Darkin: A Journey East by Joseph A. Turkot Page A

journey,” panted Erguile.
    “Perhaps before long you will have one,” Krem said softly, and then winked at Erguile. They continued at a grueling pace farther into the Solun.
    The sun now seemed to be in its last stage of life in the sky, and the desert finally began to change its climate. The dunes were lower now, Adacon noticed, and the sand seemed to be whiter; the dunes soon turned hard and firm. They pushed on, and the desert ran flat—the yellow sand had turned white and level. Up in the distance far ahead, very faintly, could be seen mountains. The distinguishable peaks in the fading light were shrouded in mist, and at least two weeks march away, Adacon guessed. It was comforting anyway to see a change of scenery, and for that matter an entirely novel sight.
    “They’re beautiful!” exclaimed Adacon.
    “Enormous!” gushed Erguile.
    “I assure you they’re much bigger, should you stand in their foothills. They are known as the Angelyn Mountains,” said Krem.
    Before them was a vast plain, stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see. The plain was a great whitish-green lawn of grass with shrubs cropping up throughout its expanse. Here and there were patches of broad-leafed trees, though they were few, and in the distance were several emerald mounds.
    “We’ve reached the Vashnod, and it has been too long since I traveled north,” Krem sighed endearingly.
    “And what are in those mountains?” asked Erguile, who hadn’t withdrawn his gaze from the Angelyn Range.
    “Many great and curious creatures—and cruel rock trolls—and also the home of the Reichmar,” said Krem gleefully as they marched onto the plains. The sky dimmed further.
    “By all means old man, what are the Reichmar?” asked Erguile.
    “The Angelyn are beautiful to behold—ancient and massive in all their splendid glory—and as such they are fit to house the Reichmar. Alas, the Reichmar are the secluded dwarves of the north, a noble and proud people, though in this dark age they are despised and hated by most all.”
    “Dwarves! Ah, I will go mad on this journey for certain,” hooted Erguile.
    “It’s fascinating. Why are they hated by most all, Krem?” asked Adacon.
    “That answer you can find for yourself Adacon, I’m sure. Ask yourself who is most with the power to enforce hate in this age?” asked Krem. Grelion, Adacon thought to himself.
    “Then they are oppressed the same as us?” Adacon questioned further.
    “Surely they are. More so than slaves maybe, at times—a dwarf is tortured and executed without reasoning, should he be found away from the mountains. Grelion does not even respect them enough to grant them slavery, and so they have enclosed themselves deep within the mountains. It is their only safety; and even the cold stone of the Angelyn Mountains weakens with each passing day, as Grelion conspires to expose their cavernous city to his minions.”
    “So they are well hidden? Do they interact at all with the outside world anymore? Have they gone to total retaliation against anyone passing through their mountains?” asked Adacon.
    “Well hidden, certainly, but Grelion has discovered their secret entrances by now. I’m sure that mistrust among the dwarves has escalated since last I heard news from the north, and I doubt they would take friendly to anyone not born of dwarven blood, especially a human. They are forced in this dark time to keep constant watch over their borders, and, rightfully enough, kill anything unrecognizable as a dwarf on sight.”
    “Might we chance gaining their partnership?” asked Erguile. “Often, in the lore I’ve read about dwarves, I’ve heard them to be a strong and courageous race: bold—and with battle axes just as bold.” Erguile unsheathed his sword jokingly and swung it in the fashion of a battle-axe. “I still can’t believe dwarves and elves are real. I will need to see one before I commit to belief in them.”
    “I don’t think it would be wise to