"No offense, lad, but I'll just keep it my secret."
Leaping up, J'role faced the city's hill, and began waving his arms. Garlthik grabbed him roughly and slammed him down to the ground. Bevarden merely stood watching the whole incident without moving.
"I should just kill you now, boy," Garlthik whispered. "I should just twist your neck."
J'role stared up into the ork's furious facet trying to hide his fear. He didn't think the ork would hurt him but he could not be certain.
They rested on the ground for a few moments, Garlthik leaning over J’role, his hot breath streaming down into J'role's face. Seeing a strange series of expressions pass over the ork's face, the boy realized that Garlthik was trying to decide whether or not to trust J'role. Finally Garlthik glanced over at Bevarden-a long, wistful glance-and then looked back down at J'role.
“Throal," he said. "We're going to see if we can talk to the dwarfs. The stonework of the city was good. Good enough to be from the Kingdom of Throal. They might know something about it we don't." Then he rolled over and sat up, staring off into the distance.
It made sense to J'role. His own father had told of the kingdom's legendary facility with architecture and engineering. J'role might even have thought of it himself, given time. So why did Garlthik hesitate to tell him?
Then J'role realized it didn't have so much to do with Garlthik telling or not telling him about the dwarfs. The ork s reluctance had more to do with telling J'role anything. He's a thief, J'role thought. He depends on thief magic. He never gives anything away And then J'role thought; "But he did. To me."
12
One day, his mother began screaming during one of Bevarden's performances. She did not scream anything in particular. Just words. Just screams.
She tore at her hair and scratched her face with her fingernails until she drew blood.
Several people grabbed her and tried to stop her. But she was enraged and very strong.
J'role, who was now mute, ordered by his mother to remain silent nil the presence of anyone but her, rushed to his mother's side. He wanted to hold her as she had held him.
When she saw him come near; she pushed him away and screamed and screamed and screamed.
They walked through the night, the air humid and warm, the starlight turning the rock-strewn terrain pale blue. The ring was around J'role's neck, hanging from its leather cord and resting against his chest. The cold longing tapped against his chest, making it very difficult for him to walk away from the city. Beside him, Bevarden coughed softly.
The chirping of insects surrounded them, echoing the buzz that raced through J'role's thoughts. The creature gave him no peace, but J'role tried to sort out the mystery of the city, his father and Garlthik followed behind.
"Where are you going?" the creature demanded.
"To Throal." J'role was weary of the thing's badgering. It had railed at him for hours.
"But you saw the city!"
"I couldn't get in!"
"You didn't try! You're useless!"
J'role focused his attention on the city. "It was there. And it still seems to be there. But I can't get in…."
"So you should go back and try again!"
J'role ignored the creature, puzzling instead over the mystery of the city. "Why can't I get in?"
"Because you are a miserable thing not worthy to be alive! Oh, just put a blade through your veins and let us end all of this …"
"Unless they don't want anyone to get in. They have so much magic. ." He thought of his own kaer, buried deep in a hillside, protected with runes and heavy enchanted stones.
"What if they built their city so it would be gone during the Scourge? What if it's partially here, on earth, but partially somewhere else, so it would be harder for the Horrors to find it?" The idea drifted, a leaf in the wind, unsettled.
A pause, and then he heard the creature hum, and then it said, "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I think you are right."
J'role continued to walk, but slowly, his body matching the wariness he now used in thinking his thoughts with the creature. "You do?"
"I am what your people call a 'Horror,' you know. I have a bit of insight into the methods of the people of the city. It was well protected." He paused, and then added dismally, "I myself could not get in. I don't know if any of those from my home ever did."
“Why should I believe what you're-"
The creature screamed, sending such a sharp pain through J'role's temples that the boy had to clutch at his head. "I'm helping because I choose to!"
"Please stop," J'role thought quietly as the terrible rending of his thoughts continued.
"Please stop."
Garlthik put his hands on J'role's shoulders. "Are you all right?" J'role nodded. He noticed that this father had wandered far ahead. His coughing was louder now. Garlthik released J'role, and walked on.
The creature's tirade subsided. "I hope I won't have to do that anymore. Now, will you listen to me?"
"Yes."
"Fine. So. The city is there but not there. How did they do that?"
"How do I know? I thought you were going to tell me!"
The creature remained silent for a moment, then said tersely, "I don't know enough. It's your foolish world; you know more about it than I."
"I could get as far as the walls," J'role t ought, dismissing the creature. "Maybe the walls are the key. Like our kaer's doorway, they are the source of the magical defense." Even as the idea came, J'role began to doubt himself. How could he even make guesses at how magic worked?
But the creature said, "Yes. That might be it. Who made the walls? The dwarfs Garlthik spoke of?"
Bevarden began to cough so wrackingly that J'role thought it might tear the man's throat apart. He raced over and helped his father sit down. The night was warm, yet Bevarden shivered as if trapped in a spell of ice. "Please, I'm sorry," he repeated over and again.
"We've got to leave him, J'role," Garlthik said. J'role looked up at the ork in surprise.
"Truly, we do. He's becoming ill. He'll slow us down. Give us away to Mordom.”
Bevarden suddenly pulled J'role close and embraced him. Despite his weakness, the embrace held J'role tight. As their cheeks met, J'role felt a tear falling between their flesh, and he did not know whether it was him or his father crying. They stood for a long while like that, holding each other, feeling their chests move against each other as they drew in and exhaled breath.
Finally Bevarden pulled away and stared at his son. He took J'role's face in his hands and tried to speak. "I. .," he managed to squeak out, the sound twisted and distorted. His mouth contorted and he closed his eyes against the struggle. "Sorry. .," he said finally.
Then he lowered his head, and began to weep, coughing all the while.
The eastern sky was turning golden red. They had walked all night. Weariness massaged its way into J'role's body. He needed rest. Bevarden needed rest.; Probably even Garl^mik needed rest.
He spotted a small copse of trees in the distance, the large, leafy branches just barely illuminated by the lightening sky. That would do for now. Mordom might or might not have followed, but it was too tiring to juggle every possible doom in his thoughts. He stood, holding his father's hand, and began walking toward the trees with Bevarden in tow.
"J'role, if you don't want to kill him, I will."
The words so startled J'role-he stumbled slightly. When he turned back to look at Garlthik, the ork stood without a bit of hesitancy in his posture. J'role simply shook his head, revealing neither his fear nor his anger. Then he turned back toward the trees and walked on.
Garlthik followed.