Before Fogrolir could react, Earmeth grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him towards himself, falling backward and causing the dwarf to land on top of him and his arm. He cried out in pain just as a slew of metal tipped arrows went over their head and lodged deeply into the tree trunk.

  “Hurry and get up, Foggy!” he said to the young dwarf. Fogrolir wasted no time and sprang to his feet, knife in hand, his hand shaking nervously, as his eyes darted about, looking for an enemy. Earmeth followed suit, pulling a small blade from the opposite side of his pouch and holding it in his good hand.

  All was silent for a few moments, until a bit of sand, some distance from the two, popped into the air and a small wooden trapdoor appeared. A tiny creature, much shorter than a dwarf, crawled out of the hole and began to hobble its way toward the two.

  “That is one funny looking dwarf,” Fogrolir said.

  “That is no dwarf. I am not sure what it is, but it is not a dwarf.”

  The creature continued heading their way until at last, he was standing in front of them. They looked him over, curiously. He wore a small leather pointed cap, with a plain brown shirt and pants of the same color. His shoes appeared to be made of some sort of cloth, though they turned up at the toes in a peculiar manner. The creature himself had a long white beard and pale colored face.

  He stared at the dwarves and, seeing no damage done to their front sides, he poked Fogrolir in the stomach with his finger:

  “Hey!” Fogrolir cried out.

  The creature ignored him and began talking to himself:

  “Nope - nope - nope, no damage was done. No damage at all. Safe you are for now, yep. Safe. Not sure how long, nope. Fat you are, too. Yep, ripe as a melon.” Earmeth looked on and tried not to laugh as the small creature turned his attention to him and repeated the process.

  “What are you doing?” Fogrolir asked.

  “Nope. Not good, should be dead. Yep. Should be dead. Must fix trap, yep. Make it better.” He ignored Fogrolir’s inquiry.

  He reached into his vest and pulled out a tiny device, and with it, he latched onto the arrows in the tree trunk and pulled them loose. He turned to hobble off back to his hole, but Earmeth reached out and grabbed him by the nape of his shirt.

  “We are asking you questions, and we expect an answer.” He said.

  The creature looked back at him and sighed. “Let me down, yep. Let me collar go now, yep.” He continued to look at Earmeth, waiting for the dwarf to release his shirt. Earmeth thought better of it but finally relented. The creature stopped and faced them, this time he said nothing, as he looked them over once more.

  “Sharp. Sharp is what I am called, yep.” He said. “Sharp. Sharp as a tack I am. Sharp almost got you, yep. Sharp almost nabbed you, but not quite. Fast for a fat lot you two are, yep.” He stammered about and continued talking in broken lines, making little to no sense. Earmeth was just about ready to leave him be when he said something that caught his attention:

  “Come for the dragon, I bet you have, yep. Bad idea, though, yep. Bad bad idea. Dragon cannot leave, nope. The Dragon must be killed, yep.” The small creature kept looking at the sand as though something was under the top of the sand and he had to find it.

  “What do you mean by ‘kill the dragon’?” Earmeth asked.

  “Where is the dragon? How did a dragon get here?” Fogrolir tossed in his unwarranted opinion of questioning.

  “Do not know, yep. Do not know how dragon got here. Only know plan to kill the dragon, and rider, yep. Both shall die, yep. Sundown comes quickly, dragon and rider die, yep.”

  Earmeth looked at Fogrolir, knowingly. There was a Storm Rider on this island somewhere, and they were in trouble.

  “You must tell us where the dragon is!” Earmeth demanded, raising his voice to show his seriousness. The creature stopped and looked him eye to eye:

  “No.,” he said. “Too dangerous, yep! Sharp does not go near other Skinders, nope.” He shook his head vigorously, as though he were trying to shake something loose from under his cap.

  “Is that what you are called then? A Skinder, was it?” Fogrolir inquired.

  The creature shook its head yes, and continued to repeat his words, making sure the two dwarves understood that he would go nowhere near the other Skinders.

  As the Skinder named Sharp turned and started towards his hole in the ground again, Fogrolir and Earmeth followed. Sharp did not appear to notice the two following him as he continued to mumble phrases which meant nothing to the dwarves. As he approached his trapdoor, however, he suddenly stopped and turned to face the two:

  “Danger. You are in danger, yep. If Skinder does not get you, demon woman’s cyclops shall, yep. No escape for you, nope. No no no.” he continued saying no all the while shaking his head furiously as if he saw the future in his own mind.

  “What do you mean, Sharp? Who is the demon woman of which you speak?” Earmeth sidled up next to the little guy and nonchalantly closed the trapdoor, placing his foot on it to ensure Sharp could not escape until he was finished talking to him.

  Sharp realized his door was blocked and there would be no escaping the dwarves, so he sat on the sand and motioned for them to do the same. They followed his directive while maintaining eyesight with the forest beyond the sandy beach.

  “Quiet, yep. Must be quiet. Too loud and they will hear you. Come for you, yep, they shall. You come to help dragon, yep. They will kill you, yep.” He continued to fidget with his hands and glance around furtively, as though he were afraid of some unseen force of nature heading their way.

  “Who will come for us? Who is this demon woman? What is a cyclops? What dragon is here?” Earmeth asked many questions, each one received a nod from Sharp but nothing more. Earmeth began to get frustrated, and it showed in the lines of his aging forehead.

  “Answer the questions, Sharp!” he grabbed the Skinder by the shirt, and like before, the creature appeared to suddenly recognize the gravity of the situation. Sharp slapped Earmeth’s hand, and when the dwarf refused to let go of his shirt, the skinder reached down and bit him.

  “Ow! You little runt!” he growled at Sharp.

  “Shh! Quiet you be or found we are. Found we are and lost we be forever, yep.” He nodded repeatedly and looked about again, ensuring in his own mind that no enemies were approaching.

  “Tell us what you can, please,” Fogrolir said to the little skinder.

  “Sharp not like other Skinders. Nope. Sharp is friendly. Sharp does not hurt others, nope.” He noticed his bite caused Earmeth’s hand to bleed; he reached into his cap, fetched out a small bandage, and put it over Earmeth’s hand.

  “Help, this will do, yep.” He said. He looked over his shoulder at the water, as though he thought something, or someone, was watching.

  He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and began to talk in a normal tone. His voice was so different, it caught the dwarves by surprise:

  “Demon Woman controls the cyclops. Cyclops kills everything. Skinders help demon woman. They worship her, but Sharp does not. No, Sharp does not worship an evil woman. An evil woman disappears from the island when the dragon flies over land. Cyclops captures dragon and dragon rider. Skinders make torture devices to hurt dragon and rider. They die tonight. You come to help. You leave. You cannot help, yep. You cannot help. Not enough, not strong enough. Outnumbered.”

  Though his speaking was broken and not complete in structure, his message was unmistakable to the two dwarves: a dragon rider was on the island and would be killed at nightfall. Although Fogrolir was unaware as to whether there were more dragon riders in the world, Earmeth was certain it had to be a dwarf. He had never seen a dragon ridden by any other beast, and the thought of a dwarf being killed made him feel helpless. He knew he must help, but if the other Skinders built traps similar to the one Sharp developed, it would be a treacherous path to salvation for the captured dwarf and his dragon, not to mention for himself and Fogrolir.

  “Can you tell me where the d
ragon is being held captive?” he asked Sharp.

  Sharp’s eyes widened, and his lips began to tremble: “Dangerous, it is dangerous, yep. Critical to go and help!” he became louder and grabbed both sides of his head with his hands and pressed them against his short, pointy ears and shook his head vigorously. It was evident that he was very much afraid of whatever lived within the forests.

  5

  After much frustration and debate, Sharp conceded to the request to help the dwarves locate and rescue the dragon and its rider. Sharp begged to enter his home one last time and gather traps and other devices, as he made it very plain that they would need such tools to maneuver past the other Skinders on the island.

  “Just how do we know that you will not go into your home and refuse to come out?” Earmeth asked the small man.

  Sharp looked indignantly toward Earmeth:

  “Sharp not like other Skinder! Sharp no lie, yep!”

  He stomped his foot in the sand, sending tiny grains of sand through the air around him. A piece of dirt hit Fogrolir in the face and caused him to shake his head.

  “I do believe,” Fogrolir stated, “that he is telling the truth, Earmeth. Give him a chance to prove it.”

  Earmeth nodded in agreement and stepped aside to allow the Skinder entry into his home. As Sharp skirted past the two dwarves, he stopped just before entering the hole in the ground:

  “This – keep this, yes. Good use for later, yep.” He tossed a small cylinder-like item to Earmeth, roughly the size of the dwarf’s fist.

  “Goes boom, yep! Colossal, uh huh!” Sharp stated before jumping through the trapdoor into his home. Earmeth glanced at Fogrolir, an inkling of a smile traced about his lips:

  “He reminds me of your father’s old parrot.” He said.

  Fogrolir laughed, though he knew he should not do so, for laughing at someone was not a nice thing to do.

  “Aye. The skinder really does sound like my father’s parrot!” he laughed harder as the thought of the little Skinder squawking like a bird played in his mind.

  “Hear you, I do, yep. Not nice, it is. Not nice to laugh at me.”

  Sharp grunted as he pulled himself through the trapdoor; he closed the door and covered it with sand, and looked around before heading into the forest without a word to the two dwarves.

  Earmeth signaled for Fogrolir to go in front of him, and so their journey began, with the smallest man in front and the biggest man bringing up the rear guard.

  Crack! Crunch! Snap! The earth below the trio’s feet made various sounds as they traveled deep within the hinterlands. It did not take long before the telltale sounds of the ocean gave way to the rustling of tree leaves; the aroma of walnut bark engulfed the men, replacing the salty air of the open ocean.

  “Shh!” Sharp held his small hand to his mouth, one finger over his lips. He pointed to the ground, then to their boots. He gave a slight ‘Hmph’ before continuing onward. Earmeth rolled his eyes a bit but tried his best to tread lighter as they continued further into the thick brush. The forest became thicker the further they progressed; thorns scratched the tunics of the dwarves, and sometimes their flesh when they were not careful enough treading through the underbrush.

  The forest became sweltering hot as they continued; sweat poured from their foreheads, and they found themselves longing for water. Fogrolir brought forth the canteen he filled earlier on the beach, and each man took a drink.

  “Why in the name of all that is holy, is it so damn hot? I thought it got colder the deeper into the woods one travels!” Earmeth shook his head, droplets of water fell from his beard; he took a deep breath, his lungs begging for fresh cold air.

  “Hot it is, yep, because of cyclops nearby, yep yep.” Sharp, though still speaking in an almost riddle-like tone, said his words very softly.

  The dwarves looked at one another, unsure what to think about Sharp’s words. They continued forward, and not long after they started their journey again, Sharp stopped dead in his tracks and began shaking visibly as though he were paralyzed with fear.

  Earmeth stared at the Skinder, unsure what to do. He walked up to the little man and whispered something inaudible in his ear, trying to ensure he did not scare him. In response, Sharp just lifted his arm and pointed ahead of him. Unable to see what he was pointing towards, Earmeth knelt to his level and in doing so; he noticed a small clearing through the trees lower branches. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks for a moment.

  A beast, well over nine feet tall, was toying with a leolf. He held the creature by two fingers, lifted it into the air, and dropped it to the ground. It hit the forest floor and let out a cry of anguish. This made the cyclops happy, as he let out a deep gurgle of laughter, picked the beast up, and dropped him again. As the two men looked on, Fogrolir thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head quickly, just in time to see another Skinder dart behind a tree.

  “Earmeth, we are not alone here!” he whispered desperately to his friend, trying to get his attention.

  “Earmeth!” he called out a bit louder, “I just saw another Skinder!”

  At the mention of another Skinder being in the area, Sharp snapped out his momentary trance and turned to face the young dwarf.

  “Where? Where is the Skinder?” he asked, no riddle or rhyme in his voice this time.

  Fogrolir pointed to the tree, and Sharp wasted no time dashing around the trunk. There was a small scuffle, and moments later Sharp came from behind the tree with his hand over an unknown Skinders mouth.

  “Bite me, you die, yep. Bite me, you die!” Sharp kept repeating as he forcefully pushed the small creature toward the dwarves. Earmeth pulled his dagger out, ready to attack if need be. The Skinder saw the blade and started kicking and screaming as best he could with his mouth covered.

  “Shut up, you! Shut up!” Sharp hissed in his ear.

  “He is not going to kill you!” he said, hoping to calm the Skinder.

  It appeared to work for the moment as the creature’s eyes, still wide with fear, settled on the dwarves and he calmed himself enough that Sharp released his mouth – though he warned him to be a good skinder or he would indeed die.

  “Sharp, you fool!” the creature growled at his Skinder counterpart while staring him in the face.

  “You have come here and will surely die now! You know the rules. You are not welcome in these parts!” he pushed Sharp. Earmeth stepped forward and let loose a soft, brooding growl. The Skinder withdrew from his advancement toward Sharp, but the contempt etched across his skin remained.

  “Save the dragon, free the rider. Save the dragon, free the rider.” Sharp repeated the words repeatedly until the other Skinder shook his head and began muttering about what fools the trio were for coming into the forest.

  “Ahem, um, pardon me, sir, but why are we foolish?” Fogrolir asked.

  The Skinder turned and faced the young dwarf – he realized almost immediately that the dwarf was at a very early age and more than likely had little to no idea how much trouble he was about to be in.

  “You fools have marched into the heart of our kingdom, where the all-powerful one lives. Though her majesty is missing, we know her wishes, and we shall carry them out!”

  The Skinder spoke fluently and without any repetition, which caught the dwarfs’ off-guard, for they were already becoming accustomed to the ways of Sharp’s singsong rhyming and countenance.

  The Skinder continued: “We grabbed a dragon rider from the land in which we believe our all-powerful, all seeing, all knowing Demoweir is being held captive. We shall torture him until he talks, and then he, along with his wretched flying beast, shall die at the hands of the cyclopses!”

  Fogrolir, though just a youth, was very sharp-minded, and could not help but ask the logical questions that everyone else ignored:

  “If she is all-powerful and all-knowing, then how did she become captive? Could it be that she is not omnipotent and all-knowing, or perhaps she is not in danger at
all?”

  Sharp coughed and semi gagged, trying not to laugh at the Skinder’s facial expressions as Fogrolir asked such questions.

  “If she were not in danger, she would have returned. She has not returned, so she must be at risk!” the skinder sputtered at the young dwarf.

  “So, you do not have a communication system for signaling when there is trouble? Surely you must be able to know if she is in trouble.” Fogrolir stared at the Skinder, and continued on, “just like our friends on the beaches. If we do not return safely within two days, they will send for our army and crash upon your shores and cut through your forests until we are found.”

  Earmeth was shocked by the pure brilliance of such a statement from a young dwarf such as Fogrolir, as he noticed it was a defense mechanism, meant to scare the Skinder, and it appeared to be working.

  “Recall more of you, I do…”

  “Shut it!” Earmeth said to Sharp before he could finish his thought. He shot an icy stare at the Skinder, and Sharp mouthed the word ‘oh’ knowingly.

  “There are more of you, then?” The Skinder asked.

  “Aye, lots more.” Fogrolir returned.

  “What is your name, Skinder?” Earmeth asked.

  “That is not your concern, dwarf.” The Skinder replied.

  Earmeth was taken aback by the fact the Skinder knew their race. It confirmed in his mind that there was indeed a dragon rider on the island; where the rider was, however, was unknown to him.

  “Sharp, can this Skinder be trusted?” Fogrolir asked.

  Sharp shook his head side to side, making it clear that the Skinder could not be trusted.

  “No one you trust but me.” He said.

  As if to confirm Sharp’s claim, the Skinder yelled out loudly, causing the cyclops to momentarily take his attention off the leolf. The leolf, barely alive, used all its might to bite the beast. The cyclops screamed in pain, grabbed the creature by its neck and snapped its head sharply up and to the right. The leolf yelped one last time before going limp.