Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga) by Kristian Alva Page B

forest. We’ll have to cross
Orvasse River, too.”
    “Orvasse River! I’ve never traveled so far
east. ”
    “There’s a first time for everything, boy.
After that, I expect that I’ll be taking you back with me to Mount
Velik, which is in the north, past the emperor’s palace. We’ll have
to be very careful near Morholt.”
    “We’re going to the capital?”
    “No, we’ll be going around it. I’m not sure
if we’ll be following the coast or travelling inland. Either way,
it’s a dangerous journey. Get used to travelling, lad—you’re in for
an adventure.” Thorin smiled, but his eyes were serious. They
finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, and then Elias
scattered the evidence of their fire and covered the coals with
dirt. As they exited the cave, Elias noticed Duster grazing on a
stubborn patch of grass. Thorin placed their packs on Duster’s
back, and they were off.
    Both of them walked, with Duster trotting
happily behind. Their pace was brisk. Elias warmed up quickly.
After a few hours, he so hot that he had to remove his cloak. They
didn’t stop for lunch—they ate cold rabbit and drank water along
the way.
    Thorin hummed old dwarvish songs most of the
time. Elias understood a few words here and there—remnants of the
old language that pervaded the speech of every race on the
continent. Sometimes Thorin talked about the history of the dwarves
and their accomplishments. It was interesting, if nothing else.
Elias had never met another dwarf, and Thorin’s stories seemed
supernatural. From the stories, Elias deduced that Thorin was at
least a hundred years old. He wanted to ask his age, but he wasn’t
sure if it was impolite to do so.
    While he was growing up, Elias prodded his
grandmother for information, and she was always reluctant to give
it. Thorin spoke freely of his people and his grandmother’s
exploits. It seemed incredible that he was talking about the same
person—Elias never imagined that his quiet grandmother had such a
wild history.
    The trees grew sparser as the afternoon wore
on, and eventually they arrived at a clearing at the top of a hill.
In the distance, Elias could see the city of Jutland on the
horizon. The city appeared larger than he remembered.
    “There she is, boy. Old Jutland. Looks
pretty much the same as I remember. The walls are taller; and
they’ve replaced the old wooden drawbridge for an iron gate.
Everyone is more cautious, it seems. I’ll put on my hood and ride
Duster into the city. Although it’s not unheard of for a dwarf to
be travelling this far south, it’s best if we avoid attracting any
unnecessary attention.” Thorin mounted Duster and tucked his long
beard inside his cloak. Riding on the pony, it was difficult to
determine Thorin’s height, and with his beard hidden away, he
didn’t look much different from anyone else coming into the
city.
    A few hours later, they arrived at the city
gate and got in line behind a slew of merchants and peasants
wandering into the city.
    Thorin whispered, “Listen
boy, if anyone asks, my name’s Brand and you’re my son, Tyr . We’re here to buy a
horse—no reason to lie about that. Keep your story simple and
you’re less likely to stumble on a lie. Keep your hood on—it will
help conceal your appearance, and it won’t seem odd because it’s
cold.” Elias nodded.
    They reached the city gates just after
sunset. As they approached the gate, Elias became nervous. He
couldn’t help it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Two
watchmen stood at the gate. “What business do you have in Jutland?”
asked the skinny guard, who had greasy hair and several missing
teeth.
    “We’ve come to Jutland to purchase a horse,”
answered Thorin.
    The watchman eyed them both. He spotted
Thorin’s ornate iron brooch, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Where are you coming from?” asked the watchman, this time with
interest.
    “We’ve travelled from Gardarsholm.”
    “Humph. That’s a long