"J'role!" Bevarden cried. "What are you …" He rolled forward and tried to get up. But with his hands bound behind his back he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. His chin slammed into the stone, but he continued the struggle to get up. A red smear dripped from a cut just under his lip.
A panic seized J'role. He had meant to put his own life in danger, not his father's.
Looking after his father was too much work.
"Both of you, sit down!" shouted Mordom.
J'role turned and saw Phlaren, her long sword drawn, walking toward him and Bevarden.
Then Mordom gave a cry of warning to Phlaren. Garlthik suddenly loomed behind Phlaren, leaped onto her back and grabbed her neck with his good arm. The two of them collapsed toward J'role, who jumped quickly out of the way. Phlaren and Garlthik crashed down to the floor, Phlaren with Pa cry of pain.
Garlthik jumped up, a bloodied dagger in his hand- where had he gotten that? J'role wondered-and slipped the blade through the knots that held J'role tight. His hands free, J'role scrambled up, realizing that he still held the ring in his hand.
He knew that nothing would make him let it go.
Mordom turned toward him, his ruined white eyes ghastly in the firelight. He raised the eye-hand and a red bolt arced through the air.
J'role stood paralyzed with fear, thinking now he would die, when suddenly his father crashed into him, knocking J'role out of the way. The wizard's bolt caught Bevarden full, drawing a horrible scream from him.
"Run, boy! Run!" shouted Garlthik.
But J'role found it impossible to move. He stared down at his father, who rocked back and forth on the floor, the flesh burned off his right shoulder, exposing red muscle and yellow fat. He whimpered, then said, "Just something to drink, son. A little drink. T
promise, then I'll get everything together. Preparations. We'll make. Preparations. With preparation we can make anything happen."
Garlthik's rough hand grabbed J'role by the back of his shirt and knocked him toward the entrance tunnel. He heard Mordom speak the strange language again, and this time intense fear made him rush for the kaer's entrance. He heard the clatter of metal, a shout, and then plunged into the darkness of the tunnel. He ran and ran, finally arriving on the ledge outside the kaer's entrance.
The night air, cold and damp, crashed into his flesh, and for a moment he felt safe, as if by being under the stars he had somehow left all the troubles behind. He grabbed the rope in his mouth, and pulled it down around his neck. Then he heard Garlthik shouting for him to keep running, the voice getting closer and closer.
J'role rushed for the edge of the ledge and jumped off, balancing himself on two legs for the first few yards of the steep incline. Then he hit a series of rough patches and began to tumble wildly down the hill, totally losing his balance. He rolled into the base of the hill and collapsed among another group of stones. He heard the sound of more stones coming down from above him, and he moved quickly out of the way as Garlthik joined him at the base of the hill.
Without a backward glance the orks grabbed J'role by the shirt and half-carried him to some boulders fifty yards away. J'role bounced along, and the ork breathed heavily with the effort. When they'd slipped into the shadows of the rocks Garlthik slammed J'role against a tall boulder with his good arm. J'role realized that he should have felt pain, but his body was now too beaten and torn to register new shocks.
"Do you have it?" Garlthik demanded with a sharp whisper, his one eye glaring down fiercely. A stench of beer roiled out of his mouth. "Come on. I didn't have time to finish them. They'll be after us in a moment.”
J'role realized that the only reason the ork had helped him escape was to secure the ring-there wasn't a bit of real concern in his face.
J'role had left his father behind to die.
He nodded softly. He let all the rigidity of his body seep away into the night air. As J'role hoped, Garlthik loosened his grip in response. J'role hesitated an instant, then broke free of the ork rushing under his right arm and back toward the kaer.
He'd only gone a short way when Garlthik tackled him, knocking him to the ground. The ring flew out of J'role's hand and skittered a few feet away.
A horrible emptiness crashed into J'role's chest. The tunnel to his heart created by the ring had sealed shut, and he missed the chill wind terribly. All thoughts of his father forgotten, he fought Garlthik desperately to regain the ring. They crawled over each other, kicking and crawling, arms outstretched to reach the moonlit glint of silver. J'role remembered Garlthik's broken arm and slammed his hands into it. Garlthik cried out in agony, and J'role almost got by him. But the thick fingers of the ork's good hand wrapped themselves around J'role's ankle and pulled him back away from the ring. A horrible, deep fury roared out of Garlthik's mouth, and J'role thought the ork might bite him with his massive teeth.
"Speak!" the creature in his thoughts demanded. "Speak! Let me help!"
In his fury to reach the ring, J'role did not hesitate. As he began to breathe the strange sounds into Garlthik's ear, the ork clutched his head and rolled away.
Now freed from the ork's grasp, J'role rushed for the ring, grabbed it, and began running toward the kaer. His mouth kept moving his voice still screeching and uttering sounds.
He ran on another thirty feet. Then, afraid he might drop the ring, he slipped it onto his finger.
And collapsed to his knees.
The moment the ring was on his finger a terrible longing washed over hum. The sensation ripped through his chest; it tore at every dream he ever had, knocking them from his heart, replacing them with nothing but a desire for something he could not identify. It felt like the longing for his mother. Or his desire for a sober and strong father. He thought of his desire to be held. He remembered his friends from when he was much, much younger, none of whom spoke to him any longer. He thought of his desire to live a life of adventure. He thought of so many things, but knew that not one of them was exactly the thing he longed for. The ring suggested something else, something better than anything he had ever dreamed of. In his heart he knew that if he could just find what it was he longed for, he would never, never need or want anything again.
The sensation was so strong in him that he did not immediately realize he was speaking words.
Words!
When he noticed it, he touched his hands to his lips, for he could not at first believe it.
His lips moved without his volition, as when he made the creature's noises. But he was speaking words now. Whole words. He listened to himself.
". . white pillars, as pure as clouds, rising up, supporting arches carved with reliefs showing the splendors of the world. ."
He listened to himself, stunned. At first he did not know what he was saying But then realized he was describing the details of a city-a city of such wonder that it matched the tales his father used to tell J'role as a boy. He remained on his knees, listening to himself speak of gold-plated streets and chariots that flew through the sky, of great temples each supported by a single pillar of emerald-inlaid marble. His words enthralled him, for he could almost see images of the city in the corner of his mind. He sought out the images, desperate for a glimpse of its beauty.
Only because the night air was cool did he realize he was crying.
A shadow fell over him, the light of the moon suddenly gone. He looked up and saw Garlthik staring down at him. The ork looked totally baffled as he stared at J'role with his one eye, head cocked to the side. He-looked at the ring on J'role's finger and then asked quietly, "What are you talking about, boy?"
J'role spread his arms wide as his mouth continued to move without his will.
"Come," he said, leaning down and gently helping J'role up. He glanced back toward the kaer, and J'role did too. They could see no one. "If they haven't come after us yet, it means they'll be after us any minute. Come."