The creature in his thoughts snickered and said " Most of us turned back.”
The entourage passed under the arches and then into a large cavern beyond them that stretched as high as the arches themselves. The sunlight reached only so far into this massive antechamber, and the air cooled suddenly.
Around the cavern stood dozens of stalls, all displaying wares yet these took up only a small portion of the massive chamber. The rest of the area was kept clear, as if the space were being reserved for others who might wish to set up shop at the gates of the city.
Travelers from the road haggled with the merchants, trading their wares or trying to purchase goods with coin and jewelry. The merchants were as varied in face as the travelers on the road-elves, t'skrang, dwarfs, stone men, thick-bodied lizard folk. He even saw a few tiny winged people selling delicate silver jewelry. After all the groups he had seen thus far, the elves and the t'skrang and the ork scorchers, all of whom had stayed with their own kind, the racial mix at the kingdom's entrance startled J'role. Everyone seemed pleasant and cooperative. Despite his dour state, the sight had the odd effect of lifting his spirits.
All throughout the bazaar area were many dwarven guards who stood by the archways and walked around the booths. They wore metal armor of polished silver and carried heavy axes and maces. Like the dwarfs J'role's group had traveled with, their beards were neatly trimmed, though their demeanor was grimmer. They eyed everyone carefully. And again, like the floor space for the bazaar, there seemed to be more guards than were needed, all in expectation of more merchants and travelers.
Borthum called three of the guards over, instructing them to take Garlthik to the prison and lock him in a cell with magical locks. The guards looked with some awe and trepidation at Garlthik, who smiled down at them with his toothy grin. Then the dwarfs nodded and led the ork away. It seemed possible to J'role that he might never see the ork again. But something stirred within his soul, and he felt that his time with Garlthik One-Eye had still not come-to an end.
28
He is seven. There is something crawling in his thoughts. His mother stands beside him, breathing heavily. Weeping.
"Hello, J'role" the creature in his thoughts says. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"
J'role is afraid. He thinks nothing. He says nothing.
"Yes, yes, you are. And do you now what good boys don't do? They don't upset their parents. You know that, don't you? Look what you did to your mother: She's crying. You should feel terrible."
Several corridors, each forty feet tall, each with an arched ceiling coming to a point, led out of the huge antechamber. The dwarfs led J'role and Releana straight ahead, down a corridor that in turn branched off into smaller corridors. Their guides took one of these, and it led to more corridors. The dimensions of this final one was the standard for the rest of the kingdom: some ten yards wide and twenty feet tall. Glowing moss grew on the walls and ceiling, filling the corridors with a pleasant yellow light. Doorways stood on the right and the left, and many, many dwarfs passed them as they moved along the corridor.
Soon they came to the base of great steps that led up hundreds of feet. They climbed them, and arrived at a landing that connected with several other stairways, all of which rose up into the mountains of Throal. On the landing were benches and strange, red-leafed trees, and waterfalls that fell into a pool from which the dwarfs drank, urging their guests to drink as well. When he did, J'role found the water delightfully sweet, unlike anything he'd ever tasted. After only a few minutes of rest on the bench, he felt completely refreshed and ready to ascend more stairs. Everyone reacted to the water the same way, and they climbed on.
They came to a corridor where few other dwarfs walked, and their guides led the two young adventurers to some rooms, indicating that one room had been prepared for each one.
Borthum said, "I will have Merrox, Master of the Hall of Records, come and get you on the morn. He can help you find any information you seek about our stonecutting." The dwarf extended his thick, stubby hand to each of them. "Thank you both for your help."
J'role entered his room and found it decorated with glowing flowers and moss. A large, soft bed waited within. On long poles hung clothes in the dwarven fashion-square and heavy-but big enough to fit him. On a table at one end of the room sat a bowl filled with fruit and sweetbread.
But of everything he saw it was the bed that most drew his attention. He shut the door behind him, stripped out of his clothes and walked toward it. The covers were smooth and light, and when he slid between them, the mattress was like drifting on a cloud. He pulled up the covers and their comforting warmth enveloped him.
The magical plants in the room dimmed as he drifted off, and soon J'role was asleep.
The next day he awoke to find his clothes gone and an iron tub filled with warm water waiting for him. It took him a moment to understand what the water was for, then he slipped into it. It smelled of flowers as the suds floated up around him. He bathed and soaked, enjoying the smell of the water and its soothing warmth against his skin.
J’role felt relaxed, but it was not only because he was safe within the heart of the dwarven kingdom. He had successfully pushed thoughts of his father's fate from his mind. It was a tenuous moment of peace, but he would take what he could.
J'role smiled ruefully. Being a thief, what other choice did he have?
When the water cooled he climbed out of the tub and spotted a thick towel resting on the clothes rack. He padded across the smooth stone of the floor and dried himself off. From the rack he then chose a brown tunic with golden spirals, baggy golden pants, and a pair of sandals.
He went over t o the bowl containing sweetbread, dates, bananas, and oranges. He ate for a while, and then a knock came at the door. J’role went to open it, and found Releana standing behind an ancient-looking dwarf. Dressed in a robe of blue and silver, the dwarf wore his long silver hair flowing down over his shoulders. Like the other dwarfs he had a neatly trimmed beard.
"Greetings, J'role, the Honorable Thief. I am Merrox, Master of the Hall of Records. If you are ready?"
J'role nodded, and they set off.
Merrox opened the great wooden doors to the Hall of Records, and J'role stepped into an enormous chamber that went on and on. The walls spread out into an enormous valley with a tall dark ceiling. Shelves towered overhead and ran the length of the hall, stacked with scrolls and parchments and books, so thickly packed that in the distance it all seemed a solid mass of paper. Dwarfs sat at heavy tables recording data from one book to another, or sliding tall ladders on wheels along the shelves, climbing up and down them, removing and pulling innumerable records from the shelves.
"We're doomed," said Releana, oddly brief in her summation of the situation.
"Not exactly," said Merrox, with a chuckle that suggested anything from good-natured encouragement to ill-conceived dark humor. "Our codices are quite ordered, and with information from you we should be able to cross-reference the records and find exactly what you are seeking." He paused and cocked his head to one side. "Just exactly what are you looking for?"
Sounding very pessimistic, Releana said, "A forgotten city, hidden from all memory with magic strong enough to blind even the Horrors to its presence; a city no one knows of, no longer marked on any map, and not mentioned for over four hundred years."
Merrox raised an eyebrow. "Well. That is a challenge."