The New Earth Chronicles: IV
The Dwarven Rebellion
by
J. J. Thompson
Text Copyright © 2018 J. J. Thompson
All Rights Reserved
“If you cannot trust your friends, then trust your axe.”
- Shandon Ironhand
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Links and Things
Chapter 1
The darkness far beneath the surface of the world is absolute. No light from the sun penetrates the bowels of the Earth and for those who walk beneath the sky, it would be easy to think of the deep places as if they were as lifeless as a tomb. But they are not.
Down, down, down, far below the cold outer layers of the planet, the molten core radiates warmth through the layers of rock surrounding it and life exists in abundance. But it is as alien to the creatures that live their lives under the sun as if it had invaded the Earth from some other world.
And that life is old, older by far than the life on the surface. Great pale worms tunnel endlessly through the blackness, leaving echoing galleries in their wake. Hulking creatures covered in chitinous armor live in teeming colonies, their castles ancient and complex.
Black, evil growths, like sentient fungi, crawl through cracks in the rock and prey on any creature that they can engulf in their sticky tentacles. And even stranger things lurk in the darkness, things out of nightmare that might break the mind of a surface dweller, should they ever confront them.
In the midst of this alien and hostile environment lives the race of the dwarves. Almost as old as the horrors that surround them, the dwarves fear none of them. Their cities and towns have survived and grown strong over the millennia, even as the race flourished. They rose to great heights by fusing magical energies and technological inventions and defended their territory against all enemies. But in the end, it turned out that the dwarves greatest threat to their survival was...themselves.
When the old gods withdrew from the universe and took the power of magic with them, the world changed and the dwarves changed with it.
Even as their warriors and their great machines protected their borders, the dwarven race began to turn on itself. Palace intrigue saw a succession of kings murdered by usurpers. Cabals rose to rule over the nation, only to fall at the hands of other pretenders. And so it went, on and on for centuries.
And while the dwarven leaders fought and schemed, the race itself began to diminish. Fewer and fewer children were born as the years passed, and the people became more insular and suspicious, both of outsiders and of each other. The great cities that once teemed with light and life and energy changed. Entire neighborhoods were abandoned; darkened areas that the citizens avoided. The vibrant markets where people had once traded goods and exchanged pleasantries became subdued areas where business was conducted in whispers and dwarves looked over their shoulders constantly, as if fearful of unseen enemies.
In short, the dwarven race began a long, slow descent toward oblivion.
A room engulfed in stifling blackness was suddenly lit up by a pale glow. The light grew slowly brighter as a huge orb resting atop a broad stone pedestal came to life.
Standing around the shimmering ball were three figures wearing heavy black robes. Their heads were covered with deep hoods that hid their faces as the trio chanted in unison. The orb pulsed slowly like a great heart in response to their voices.
The hooded group became silent and the room, its high walls and ceiling lost in darkness, was still again.
“What do you see?” a deep voice growled from the shadows.
“The humans have summoned the fay back into the world,” one of the figures replied. “The sprites, the fairies, and all the rest have spread out across the surface of the planet, finding hidden places to inhabit as they did long ago.”
“Foolish people, to bring back those trouble-makers,” the unseen speaker said. “They create nothing but chaos and grief.”
“They did it to defend the great castle of Nottinghill,” another figure spoke up. “They were facing annihilation by an army of goblins and they had few other options if they wanted to survive.”
“Goblins?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A muttered curse came from the shadows.
“So the rats are active again? Their twisted gods must be behind that. The cowards would not willingly cross the sea to reach that castle.”
“We do not know, my lord,” the third figure replied. “We only report on what we can see.”
“Yes, of course. Continue.”
“You are correct about the goblins, though,” the first figure told the unseen speaker. “They have spread out across much of the world, and have now expanded their ranks, recruiting ogres and other monsters to bolster their power. Their magic-users have become more powerful as well. The remnants of the human race have little chance of surviving in the long term.”
“Do not underestimate them,” the hidden speaker replied. “Humanity may be young compared to the dwarves, but they are resilient, and some of them wield power as well.”
“But there are no wizards among them, my lord,” the second figure said. “And their young mages can only tap into a portion of the available magical power. The goblins, unfortunately, do not suffer from that limitation. Theirs is an old race.”
“Aye, I know that. If circumstances were different, we would stand with the humans as we did once before, and as we did in the old days. Now though...”
The voice trailed off and the trio standing around the glowing orb remained silent.
“Continue.”
“Yes, my lord. There is still one source of hope for the human race. The elves have returned.”
An uncomfortable silence followed that pronouncement.
“Explain.”
“Somehow, the elven world has aligned again with this one, and they have contacted the humans. They aided them in this last battle with the goblins and lost many of their own warriors.”
After a short pause, the hooded figure continued.
“They were very valiant, my lord.”
A heavy sigh echoed around the darkened chamber.
“Aye, they were always so. Our old grievances with them should not diminish their valor, even if it does call into question their honorable intentions. It is good to know that the humans do have allies. I am shamed that they have had to turn to the elves though. We should have been the ones to step forward and offer our aid. If circumstances were different, well...”
Again, none of the robed figures responded.
“What more? What of our own people? What of my kin?”
“You are in danger, my lord,” the original speaker said.
A snort of laughter.
“I am always in
danger.”
“Yes, my lord. But he conspires against you. He seeks the throne and will stop at nothing to obtain it.”
“And our citizens? Are they still loyal?”
“They are, my lord. The common people love you. They would rise up at your command and crush the usurpers. All you need do is say the word and...”
“No! This is not their fight.”
A clang of metal rang out as the hidden speaker stepped forward to stand within the aura of light from the orb.
An armored dwarf, clad in burnished plate mail, glared at each robed figure. His dark beard flowed down to his waist, its length elaborately braided and beaded. Hanging across his back was a heavy hammer that glowed with enchantments.
“What real king cannot defend his own throne?”
The trio bowed low as the dwarf scowled at them.
“I may have been forced into this position against my will,” he said heavily. “But it was my father's desire that I rule and try to save our race, and I will not disgrace his memory or dishonor my word by stepping aside now. Not even to accommodate my own son.”
“The throne is in peril, my lord,” one of the figures said evenly. “And if you fall, your people will not recognize your son. There will be civil war.”
“There already is civil war, Drendan. It may not be overt, but it exists. The nobility battles for position, the greedy bastards, and some of them are backing my son.”
The Council of Three stared at the armored dwarf, and he could almost feel their doubt, even though he could not see their faces.
“But it will go beyond the nobles, my lord,” Drendan warned him. “And our race, already diminished, may not survive if you fall.”
Shandon Ironhand: king, warrior, and occasional poet, grinned at him.
“Then I'd better not let them kill me, eh?”
Kingstone was the dwarven capital city. It had stood for uncounted ages against the hostile darkness that hemmed it in on all sides. Not even a dragon attack during the war against the evil dragons and their queen had beaten down the great city. It had stood proudly against the great wyrms and had remained unconquered.
The city had been built inside of a massive cavern. Towering stone pillars supported the weight of the distant ceiling and Kingstone stretched out beneath them for miles in all directions.
Whether the ancient dwarves had discovered the cavern and slowly expanded it over thousands of years, or they had dug out the entire space themselves, is something that even the dwarves did not remember. Certainly they had been digging and building for millennia, since the city had been established. It had shone like a beacon in the night, a light of hope for the many pilgrims who would travel the deep roads from distant cities and towns to behold its wonders.
But now the seat of uncounted dwarven kings had diminished, its power wavering as internal strife divided its inhabitants. Whole sections of the city were deserted, dimly lit by scattered lampposts. Children were few and cherished and the dwarves knew that they were in decline. As dwarves do, they accepted their fate stoically and remained proud in the face of their long fall.
The city watch avoided the deserted areas, choosing instead to patrol neighborhoods where the majority of the citizens still lived. This allowed dwarves with nefarious intentions to gather, to scheme and plan, free of the risk of detection by the authorities. Wise people steered clear of the empty sections of the city.
And yet there were laws even in these forbidden areas. Honor among thieves and all that. Killings were rare. Disputes were settled peacefully or the opponents went elsewhere to commit violence against one another. And anyone who broke these tenets was dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. It kept even the most vicious scum in check. Most of the time.
On the far western edge of Kingstone, in the shadow of the high city walls, was one of these uninhabited areas. A group of dwarves were meeting inside of a pub that would have appeared deserted to anyone passing by. But behind the closed shutters, candles sat on scattered tables and a barman with a filthy gray beard served deep tankards of beer to his surly guests.
At the door, two armored warriors stood guard, listening intently for any approaching footsteps. And holding court at the center table of the pub was a young dwarf dressed lavishly in multi-colored silks and rich fabrics.
Unlike the others around him, this dwarf was clean-shaven, with only a slim mustache growing beneath his large, round nose. He appeared to be soft and overweight. Pudgy might best describe him.
He was sipping from a silver chalice and eating rich pastries while the others in the pub quaffed jacks of beer and spoke in surly undertones to each other. The dandy would occasionally glance around the room and screw up his face in distaste. He didn't appear to be enjoying the company of the other dwarves.
With an abrupt clang, the young dwarf slammed down his cup and glared at his companions.
“Where is he?” he hissed at them. “I have been sitting in this squalid pig sty for an hour and if he doesn't show up soon, I am leaving.”
“With all due respect, my lord,” a dwarf sitting next to him said. “If we leave before the agent arrives, we may miss out on valuable information. The king's schedule is only known to a few and, if we are to neutralize him, we need to know what it is. He is too well guarded for us to risk a direct assault.”
“And if we eliminate the king publicly,” another dwarf added, “the people whom you seek to rule over may rebel and turn on you. That would make this all for naught, my lord.”
The clean-shaven dwarf scowled at them and then petulantly brushed some non-existent crumbs from his clothes.
“But I'm bored,” he whined. “And my back hurts. These hard chairs aren't good for me. I'll probably be limping from the pain when I leave.”
“I'm sure that the throne would be much more comfortable on your delicate nether regions, eh princeling?”
Every dwarf in the pub leaped to their feet at the mocking comment. They glared around the shadowy room, seeking its source.
The young dwarf's eyes darted from place to place, his skin pale with fear.
“Who goes there?” he called out thinly. “Show yourself!”
“”Who goes? Why, have you not been awaiting my arrival, son of Shandon? And here I am.”
As if coalescing from the shadows themselves, a figure appeared in a corner of the room and stepped forward into the light of the candles. Dressed from head to toe in black, including a hood and mask covering their face, the mysterious visitor stood calmly and looked at the others. The stranger's clothing blocked their body heat, not allowing the others to see them in the infra-red spectrum, as all dwarves could do. What seemed to surprise many in the room was the fact that the intruder was clearly female.
“Are you going to try to do something with those?” she said, nodding at the many hands gripping weapons. “If so, I'd advise against it. The prince probably needs as many bodyguards as he can find in these dangerous times.”
There was a collective sigh of relief from the assembly and the group slowly returned to their seats.
“And who are you?” the soft dwarf asked angrily. “We weren't informed that a female would be the agent passing along the information we seek.”
“Were you not? How unfortunate.”
All that the watchers could see of the woman were her pale, piercing blue eyes. They were as cold as death and met the prince's angry gaze easily.
“The rogues guild does not discriminate against my gender, unlike you and your companions, Prince Corbin,” she continued. “I see that my being female bothers you. Do not let it. My father trained me well and I daresay my skills are equal to a task as simple as retrieving and delivering a schedule.”
“Your father? Who is your father?” one of the dwarves sitting next to the prince asked. “And who are you? The prince asked you a question, girl.”
“Girl, is it?”
The woman laughed lightly.
“If this was not a business transaction, I mig
ht be offended by your tone,” she continued. “And we would have to have a discussion about that. But business before pleasure, I suppose. My name, for what it is worth, is Mel. You might have heard of my father, Hallic Barston.”
There were several gasps from the assembled dwarves and the prince's eyes grew wide.
“Hallic Barston, the assassin?” he exclaimed. “He is your father?”
“Was my father, prince,” Mel corrected him. “He no longer walks the deep roads. And he wasn't an assassin. He was merely very skilled at his job. As am I.”
She stepped forward, laid a folded sheet of parchment on the table next to the prince's left hand and stepped back so quickly that her movement was just a blur.
“There is the king's itinerary for the next week. We do not guarantee that it will not change, but barring any emergencies, King Ironhand will be at those locations at those times. Do with the information what you will.”
The prince picked up the note and looked at the rogue, his eyes evincing more intelligence than he had shown so far.
“And do you not have any reservations about passing along this schedule?” he asked her. “Surely you know what we plan to do with the knowledge?”
The woman shrugged.
“It is not the place of the rogues guild to pry into a client's motives. We have provided a service for a fee, that is all. What you do now is up to you, prince.”
“Mercenary,” one of the dwarves said, his voice thick with loathing.
There was a mutter of agreement from some of the others and the rogue glanced at them.
“You call me a mercenary, do you?” she asked with a low laugh. “You, who plan to usurp the throne? At least there is honor among thieves, gentlemen. What has become of yours?”
The armored dwarves surged to their feet with roars of anger, but the rogue stepped back into the shadows and was gone. The angry guards searched the room, but found no trace of her. Those standing watch at the only door swore that it had never opened.
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 1
