In the din of the dinner conversation just at the edge of his thoughts, he heard Releana ask the dwarfs about the stones for a city they might have cut before the Scourge. The dwarfs had cut the stones for many cities and citadels, but knew of none in the vicinity Releana described. She asked for permission for her and J'role to enter Throal and search through the dwarven records for any hints of such construction. The dwarfs laughingly agreed that they could do nothing but accede to the request. "Heroes," one of them said, "are well respected in Throal."
During the meal another one asked, "And what is the matter with your grim friend?"
Some of the guests at the table, those who knew that J'role had lost his father, looked aghast. "His father, sir, died on the Breeton," said Releana.
The dwarfs looked appropriately ashen.
"His name, sirs," continued Releana, "was once Grim, but is now J’role.
"He is a thief adept," said — Captain Patrochian, "but an honorable one."
The dwarven leader raised his mug. "Here is to fallen fathers, then. And to honorable thieves, rare though they may be.”
All raised their cups, and most drank deeply. All but J'role, he touched the liquid to his lips, and thought he might never drink or eat again.
"There's a branch of the Serpent, the Coil, which flows down from the dwarven mountains," explained Captain Patrochian to J'role and Releana the day the Chakara docked at the foot of the mountains. "But it's far too rough for our ships. The rest of your trip will be overland."
"And what will become of you?" asked Releana.
The captain drew in a long breath. "I'll stay on the Chakara for a while. Ships are rare to come by, but I might obtain funding from King Varulus for a new one. I've given the envoys my offer. They'll carry it back to Throal for me." She looked away, and then back at them. "But this is not the talk for now. Good luck to you. And to you especially, J'role.
For someone who was supposed to bring bad luck, you undoubtedly helped save dozens of lives with your warning. Thank you." She extended her hand, and he took it.
But though their flesh touched, J'role felt nothing in the moment. His body seemed insubstantial, as if nothing about him was real anymore.
The others said their goodbyes, and soon the entourage was on its way to Throal. It consisted of eight dwarfs, Releana, J'role, and Garlthik, still bound. Because J'role would not incriminate the ork for the mutiny attempt, Garlthik's fate fell to dwarven justice.
Rumors of the exploits of Garlthik One-Eye were known through the area, and the dwarfs recognized him. "Fame," whispered Garlthik to J'role, "is a loathsome thing to a thief.
Quite a paradox for those who are of legendary quality, eh, lad?" He laughed conspiratorially, but J'role shunned him.
They would reach the gates of the kingdom on the next day. The dwarfs had donkeys with saddlebags full of food, and so the group remained well fed. J'role kept to himself, eating alone and keeping slightly away from the rest of the group; he knew they thought it was because he mourned his father is death, and they were partially correct. But in truth he did not know what to think about what he had done. He remained separate because he felt so apart from them. He had done a thing that none of them would have done.
And more, a part of him had begun to enjoy the fact that he had killed his father. There seemed a power to it. Finally he was free of that tired old man! Finally the whimpering and begging and apologies had come to end.
Still, even as he tried to find strength in his actions, tears rolled down his face.
It was at twilight, when the stars began to dot the dark violet curtain drawing over the western horizon, that Borthum, leader of the dwarfs, spotted the riders. They approached from the south, creating a billowing wall of dirt behind them. "Arms," Borthum said calmly. The dwarfs drew their weapons wearily as if they had already responded to the same command far too many times.
"Who is it?" asked Releana, scraping up some dirt from the ground and holding it in her hands.
"I don't know," said Borthum. "We never know until it's time to fight." The dwarf, his round face hidden partially behind his heavy beard, seemed impassive. But his head shook slightly.
Though the daylight was dying, the riders were identified long before blows could be exchanged. All J'role could make out were the animals they rode-large beasts, as tall as men, with a smooth, hairless hide.
"Scorchers," said Gaiithik.
"Aye," agreed Borthum. "Ork scorcher." He eyed Garlthik.
A tingle passed along J'role's spine; an anticipation of violence. Death. He had no need to draw the magic close around him; it had seeped deep into his being now, resting comfortably. And he knew that whatever came of the encounter, he would do whatever necessary to survive. He couldn't even try to fight it. He was so alone in the world, the magic would turn him into a puppet and make him live.
"Will there be a fight?" asked Garlthik.
"Most likely. Though I wish it were not so. We have no antipathy toward-them. We even have relations with several of the tribes. But who knows? Sometimes they attack.
Sometimes they don't." He pointed to a hill with a sharp, flat side. "We'll prepare ourselves there, and make a circle."
"I can speak to them," said Garlthik as they walked toward the hill.
"I'm sure you can."
Garlthik stiffened. "Don't think I'll be spared because of my race. As they are ambivalent toward your people, so are they ambivalent toward all outsiders-even other orks. I don't relish the idea of them finding me bound in these ropes. These raiders have a harsh sense of worth, and anyone weak enough to be captured is usually killed."
Borthum looked carefully at Garlthik, as if weighing out the value of precious stone.
"Perhaps …"
"If they are violent, and they do want a fight, I will be the best one to undertake the negotiations." Garlthik looked toward the orks, and J'role followed his gaze. There were at least thirty of the raiders. The ork looked surprised. "I've never seen them in such strong numbers."
"They've been organizing for some time now," answered the dwarf. "Or what passes for organization among them." He paused for a moment, then said, “Here is what we will do.
We will let Garlthik One-Eye speak with the orks if needed." One of the dwarfs tried to interrupt, but Borthum raised his hand.
"If they decide to attack, we will fight to the end. But know this, the battle will be difficult. Not all shall live. Which is why I will give Garlthik his chance. I would rather let him speak than lead us into such a lopsided battle. If it comes to a fight, a fight it will be, whether Garlthik speaks or not. Untie his ropes."
"What?” asked one of the dwarfs.
"Untie him. He'll hold no authority with them if he's bound."
Two of the dwarfs reluctantly undid the ropes, and Garlthik smiled at J'role. The boy had no idea what the ork was up to, but it being Garlthik, some scheme was surely at work.
Garlthik then walked away from the group, and came to a stop at twenty feet. He stood tall and firm.
J'role suspected that Borthum also had a plan in mind. He walked over to the dwarf, who stood shoulder height to J'role, and touched the dwarf's shoulder. He pointed toward Garlthik, and then shrugged.
The dwarf smiled. "I do not think he wants us dead, and I do not think he wants to escape," he said softly. "I have checked his knots every half hour this day, and he has-
by my observations-made no attempt to free himself. I had expected to re-tie his knots all during our journey, but there has been no need. This strikes me as odd. Unless he wishes to reach our mountain kingdom and gain access to it.”