The journey to Skyhole would take nearly two weeks, so they emptied whatever gold they had left to stock up on supplies. They left the village of Artak before the sun cast golden light onto the valley, just like Halguut commanded. As they walked out of the village, they saw the Nightwolves standing guard at the Library doors. Francis said nothing.
For days they ventured northward, skirting the eastern edge of the mighty Camās Gahl Mountains. Francis warned them that it would get much colder the farther north they went, since it was always snowy in the Spine. They would need warmer clothes.
It was that evening that Riley had her first big game kill—a deer that had wandered down from the mountains to drink from a stream. She shrieked with delight and retrieved Francis to help her carry it back to camp. After he helped her dress it, Riley began to treat the hide.
“It’s just like treating jackrabbits, just bigger,” she said as she scraped off the fat with her knife. Her eyes brightened. “Hey! Maybe if we find enough pelts, we could turn them into winter gear! We won’t even have to buy them in town!”
As luck would have it, she downed another one the next day. As luck would not have it, they didn’t see any more deer for the rest of their journey.
And another stroke of bad luck hit them when they found an unwelcome face standing in the middle of the road. It was the Highway Hag—the same one they encountered between Varis and the Nether Regions. She stood hunched over, rubbing her bony hands together and grinning crooked-jawed at the travelers.
DJ bent his eyebrows and pointed. “You again!”
The highway hag cackled. “Hehe! Yes! It is I! Did you get your smoochy-smooch, little boy?” She made a comically loud, sucky kissing sound.
DJ’s cheeks turned scarlet and he refused to look at Riley. “Let me guess, you’re going to make me play your stupid game again?”
“Yep! But,” she said, holding up a wrinkly finger. “You chose truth last time. So now, you must choose dare! And I’ll have you know that I have a very lively imagination. Hahaha! Hahaha!”
DJ let out something between a growl and a sigh. But before he could respond, Francis stomped up next to him. The great orc towered over the Hag. She stopped rubbing her hands together and looked up at him with large eyes full of worry. Her mole twitched as she blinked.
“Uh—hello,” she said nervously.
Francis didn’t smile or speak. Instead, he curled his mighty hand into a fist and bopped the Hag on the head. Her eyes rolled back and she crumbled into a heap, out cold, her arms and legs in disarray.
Riley’s laugh came out like a yelp. Steve said, “Oh my!” DJ let out a relieved sigh.
“I… hope you will forgive me,” Francis said to his friends. He hoisted the Hag over his shoulder. “I believe I’m still upset over the Library, and I fear I might have taken it out on this poor creature.” He slumped her body against a nearby tree to make her look asleep. “I’ll try to exercise a greater deal of restraint.”
DJ let out a chuckle. “Fine by me.”
A new voice came from the not-so-distant distance. “Fine by all of us, I would say!”
The party turned to see a small knot of people approaching them from the north. They were all Stewards of the Goddess, garbed in warm, furry coats. Clearly, they had just come from Skyhole. The Steward at the front wore a blue sash. DJ remembered seeing a similar one on Father Tuckett back in Beregond.
“That Hag has been terrorizing travelers for years now,” the leading Steward said. “I know I should have more kindness in my heart as a Steward, but I do believe you… gave her what was coming.” He noticed Steve. “Ah! One of our own. Good afternoon to you, Steward.”
Steve bowed so low, his torso went parallel to the ground. “Greetings, fellow Stewards! I am Friar Steve of Beregond! We are traveling to the Temple of the Amulet so Sir DJ can behold the Amulet of the Goddess!”
“All the way from Beregond?” the head Steward marveled. “You have served this crew all across the territory? Sounds like more than the stuff of a mere friar, I say. Fellow travelers, has this Steward rendered his services well?”
For the next thirty seconds, DJ, Riley, and Francis verbally trampled over each other to describe Steve’s heroics. The Stewards watched with amusement as Broken Lovers Pass, the House of Phillip, and Varis were described. Through it all, Steve blushed profusely and twiddled his fingers.
Finally, the head Steward gave a smile. “Thank you, all. I’m sorry, I should have properly introduced myself. I’m Father Braten of Blight’s Respite. I’ll have you know that I’m a close friend of Father Tuckett. After a sacred pilgrimage across the territory and the glowing report from your companions, I believe you are far more worthy of the term Father than Friar. Yes, I’ll send Father Tuckett my recommendation for your priestly ordination once I reach Blight’s Respite. With your permission, of course.”
Steve bowed so aggressively his face nearly touched his knees. “I would be forever grateful, Father Braten! May the Goddess bless you with safety and peace!”
“You as well, Friar Steve,” Father Braten said. “Oh, and if you’re venturing to Skyhole, you’ll need these. Please take good care of them. Friar Steve, I look forward to hearing of your ordination.”
Father Braten reached in a saddle bag and pulled out three winter cloaks. DJ and the others rained their thanks upon the Stewards, then the Stewards wished them well and continued southward. The Highway Hag still hadn’t woke up, but snored softly against the tree.
Everyone took a moment to congratulate Steve for his likely promotion. Riley hugged him and DJ and Francis clapped his shoulders. As usual, Steve offered his vocal thanks to the Goddess, but his face couldn’t have glowed any brighter.
DJ smiled to himself. Riley is a ranger. Steve is going to be a priest. Francis saw the Library. All that’s left is my point of the quest—the Amulet. But as he thought it, it didn’t bring as much excitement as it should have.
To distract himself, DJ pulled his new coat over his tunic and stroked the fur. It had to have been made from a bear or moose. It was rough and coarse, but he felt significantly warmer.
“Sorry they didn’t have one big enough for you, Francis,” DJ said.
The orc shrugged. “Orcs are built to live in harsh conditions. The cold may bother me at first, but I’ll promptly adjust.”
They knew they had reached the Spine when their feet met the snow. Their boots crunched along the frozen earth, marking their path with shallow footprints. DJ kept his hands tucked in his coat pockets. He looked over his shoulder to see the brown and yellow of Fairdell fade away. Before them lay the bleakest and starkest region in Uh—a great white brushstroke from the Goddess’s hand. It took a couple more days before they reached the city of Skyhole.
Tucked in the corner where the Spine and the Camās Gahl Mountains intersected, Skyhole was marked by a weathered stone wall around its southern and eastern edges. There was no need for the wall at the west and north because there was nothing but sharp mountains to their backs. Guards all along the wall were dressed in furs as they watched the southeast. DJ could tell that they were brawnier than other guards he had met previously—probably from a diet of meat and snowyams.
The exterior guards opened the creaky gates that revealed the city’s interior. What they party found was an expansive city cursed with cold, but a people that had grown immune to it. Dressed in pelts and wool, they carried themselves as if it were an early summer day. To them, it probably was.
But what caught DJ’s attention most was the char-stained houses. Nearly all of them were damaged by fire somehow—patched roofs, mismatched bricks, charred bits on the edges. Whatever fire this city had suffered was clearly extensive.
As they walked through the main concourse, DJ couldn’t help but ask a local about it. “Excuse me, what’s with all the fire damage? Was there a fire recently?”
The woman laughed. “No one told ya we got dragons in Skyhole?”
DJ’s throat went dry.
“Used to be a lot worse than it is now,” the local said, shrugging the comment. “All these stains are from years ago, before Devin King became gov’nor. He’s the Dragonspeaker, y’know. Dragons like him for some reason. That’s why he got elected so eas’ly.”
“He must be a magnificent warrior,” Francis muttered as overheard the conversation.
The woman snorted a laugh. “Go see for yourself! He’s open to vis’tors. Stays at the Cloud Tower on the north side of the city.”
She pointed to it—a white castle made of a dozen spires, with one particularly wide and tall spire in the middle. DJ thanked the woman and the crew made their way toward it. They passed several blacksmiths, inns, taverns, and apothecaries. People were friendly enough, greeting them as they walked by. But one man asked them if they made it to the Cloud Tower often, as if it were some kind of joke. DJ ignored him, but Riley called him some choice words before stomping away.
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They arrived at the Cloud Tower and asked if they could visit Devin King. One of the guards told them to go right in.
“That’s it? Just go in?” Riley asked. “You guys aren’t worried about someone attacking your leader or anything?”
DJ frowned. Probably not the best thing to tell a guard.
The guard shrugged. “They could try. It’s their funeral, though.”
“I become more and more curious about this man,” Francis wondered out loud.
Riley put her hands on her hips. “If he’s so big and mighty, why does he need guards at all?”
“Someone’s gotta walk around and tell people to behave themselves. We don’t do much else.” The guard tapped the armor on his leg. “Arrow to the knee. Put an end to my adventures long ago.”
DJ flexed his lower lip and nodded. They pushed the door open and the crew walked inside.
In the Cloud Tower, they found a roaring fire and a minstrel playing a lute in the corner. A banquet table had been laid out in the middle of the cavernous hall, fully loaded with several types of meats, imported vegetables, snowyams, and sugary rolls. All along the table, burly men in adventure wear dug into their meals like hungry wolves.
Many of the diners’ eyes lifted to the uninvited guests, and suddenly, DJ felt very uncomfortable. No one else spoke, so Francis took it upon himself.
“Erm, it seems as though we’ve intruded,” Francis said. “We’ll return when you’re finished with your meal.”
“It’s okay!” a friendly voice piped up. “You hungry? Pull up a chair!”
No one could find the source of the voice. DJ craned his neck. “I’m sorry, who… is speaking?”
“It’s me! Devin King!”
Amazingly, he was the smallest of the bunch. Flanked by meaty, hairy disciples on either side, the governor of Skyhole was remarkably unremarkable. He waved his hand and even stood a little, like a schoolboy inviting his friends to a lunch table. He was dressed in fine hunting garbs that were disproportionate to his lack of charisma. But the most interesting thing about his outfit was the helm he wore on his head. It was iron with ram’s horns jutting out of the sides, with his eyes in just the right spot for a couple of peep holes. But it was just too large for his head, so he had to readjust it often.
This is the fearsome leader of Skyhole? DJ thought.
“The cook just brought everything out, so it’s still hot!” Devin said. “Here, you can sit across from me!”
The party pulled up chairs and filled their plates. The snowyams had tough brown skins but soft purple interior. The texture was almost like a potato, and it was surprisingly bitter. DJ spread a liberal amount of butter on his before he took another bite.
Devin King spoke with his mouth half-full of beef. “So what brings you to the Cloud Tower? You look like pretty experienced adventurers. I might have a job if you’re available.”
DJ swallowed. “We’re passing through Skyhole to get to the Temple of the Amulet. This is our last stop before we arrive.”
“Oooh, a pilgrimage!” Devin’s eyes widened and he pointed. “I respect that. And honestly, that’s nice to hear. I feel like every adventurer comes to Skyhole looking for a dragon to kill, but I’ve got good relationships with the nearby dragon clans. Can’t have anyone screwing that up.”
DJ made a mental note not to mention his father. With the eight dragon heads mounted in the dining room back home, a dragon would no doubt do the same thing to him. For once, he was grateful that he looked nothing like Sir Dashing.
“But,” Devin continued, “you’ll need to hire a reliable guide or buy a clairvoyance crystal if you plan on making it to the Temple. Once you hike north, you’ll run into frequent snowstorms—makes it really easy to lose your way. A good guide will cost thousands of gold, and a cheap clairvoyance crystal will run you at least five hundred. I can point you to some decent shops.”
“We’re short on coin,” DJ said, “so we might be open to that job, depending on what it is.”
Devin smiled and gave a thumbs up. “Neat! So, okay, um… it actually involves the dragons.”
DJ’s throat went dry again. Next to him, Steve’s face turned white. Riley and Francis stayed quiet.
“It probably won’t turn violent,” Devin said lightly.
“Probably?” Riley repeated.
“They’re dragons!” Devin said, throwing up his hands. His helm went askew, so he straightened it out. “They’re a noble race, but they can be a little short-tempered. We made a deal years ago with the nearby red dragon. They would get some of our city’s livestock twice a year if they agreed to stop laying waste to Skyhole. Pretty reasonable, right? Well, the clan prince, Albyrt, has been a little greedy lately. In the last three months, he’s come down on our city twice and pilfered a supply for himself. Several residents identified him, so I need to visit the clan king to talk to him about it.”
“A mission of diplomacy!” Steve yelled.
Devin snapped his fingers and pointed. “Yes!”
“But,” Francis said, “we could anger the dragon king with the accusation, and he’ll burn us to a crisp.”
Devin snapped his fingers and pointed again. “Also yes!”
Everyone turned to DJ. He rubbed his arm and swallowed. “How much gold are we talking?”
“Eight hundred each,” Devin answered.
Wow, that’s a lot, DJ thought. “Are you guys in? It’ll give us the funds we need to reach the Temple.”
Reluctantly, one by one, everyone agreed.
“Hot dog!” Devin punched the hair and had to redo his helm. “I feel a heckuva lot better with you guys coming along! A lot of my guards are ornamental. Not much help in a fight. Which probably won’t happen!” He said that last part loudly.
Francis leaned toward DJ and spoke quietly. “Let’s hope that good luck of ours keeps up.”
*
Devin King was gracious enough to let the gang stay in the Cloud Tower. They each had their own bedroom and a communal washroom stocked with fluffy towels and scented soaps. While everyone got settled in and took turns taking baths, DJ went out to find the ravenpost tower.
A couple of lazy guards told him not to lollygag and watch his magic, but he found the ravenpost tower outside the town’s center. In the tower, the druids gave him the letter that was waiting for him, then he paid them a gold piece to write his own.
Ho there, son!
Did you chase out those pesky bandits? You’re becoming a world-class adventurer from the sound of things! I’m impressed!
The script for the Harvest Festival play was given to me last week. They took some creative liberties, but I approved it nonetheless. Writers are tremendous! I find them charming, personable, intelligent, thoughtful, empathetic, beautiful, magnetic, and most of all, underpaid!
I hope you reached Skyhole safely. The city used to be plagued by dragon, but I sure gave them what-for back in my day! I know at least one of them was from the Rimrod Hills, not far from you!
Be safe, son!
-Sir Dashing
Hey dad,
So the Library of Artak was totally sold out by the Wordkeepers. They hired a bunch of mercenaries to take it over and charge people entrance. You should have seen Francis, he was so disappointed. But you were right, the Library was incredible.
Finally reached Skyhole. Not as many dragon attacks here anymore. Their governor is a guy named Devin King who they call the Dragonspeaker, and he’s got a good report with the dragons. He’s a little strange, though.
We’re going to help him on a diplomatic mission then travel to the Temple of the Amulet. Almost there! I’m ready to come back home, though. Sleeping in my own bed sounds like a dream.
Love you, dad. I’ll write again when I’ve seen the Amulet.
-DJ
By the time DJ returned to the Cloud Tower, the bath was waiting for him. He folded up his underclothes and sunk into the water, letting out a relieved aaahh. He scrubbed himself clean and let the grimy water run down the drain. Then, since he was last to bathe, he refilled the tub and sat for a while longer. There was something calming and comforting about sitting in warm water. And the gentle silence of the tiled room as a welcome reprieve from the open wilderness.
There he sat, watching the bubbles glide along like lilypads on a pond. And as he sat, he thought.
The Amulet was just one more trip away. They were almost there. Could it be days? Weeks? The thoughts he had back in Artak hadn’t gone away. The Amulet didn’t appeal to him like it used to. He had experienced too much to care about the opinions of people who didn’t even like him.
So that begged the question once again, why was he here? He felt dumb for even wanting to go on this quest. Why should he care about a bunch of farmers and schoolboys comparing him to his father? Sir Dashing never put that pressure on him. It was the pressure of everyone else—people who didn’t care whether he was alive or dead.
All of this trouble for them?
DJ flexed his jaw, drained the tub, and got dressed.
He knocked on his friends’ doors and invited them to his room. Curiously, they joined him, rubbing their eyes and following with small steps. They gathered around DJ’s bed. He sat on the edge as he addressed everyone.
“Hey guys,” he said, “I’ve been thinking. You know we’re really close to the Amulet now.”
“Yes!” Steve piped up. “The Goddess has blessed us greatly!”
“Yeah, well,” DJ rubbed the back of his neck. “All of you have kind of gotten what you wanted from this quest. Riley’s a ranger now. Francis saw the Library. Steve, you’re definitely going to become a priest. And to be honest, I don’t know if I care so much about the Amulet anymore.”
Silence.
Francis’s eyes became stone. “That’s how you feel, DJ? What would people say if you returned home without completing your quest?”
“To Hundred Hells with them,” DJ shrugged. “So much has happened since we left Beregond. The opinion of people back home feels so… I don’t know, small now. Does that make sense? I know this is, like, the worst time to have this discussion, but… yeah.”
“But we’re so close!” Riley whined.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it,” DJ said. “We don’t have to go on this diplomatic mission tomorrow. All of us have gotten what we need from this trip. So if you’d rather just turn around and head back to Beregond, seriously, I’m okay with that.”
More silence as the group considered each other. They seemed to be having a silent deliberation with their eyes. As they did, DJ sat back and waited. It didn’t take long before they reached a consensus.
“We should keep going,” Riley said. “We’ve already come this far. It would be insane to just turn back.”
“I agree with Miss Riley,” Francis said. “Our journey is nearing completion. It would be a shame to come this far to turn back prematurely.”
DJ turned to the friar. “Steve?”
“The Goddess has led us to Her Temple!” he yelped. “She has granted us safety and success! T’would be rejecting a great gift to turn away!”
DJ teased a grin. “Alright then. I guess we’ll keep going. Let’s get plenty of rest for tomorrow. With any luck, the dragons won’t barbecue us all.”