“She’s burning up,” the old human said. He turned to the boy assisting him and shouted some words Ror didn’t understand. He craned his neck to look up at Hale, hoping for an explanation, when the boy took a long glass cylinder with a needle out of Noxi’s bag. The boy handed it to the old man, and took a handful of glass ampules from the bag and showed them to the physician. The old man looked at them and covered his head with his hand. “I can’t read their script!”.

Salimod and Yselde were kneeling by Cara’s side. She’d been laid on the merchant’s own comfortable bed while he shared Ser Walsh’s pavillion. The merchant, Malaad was his name, had loaned a trio of racing ponies to Salimod so his fastest riders could rush to the nearby city of Corn Hill for help. Ror and Hale had come to the tent just as the riders were departing, and stayed there through the entire day and night. When Cara’s fever would not break, Salimod had commanded the entire camp to be searched for anything that might save his daughter. Ror had sent for hearsmith’s to come and help Salimod’s man, but they knew little of the human constitution and so left dejected. Balvor had been doing a fine job sonsoling Idana and the children. Yemi had come that morning to distract them, with Audun in tow as ever.

Ror learned there had been a goblin in Salimod’s service, by the name of Noxi, and Dennel mentioned he some remarkable tinctures he’d often boasted of.

“Have you ever seen them work?” Salimod had asked Dennel, his voice trembling with desperation.

“I have,” the old knight said, “once long ago, in the battle with the Dead Crows. He was wounded at the start of the fighting, and was feverish by the end. He still needed the wound dressed and a great deal of rest, but the tincture stopped his fever.”

Now Salimod’s heartsmith was looking at the goblin’s ampules and trying to guess by their color which did what. Balvor and Idana stood near him. He could hear Idana’s quiet sobs in between shouts from Salimod and his heartsmith. He felt a large hand on his shoulder. It was his uncle, giving him a pleading look. Ror wanted to explain to his uncle that his friendship with Ridzak did not give him knowledge of all goblins, but instead he went over to the heartsmith and looked over the ampules. To his surprise, he knew exactly how to read the script written on each tincture’s lid. Ridzak, you sly little dog. Ror did have knowledge of the Grim Whimsey and their methods. Not all knowledge, to be sure, but Ridzak had loaned him a few of the tinctures and salves his renowned (and nefarious) chemist had concocted. The ampules in Noxi’s bag were clearly made by that same chemist, and Ror determined himself to visit this Noxi fellow in his cell once Cara’s fever was treated.

“This one,” he said, holding aloft a slender ampule filled with a silvery liquid.

“How do you know?” asked Salimod’s heartsmith.

Ror took the glass needle from the boy, squeezed a small droplet from the ampule into it, the pushed the heartsmith aside and asked Dennel to turn Cara’s arm over and tap on one of her larger veins. Dennel was quick to help, and Cara’s fever subsided only moments after Ror injected the serum. She did not wake, though, and the heartsmith had the boy wash his hands and wring out a damp cloth over Cara’s mouth while he held it open.

“Can any of these other tinctures help?” the old man asked, rather impatiently.

“Salimod,” Ror said, “this man will receive a beating if he doesn’t address me as a prince.”

“Eneth,” said Salimod, “this is the son of Thrond’s King. Speak to him as you’d speak to me or you’ll find yourself in Corn Hill leeching peasants for coppers.”

Eneth swallowed hard and bowed. “Your pardon, Dread Highness.”

Ror looked through the other bottles. Most of them were poisons. He set them back in the bag they were found in and instructed them not to be used, then handed two others to Eneth. “This blue liquid will stave off thirst, and the red will nourish her. I’d keep the silver close by, in case her fever returns.”

“Ror,” said Salimod, “you have my thanks.”

“And you have my aid. Whatever I can do.”

Ror then bowed and left the tent. The merchant was standing outside with the walrus-mouthed knight, Ser Walsh, and they were directing a group of servants to search through trunks of goods Malaad had offered as aid. They were filled with potions, salves, powders and small boxes of herbs. Hale came out of the tent and called Ror to him, then lead him away from his family to a spur of rock.

“I hope I didn’t do ill,” he said, “but I took a stone from the ground when we were passing under the Titan’s Arm. My father said it was made of the black mannarim. Cara fretted over it constantly, wanting me to hold it for her, then asking for me to fetch it. She’d clutch it in her hand while she slept. I know nothing of mannarim, save that it’s a fantastic metal, Perhaps the black mannarim is poisonous in some way? To our kin maybe?”

A stone of black mannarim, separate from the Arm. Ror though hard, searching his memory of anything he’d ever heard that might give him a clue. “Where is it now?”

“I have no idea. She had it with her when I saw her last.”

“Yemi,” Ror bellowed. She came quickly. “I need a favor. It’s for Cara.”

“Anything,” she said, nodding her head rapidly.

“She had a piece of black mannarim, found by the Titan’s Arm. Can you ask her family if the know…”

“Mama has it,” his little sister blurted.

Ror sighed in relief. “Can you bring it?”

She darted off as the request came from Ror’s mouth, shouting for Audun to follow her.

“She’s awful fond of that boy,” Hale said.

“I thought so at first,” Ror said, “but I think she may feel more pity than fondness. She used to find him tiresome, as most do. Hard to say though, at her age. She’s young to be chasing suitors, but each child is different.” As Halfur and I proved years ago.

“I thought him your court fool when first we arrived,” Hale said.

“May as well be. He’s a sweet boy, and clever. But he’s incomprehensibly strange. He says he sees shapes in words that tell him more than the letters, and he often uses numbers in speech, and gets frustrated when people don’t understand him.”

Hale raised an eyebrow. “That is odd.”

“It gets worse. I’ve learned to accept him, but at times it takes effort.”

“What’s his attachment to your household? Is he a servant of some sort?”

Ror nodded. “My mother took him on as an apprentice scribe. He handles numerous tasks for her, all of them odd. My mother has… well, she’s become absorbed with Obrus of late. She claims the mountain holds secrets that could help our people.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I’ve seen little of the mountain outside your dwellings, but having looked even briefly down the depths within Malgond, I don’t doubt there’s much to be discovered still.”

“Has your sister taken ill like this before?”

“Never. She was spouting some gobbledy gook when we first stood outside the gate, but she’s never fainted to fever so. At least not since I’ve come back.”

“Eight years is a long time to be away.”

Hale nodded. “For our kin, yes. And I was only ten when I went to Gwynd. I was able to return home to visit at first.”

“But only at first?”

Hale looked off to the west, over the Coldwood and to the faint white shadows of the Towers of Wind, the mountain sentinels that bordered two thirds of Eruhal’s inner territory. “You’ve heard of Verrold’s illness, surely.”

Ror nodded. “Just reports though. You saw it up close.”

“Yes. I did. It started with him fainting at court. He trembled and burned with a fever, just as Cara did. He never took ill again, at least not in a bodily way, but he became transfixed with studying old books. He almost beggared their realm procuring obscure texts.”

“What texts?” Ror asked.

“Rare Tides, mostly. And manuscripts from Miur and Canthor.”

“Were there any stories he paid particular attention to?” Ror was trying to think like Halfur would. Many a time he’d seen his brother solve a difficult problem by doing no more than asking questions.

“He seemed somewhat fixed on the Dreams of Alon. And, he’d walk the halls at night rambling to himself about the Hidden Lord, raving about how the Adar lied and the panther men were fooled. It was nonsense, so I paid no heed.”

“But what killed him? No one’s ever died from distraction.”

“The physicians couldn’t fathom it. He just wasted away. His hair had grown down to the floor and his nails were almost as long as his fingers. He oft had bits of unchewed food in his beard and…” Hale looked suddenly back toward Obrus. “Ror, may we have a look at Malgond?”

“Of course.”

They wove their way through a path hidden by the northern tusk of granite flanking Malgond and came upon a door in the steel wall. Within the wall Hale saw almost nothing, and needed to hold onto Ror’s shoulder to find his way. Ror announced their presence as soon as they entered so the soldiers would not say anything compromising while Hale was within. They had been keeping a close watch on the humans, and plans were drafted and redrafted by the hour to exterminate them swiftly and silently, should the need arise. Ror was glad that it hadn’t. When they emerged on the other side of the wall, Hale stumbled and had to pause for a moment to regain his sight. They then traversed the short distance along the trembling path to Malgond and the tunnel that lead under the wall, which the humans not staying in the mountain had taken when they first arrived.

“Why did we not take this underground passage?” Hale asked. “It would have spared bringing me through the wall. I clearly was not meant to be in there.”

“The underpass is blocked on the outside. There’ve been some unusual avalan…” The drill head!

“Ror” said Hale, “are you well? You look stricken.”

“I’m fine. I remembered something extremely important. I need to see to it, now.”

“May I ask a few questions first, of the gate?”

Ror looked about him frantically. Who should I tell first? Wulden or Gund? He did not want Hale to be suspicious, and surely a few moments would make no difference. “Ask away,” he said.

“This fellow here,” Hale pointed to the aged figure sitting on the shelf of snow above the moon. “My father said this is a representation of the Black Garden. Do you know how so?”

Ror looked at the carving in the gate. He’d never paid much heed to the Book of Tides, and wasn’t much for reading in general unless it was purely informational, and essential to his present task. “I think it has to do with how to get there. Sitting atop a shelf of snow until your clothes fall off or whatnot.”

“Doesn’t Alon’s bit about the Garden mention something about seeking another person once there?” Hale was tracing the River with his finger. He seemed to be counting how many scenes it travelled through.

“I wouldn’t waste my time tracking the River,” Ror cautioned him, “it goes through every scene carved. And I really don’t know the Tides well. Buri’s mother read them to us when we were all small, but I’ve never looked at them since. My brother could tell you more. Or ask Audun when they return. He’s got the whole snozzled thing memorized.”

Just then, Audun came running through the door to the wall as if summoned, Yemi hot on his heels. He began to speak, then checked himself and bowed, then spoke.

“Dread Ror…”

I really like being called that, Ror thought.

“I mean, Highness,” Audun continued, completely winded, “Your brother wants to see you. He says he’ll hang me upside down from a tree if you don’t meet him at the Royal Tempus within the hour.”

What could Halfur want? “Thank you Audun. Would you do me a favor and help Hale figure out the Black Garden?”

Audun’s eyes lit up like a pair of stars. “The Black Garden’s my favorite!”

“Good. Fustilugs, another favor? It’s a big one.”

“You’ll owe me,” Yemi said.

“Fine. Now go find Neri, the Owl Captain…”

Her eyes lit up almost as wide as Audun’s had. “The good looking one with the yellow hair? Wait! The Owl Captain? The Owl Guard is real?”

Ror rolled his eyes. “Yes. How have you not discovered that by now? Yemi, this is important. Neri may be hard to find, but you have to find him. Uncle Lobuhl will likely know where he is, so you might ask him. Tell him he needs to put the Last Dawn Regulars to work finding where the drill went. He’ll know what I mean. And then...”

“And then?! I already went and found this for you!” She held out her hand and produced a shiny black orb that glimmered with green and violet light.

“Is that… it’s beautiful.” He felt an urge to touch the stone, to take it in his hands and hold it tightly, but he needed to get too many things done at once to linger. “Let Audun hold onto it,” he said.

“Fine, but you’re going to owe me big if you want me to go running all over the whole mountain finding people.”

“Anything you want. Now go find Wulden, and tell him to put the Fifth Red Squadron to work finding where the rockfalls came from. He’ll…”

“... Know what I mean, yes yes.” Yemi was gone in a flash. She’s a good girl, Ror thought. He took a look at Hale and Audun. Hale was listening intently as Audun prattled his standard fare of gibberish, all the while avoiding eye contact and rocking on his heels.

“But the two stand alone, together and apart. The forty six are mostly gone, except for a few. Imanna, Orvar, The Wending Tree, and Sybella are all that are left. Only Sybella seems to have given up, and she’s feeding herself to the Children.”

“And what is the Black Garden?” Hale asked patiently.

Ror laughed quietly to himself as Audun “answered” Hale’s question, rambling about how humans and dwarves could speak to each other, but not to ants. Ror quickly made his way to the wall, up the mountainside and into a bear door. His thoughts raced as he hurried for the nearest ohr-tempus. He wondered why Halfur wanted to see him, and hoped he had good news. He hoped they could find where the goblins had been drilling in time to prepare for whatever strike they’d planned from above, and he also had a theory about the drow Buri and Neri had found. Most of all though, he hoped Cara would wake soon and be well.