Chapter 1
The bells on Trik’s saddle jingled as his stallion’s hooves clomped against the icy gravel of the Frozen North. It was late autumn, and a cold one at that. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, glinting off the snowy tundra. Beyond the tundra lay the Dwarven Mountains with their icy white peaks standing sentry over the barren landscape.
As the sun climbed over the mountains, Trik took some dried mutton from his saddlebag. He had not eaten for several hours, and he knew he would need his strength for the pass between the mountains. Before he could bite into the tough meat, he was startled by the sound of a shrill whistle. A moment later, as if in answer, another whistle screeched over the tundra.
An arrow sped past Trik and struck the ground a few paces in front of him. The bright red fletching of the arrow stood out against the ivory snow. He tugged on the reins of his horse, bringing it to a halt. Two dark figures marched down a snow-covered hill to the road. Trik drew his sword. They were half-dwarves, bearded and barrel-chested, taller than dwarves but shorter than men. One of them wielded a crossbow and the other a long spear. The tip of the spear was iron, and it had a smear of blood on its point. “It seems we’ve caught something,” said the spear-wielding half-dwarf. He peered at the elf with small blue eyes framed by bushy gray eyebrows.
“You there,” said a third half-dwarf approaching Trik from the other side of the road. He wore a wolf fur coat with an iron chest plate strapped over it. His gray beard stretched past his belt buckle. He wielded a heavy double-sided battle axe.
Trik looked down at the axe-wielding half-dwarf from his horse. “Hail and well met, good dwarfman,” he said
The half-dwarf with the axe grinned, and the gold tooth at the front of his mouth glinted in the morning light. “You’re alone today, stranger,” he said.
Trik glanced at the two half-dwarves, who were approaching him from the other side of the road. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “I want no trouble,” he said.
The half-dwarf with the axe smiled. “I will decide whether there will be trouble or not,” he said. “These are my kin. This is my road.”
“Tell your kin to stand down,” said Trik.
The half-dwarf laughed a deep laugh. “Stand down, bah,” he said. “You speak bravely for a nobleman without a guard.”
“I am not a nobleman,” said Trik, “and if you do not stand down, then I cannot spare you.”
The half-dwarf with the axe snapped his fingers. The half-dwarf with the crossbow raised the weapon and pointed it at Trik. The half-dwarf with the axe pressed the head of the axe into the snow and rested on its grip. “I give the commands here,” he said. He glanced at the leather purse on Trik’s belt. “That purse of yours, is there coin in it?”
“A few coppers only,” said Trik.
“You are on my road,” said the half-dwarf. “You must pay to pass this way.”
“I have nothing to give you,” said Trik.
The half-dwarf glanced at Trik’s sword. “You have a fine weapon,” he said. “It would fetch a good price.”
Trik moved the point of the sword near the half-dwarf’s throat. “It’s not for sale,” he said.
The half-dwarf with the crossbow called out. “Shall I put a bolt up his ass, Captain?” he shouted.
The captain looked up at the elf. “Who are you?” he asked.
“A traveler,” said Trik. He looked out at the mountains before him. “I seek Chief Boros, lord of these lands.”
“Chief Boros,” said the captain, his brow furrowing. “Why do you seek him?”
Trik faced the captain. “He has summoned me,” said Trik.
The captain’s eyes fell on Trik’s long pointed ears beneath his dark and wavy hair. “You’re an elf,” he said.
“Yes,” said Trik.
“There are no elves, not in all the lands of Estern,” said the captain.
“I am the last,” said Trik.
There was a crack, as the half-dwarf with the spear smacked the tip of it into a patch of ice. “Let me stick him, Captain,” he said.
“No,” shouted the captain. He glared at the two half-dwarves on the other side of the road. “Stand down, and lower your weapons.”
The half-dwarves groaned but they did as commanded, lowering their weapons and stepping back from the road. Trik returned his sword to its leather scabbard. The captain pointed at the icy gravel road that disappeared into the pass. “You will need my help,” he said.
“You will take me to Chief Boros?” asked Trik.
The captain nodded. “Yes,” he said. He turned to his companions. “The mounts,” shouted the captain. “Bring them.”
The companions trudged across the snow to a dark gray camp in the distance. There at the camp were three mules, saddled and laden with supplies. The two companions led the mules to the road, and there they mounted the lesser beasts. The captain joined them and mounted the greater mule, a spotted white beast with sullen gray eyes.
The captain rode beside Trik and behind his companions. “My name is Captain Broglar,” He said. “My nephews Ingor and Sordred serve under my command. We are the guards of the lower pass.”
“Trikodemos,” said the elf, staring straight at the pass ahead.
“There will be another set of guards on the pass,” said Broglar. “Chief Boros has doubled the watch.”
“For what reason?” asked Trik.
“That,” said Broglar, “I will leave for Chief Boros to answer.”
