The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) Read Free Page A

propped on the table’s edge. He heard his comrades’ muffled conversation as they returned from the tavern. The click of the lock and the slight squeak of the door swinging open alerted him, as it would have any skilled thief, of his friends’ arrival home.
    “Why do you always have to end a perfectly good evening in a fight, Dulgin?” Spilf sarcastically questioned.
    The weathered, red-bearded Dwarf lumbered in behind him. “Wasn’t much of a fight but, he had it comin’. I could see it in his eyes,” he responded in his gruff voice.
    “In his eyes? Are you kidding me? What, did they say, ‘punch me in the face’?”
    “Yeah, something like that. Best be leavin’ it alone.”
    “Are you going to hit me too, or, hey - Bridazak, you’re still awake? Are you feeling better?” Spilf continued as he closed the door behind Dulgin.
    “Hey guys,” he said in a low voice.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Another nightmare,” Bridazak responded.
    “Same one?”
    “Yeah, except—” he paused.
    “Except what, ya blundering fool? It’s just a dream. I don’t know what the big deal is. Every time it is the same. You are in bed, it’s dark, there’s a light, you wake up,” the Dwarf said.
    Dulgin ignited a match for his tobacco pipe. His eyes squinted as he tugged on it with short breaths to get the hot embers going. Smoke billowed out from his mouth and nostrils, escaping through his red hair on his face.
    Spilf joined Bridazak, taking the place opposite him at the table, “Leave him alone, Dulgin. Dwarves wouldn’t understand nightmares. All you know is drinking and picking fights,” Spilf retorted.
    The Dwarf’s eyes flared wide and he gave a mocking snarl. “Come over here little-one, and I’ll show you a Dwarven nightmare you will never forget.”
    “You are all talk, and you have too much drink in you.”
    “I’d say not enough, after coming home to this Troll-shit dream talk, again!”
    “Enough, you two! This time it is different,” Bridazak interrupted their bickering.
    “Ah, what do you want us to do about it?” Dulgin grunted. He tilted back in his chair, balancing on two legs against the wall.
    “I have to agree with the Dwarf for once, Bridazak. What can we do? It appears to be a childhood nightmare, and we have no skills in the area of dream walking.”
    Bridazak, with a concerned look, gazed at each of them. “This time is different because of this—” he pulled open his tunic, which had been concealing the mysterious item, and then placed it on the table next to the candle. The wooden container was three inches high and five inches wide, with ornate writing encompassing it. Spilf edged closer so he could get a better look. Dulgin’s chair clopped to the floor from his tilted position. As he approached, a steady stream of pipe smoke trailed behind him.
    “What is it?”
    “I’m not sure. Been trying to figure that out all night.”
    Dulgin’s brow furrowed in thought as he inhaled.
    “Look at the writing,” Spilf stated in amazement, and continued, “I don’t understand what it is saying, but it looks like an ancient dialect. How does it open?” He did not touch the box, but leaned in close to inspect every square inch.
    “What do you mean you can’t read the writing? It’s written in Ordakian, clear as day,” Bridazak stated.
    “No, it’s not; at least not to me. It’s a language I have never encountered. What does it say, then?”
    “It says, “I have given you eyes to see. Knock and the door will be opened.””
    “If you see it in our language and I can’t, then it’s definitely magical, but I have never seen anything like it. Very clever, and look at this craftsmanship! I don’t recognize its workings to be from around here, or even from this region,” Spilf continued examining the box, still reluctant to touch it.
    The mysterious item had no seams, no lock, no apparent way to open it. Embossed gold writing in the strange script wrapped around the edges