The Crystal Cage Part Two

THE CRYSTAL CAGE

An Aurivyn Tale

First published in Abandoned Towers Magazine Issue 3, 2009

Part Two

“Do you suppose that Zowtholter was trying to save the princess?” I asked as we picked our way through the woody foothills. “But couldn’t get past the magician’s goblins?”

“Perhaps,” Rolglor replied, his steely eyes ever-wary of our surroundings. “The Zowtholters often cross the mountains into Engathar. There is much trade and mercenary work to be had with the chieftains of that land.”

“I see!” said I through a gleeful grin.

“Or,” he continued, “Perhaps he was no more than a hunter, like me, who wandered too close to the magician’s tower.”

“Oh,” said I, disappointed this time.

It was about that time that we found the clearing. In it was a great white slope skirting the rocky outcropping low on the mountain. Upon that outcropping, just where it ought to be, stood the ancient tower. Its great bricks had been carved out of the mountains themselves. Its top, well below the high peaks, was crowned with horns.

I’ve done a bit of research since, and apparently this tower once marked a caravan route through the mountains into Engathar. There ought to be another up in the mountains someplace, and a third where the path meets up with Engathar’s rolling steppes. You know, I couldn’t find any reason for them to stop using that route. There must be a story there somewhere…

Oh! Sorry Hazerium! The way up to the tower was easy enough to follow. There was a roadway, covered with a skin of packed snow. We could have followed it high into the mountains, I suppose, but only went to the tower’s wide steps.

A courtyard was at the top of that short stairway, surrounded by a stone wall only three feet tall. There was snow there, too, packed into the cracks between the cobbles.  But that snow was red, painted by the lifeblood of fallen Zowtholters, four of them.

Rolglor looked the place over, turning bodies and weapons over with his foot.  His piercing eyes examined the stones for footprints, but there were none that I could see.  He glanced with some concern at the double doors, left ajar, that led into the darkened keep.

“These men fought hard,” he said at long last, “They are Holgonn, great fighters. They should be avenged.”

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Hazerium, how fiercely that statement seized me. I was certain a worthy story would unfold, and here it was, doing just that, right before my eyes! All it needed was a little…helping.

“Yes, and avenged they shall be!” I assured him, “For when Lord Thelosius’ men arrive, these goblins shall be shown the price for murdering people under Trycadia’s protection!”

“The Holgonn need no protecting!” he growled at me. “We avenge our own!”

I must have smirked. I simply hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy. “Do you mean to say that you are going into that tower to kill those goblins, and the wizard, and save the princess?”

His expression transformed into one of doubt. “Well…” he stammered, and I began to worry that I’d pushed too hard.

I smiled and raised one hand in a calming gesture. “That’s all right, Rolglor. No one expects you to do anything heroic.”

“Heroic?”

“Yes. You are just Rolglor the Hunter. No more and no less.” I said in my most understanding tone. “No one will be disappointed in you, for none have any reason to expect more.”

“I am able to be more!” he insisted defensively.

“Of course you are,” I said, assuring. “But to kill those goblins…the wizard…  To save the princess… These are not jobs for a simple hunter. No, you would have to be a Great Hero. You would have to be Rolglor…the…”

A terrible thing happened at that moment, Hazerium. My mind went blank! It was no magic; I simply could not produce an adjective that would make a good title for a barbarian such as him. I floundered.

“Rolglor the WHAT?” he insisted.

So I said the first word to spring into my mind: “Palindromic.”

He peered at me distrustfully through narrow eyes. “What does that word mean?  Why not Rolglor the Good? Or the Strong? Or the Mighty?”

I chuckled at his ignorance. “There are heroes already claiming those titles. Fear not, Palindromic suit you. It, uh, means all those other things…and more!”

He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Then let us go inside. No Hero who awaits soldiers could dare to call himself Palindromic.”

I smiled and held my tongue. Rolglor drew the sword from his back, turned, and eyed the doorway with childlike trepidation. We trembled in the cold mountain winds for long moments while he stared stupidly. Overcome with the cold and impatience, I said, “Well?”

“It is unlucky to enter a wizard’s house for the first time through the front door,” he said. Have you ever heard such nonsense? More than half of Trycadia’s people qualify as wizards, how do they think we visit one another for tea? Climb in through the windows, like thieves?

Naturally, his prejudiced comment offended me, and I fear I snapped at him, risking the well-being of the story. “We espied no other entrance, you ignorant fool! Is there no way you will enter here?”

He grimaced and sheathed his sword. “None,” he said as he crossed his arms and pouted at those heavy doors. I grumbled and mumbled curses but he was adamant to await the coming soldiers.

“I will not set off some spell cast to safeguard this gateway!” he firmly announced. “You are from the Empire of Wizards, you should know of many curses that could be placed to fall on the uninvited guest.”

Ah, but my stalwart hero presented me with the answer to this problem! “I do, indeed,” I said coyly, “and also the chant to ward off such affects. I would teach it to you, if you would scout out the tower.”

He was most eager to learn it. So I showed to him a game the children play, with much clapping and the slapping of one’s own shoulders and knees. Also, I taught him the nonsense chant “Owah Tafoo Layyam”, and instructed him to say it faster and faster until it came out as “Oh-what-a-fool-I-am”. Satisfied with his safety, he again drew his sword and slipped into the keep. I wiped a tear from my eye, and followed.

The entry hall was frigid, and cobwebs filled the corners. Platters of half-eaten food rested on a table with stout legs. A time-worn tapestry lay in a heap on the floor by a wall.

Looking around with awe, I jumped when Rolglor suddenly spoke. “Story-man!  You are Trycadian; tell me, what sort of wizard would deal with goblins?”

To Be Continued...