden structure she’d seen on the way up thrust through the hole and ended at the other end of the building where scores of rugs sat piled on shelves.

“What is this?” asked Ti’lief.

“The Thrill of the World,” replied Master Arnie. “Or, to be more precise, the Thrill of the World Ride. The people of Ivor’s Shed helped build it. Made of good cedarwood too. Highly polished.” He grabbed one of the rugs. It had a handle on either side. “Just put the sled rug on the slide, sit on it, hold the handles, and off you go!”

“Off where?”

“Why, the bottom of the mountain, of course. To the lake below. It is the only way you can slip away,” the Greatbeard explained. “Get it? Slip away?”

“Oh, we get it,” Draloth said, rolling his eyes. “But is it safe?”

“This time of year, yes,” said the Greatbeard. “The slide should be relatively clear of snow and bird nests. It wraps around the mountain helter-skelter style to reduce the gradient but with enough velocity to ensure a good speed.”

“Well, I’m up for that!” said Mell. “I think it’ll be a good pick-me-up.”

Draloth examined the rugs. “Yes, let’s just hope we don’t have to literally come and pick you up—off the ground.

Eilgird’s face was unreadable. Mainly because she had donned her helmet again. “I’m not so sure. The Dragonbore’s health is paramount. What if he falls off? Is there a height chart—”

Eilgird never got to finish her thought because a voice boomed out and shook the wooden building. “Yel Tor Chorl!”

Kharla rushed to the doorway and inched it open. Flying over the hot tubs and making them even hotter was the same vast black dragon they’d seen at Helga. And it was heading their way. She would kill this dragon. She would.

“You won’t be able to defeat it with your weapons,” said Master Arnie to Kharla who now stood by her, looking out at the dragon. “None of you could hope to win against such an enemy. Not yet, at least.”

“Dul Sigh Blah!” The voice boomed again and Kharla felt that wave of utter despair she’d felt in Helga.

Master Arnie held up his arms. “This one is strong. The strongest.”

Then the dragon veered toward them and let loose a jet of flame that engulfed the wooden building. Master Arnie pulled Kharla back from the door.

“You will have to take the Ride whether you like it or not!” Master Arnie shouted.

“What about you?” Eilgird said.

“I will go back through the tunnel. I think the dragon will leave us alone once it no longer senses the presence of the Dragonbore.”

“Everyone down the slide! Now!” shouted Kharla.

Mell jumped on the sled rug and was off with a “Wheeee!” The others all grabbed a rug and set off. Kharla went last. Just as she sat on the rug the dragon’s head crashed through the roof of the building. She was close enough to smell its breath. A foul, rotting stench. A vile stagnant decay, with a hint of raspberry. Then she was off, zipping down and away from the monster.

The wind rushed past Kharla as she twisted down the slide on her rug, passing under a low-hanging sign held up by poles that read: ‘Thank you for visiting. Come back soon!’. She heard the squeals, screams, and occasional curse from ahead, though it was difficult to see anyone due to the spray of snow and ice kicked up by those in front, as well as the cloudy mist this far up the mountain. As far as she could tell, they’d lost the dragon. Of course, that was little comfort if they all fell to their deaths.

Kharla leaned in as she took another bend around the mountain and a bell rang somewhere nearby. Her legs were already covered in snow. Kharla closed her eyes as she sliced through a build-up of snow on the wooden structure, causing the rug to jump slightly. There was little danger of leaving the slide as the groove sat quite deep, as long as there weren’t any large build-ups of compacted snow, that is.

The ice and snow soon gave way to slush and Kharla began to see trees again as the mists thinned. She couldn’t see over the edges of the structure too well, but the horizon seemed to be getting higher. She’d heard several bells by now, decreasing in their frequency as she’d descended, and guessed they indicated laps around the mountain. The bends became less severe the lower down the mountain she traveled, but the speed increased. She hoped her spear, strapped to her back, didn’t get caught on any of the overhanging branches that now began to appear along the slide. She saw a yellow figure sliding along ahead. Eilgird. Then a silver birch branch slapped Kharla in the face and she growled.

The city of Whiteruin came in sight again as Kharla looped once more around the great mountain, her fingers locked by the cold to the sled rug’s handles. She glimpsed the side of the mountain, to familiar parts of the trail. She passed a Froth Troll as it jumped up and down watching her, and wolves that howled and ran alongside her for a short while before they could follow no more as she descended ever closer to the ground. Then the roofs of Ivor’s Shed appeared below. Another pole-suspended sign whipped past that read ‘Exit in Ten Yards’ and a loud bell clanged. Close now. Then the wooden slide came suddenly to an end. Kharla flew through the air and then plunged deep into the cold darkness.