by David Rice
As Arundy coaxed the horses to pull once more, he called back to Leonara. “Come up here, young lady. I don’t want you to miss the view.”
Leonara scrambled enthusiastically onto the bench beside the Duke. She took a deep breath of the heady mountain air and smiled. “Will the dwarves actually talk to us?”
Arundy shrugged. “Major Alain swears they will, especially when they see that we’ve saved one of their own.”
Leonara sat back wide-eyed. “Incredible,” she whispered. “No one else in Graniteside has ever seen a dwarven keep, have they?”
“No,” Arundy chuckled. “They most certainly have not.”
Leonara laughed. “Well that beats ballroom dancing and stuffy tea times a hundred times over.” She pushed back into the bench, stretched her legs, looked up at the blue sky and beamed.
Arundy smiled briefly then leaned over to shisper seriously beside her ear. “And there’s one more thing I need to tell you, young lady, but it must stay a secret.”
Leonara turned abruptly with a quizzical grin. “A secret?”
Arundy’s serious eyes held her until Leonara focused.
She took a deep breath and leaned closer. “Okay,” She said, “I’m listening. I’m ready.”
“It must stay a secret,” Arundy reiterated.
Leonara’s gaze grew to match the seriousness of the duke. “I promise,” she whispered.
“I am relieved to see that you are growing up,” Arundy commented and then he pressed his lips next to the young lady’s ear and whispered a few terse phrases.
Leonara’s eyes widened with surprise, blossomed with tears, and then closed as she leaned against the Duke’s shoulder and wept.
***
Balinor used the ridges to shield his circling approach from view. Thankfully, the troops stopped for a water break along a small stream and he was able to get a closer view from the cover of long grass along the western ridge line. Twenty-four troops in all. Twenty were gathered loosely around a sergeant holding the standard of Hillsedge. A corporal and two others wore the colours of Egrant’s King’s Road patrols. Balinor took extra care examining the officer leading them all. He had to be sure. He was a bit on the lanky side and a bit short. His golden epaulets and his 1st Hussars uniform were the same as when he had worn them in the Highlands.
Balinor shivered with exhultation and rage. This major was the one who had dragged away Muren to be crippled and imprisoned. The same bastard who had ordered Mac to be hanged. The same monster who had ordered Helba to be murdered for the crime of trying to save another life.
Balinor rolled out of sight and reached for his bow. It would be a long shot but he wouldn’t miss this time. “You’ll guide my shot, I’m sure, Helba,” he hissed. “Then you can rest.”
A gust of wind blew some hair across his eyes and forced him to pause. And what of Kirsten? The realization struck him breathless. The little prick of an officer certainly deserved swift retribution, but how would he escape the wrath of twenty-three mounted troops? Balinor sat back while his mind spun through the possibilities. If he shot the major, and his arrow struck true, and he stuck to the winding bottoms between ridges, he could draw the troops a long way off. Arundy would have his distraction.
He frowned, brushed at a frustrated tear, and regarded his faithful companion Vargas who was watching his every move through sad brown eyes, one ear flopped to the side, and one up and alert. They’d catch me eventually, wouldn’t take too long, and you wouldn’t like that would you, boy?
Vargas emitted a soft short whine.
Think, Balinor’s silent voice shouted. What were they looking for? Wagon tracks. Horse tracks. Livestock. Sheep.
Sheep!
Balinor smiled at Vargas, mounted his horse and quietly drew back from the ridge. A short ride brought them northeast of the troops with a few good climbs between them to slow the pursuers down.
Balinor remembered one of Helba’s favorite sayings: The One works in mysterious ways. Well, this would qualify as one of those times. Balinor suppressed a chuckle as he cupped a hand beside his mouth and let out a series of his very best baas and bleats. He signaled Vargas to bark, suppressed a giggle, and nudged his horse into a gallop.
“C’mon, Vargas,” he called to his dog. “Let’s give these garrison boys some farm lessons.”
Swiftly he rode for another series of valleys. He would curve away from Thunderwall and then, with some luck, draw them under the guns of their gates that Alain had told him so much about. If they took his bait, and he knew they would, Arundy would have more than enough time to get to safety.
Of course, Balinor knew he might not be as lucky. “You’ve waited forever for me to ask, Helba,” he whispered to the wind. “If you’re listening, toss me a little luck, by the One.” Then Balinor relaxed into his task and rode on.
For much of the morning, the hills east of Thunderwall rang with the cries of sheep, the yips of herding dogs, and the curses of frustrated troops.
***
Alain smiled wide and let out a long sigh when the gates of Thunderwall finally towered above them.
“Balinor did it,” he said to Arundy, who returned a grateful nod.
“Let’s hope it was not at too high a price,” the duke replied. “Do we just knock?”
Alain strode to the Highgate where, cycles before, he had ridden out with his dwarven companions. With a parade ground flourish, he raised the pommel of his sword to rap upon the stone.
“Let me do it,” a feeble brogue sounded behind him and filled Alain with joy.
Alain turned to witness Dindur standing stubbornly against gentle gusts that tugged at his silver shield. With an unsteady but determined gait, the dwarf advanced to the highgate and tapped the shield against its granite face.
“Open up, ye daft buggers,” he called out hoarsely. “There be a Pebblemaw here back from Bildugsroaming.”
The silence streteched out until a dwarven voice answered from a small hole. “Earth has roots far deeper than sky.”
Dindur coughed and pushed his voice towards a proud shout. “Earth moves when it wills and—” The dwarf staggered and started coughing.
Alain caught him before he fell and continued the phrase, “—mountains rise,” he proclaimed.
“Pebblemaw?” The voice replied then there were some unintelligible happy shouts and the Highgate began to slide open. It stopped at first position, just wide enough for a few at a time.
Alain nodded to the guards as he hurried in holding Dindur by one arm, the shield proudly displayed in the other.
“Hakarl,” came a familiar cry.
Alain looked up to see Jarl Volsun hurrying towards them both. Many others followed, though his eyes fought against the shadows to identify faces.
“By the Twelve, this is a much-needed sight,” Volsun exclaimed. “We thought you both lost. Bring healers.”
“I bring refugees,” Alain spoke quickly. “Humans who helped to save Dindur and who flee from Lornen’s cruelty.” Several sheep bleated outside the gate. “And sheep,” Alain added.
Volsun looked at Dindur’s puckered and purple scars and at the itricate runes upon the silvered shield. He whistled softly. “The mysteries speak true.”
Alain raised an eyebrow. “My Jarl, I don’t understand.”
“The shield, my boy,” Volsun replied reverently. “We were going to dispatch a mission to look for it in the Topaz Sea. And somehow it’s here?”
“Dindur found it,” Alain explained. “It has healing powers. It was keeping him alive when we discovered him.”
Dwarves hurried up with a stretcher and lowered Dindur upon it. They covered him with blankets. Following quickly was Thane Duwart.
“My son,” the Thane leaned over Dindur and hugged him firmly while Volsun gently released the shield from the young dwarf’s quivering grip.
Volsun continued to stare at the shield, moving his lips slightly as he traced a finger across its circle of dwarven runes.
; “The others, my Jarl?” Alain prompted. “The refugees?”
Volsun frowned, his eyes not leaving the shield. “Oh, yes. Bring them in and seal the gate.”
Alain waved for Arundy and the rest of the humans to enter the great hall. They stared wide-eyed at the towering engraved columns and nodded shyly as stocky reticent dwarves appeared to lasso sheep, unbuckle horses, and move wagons aside.
Arundy stepped gingerly to the warm stone floor, waved for Robi Tork and Leonara to join him, and signaled for all to kneel before the Jarl. In ones and twos, Arundy’s followers knelt slowly, their eyes still darting about at the wonders before them, tiny gasps escaping their lips. The light from the highgate thinned and vanished as the massive doors thundered shut.
Along the columns, braziers leapt to life, filling the hall with the warmth of shimmering bronze.
Volsun tore his eyes from the shield to address his newest visitors. “Welcome to Thiunderwall. We now live in the time of the Drakes’ re-awakening. This makes us all friends in the face of destruction. I will hear your stories soon. We have medicine, sustinence, and the most excellent ale for those in need.”
At the sound of ale, many of Arundy’s folk smiled at one another.
“But I will speak with your leader,” Volsun continued. His eyes rested firmly upon Arundy where he knelt. “Your people can stand. I can tell you’ve had a hard journey, and I thank you for the return of Dindur, and for this priceless shield.”
Arundy fought against aching knees to stand straight. He bowed once and his people followed suit. “We owe you our lives, Jarl Volsun. And we owe you an explanation.”
Alain stepped forward. “I also bring a message, my Jarl, from the Archivist of Graniteside.”
Both Volsun and Arundy raised their eyebrows. Volsun accepted the sealed scroll case.
“From the archivist Nialle?” Arundy asked.
Alain nodded. “I know not of what it says, Your Grace, but I know his intentions were to save those who hid from Lornen.”
“Hid from Lornen?” Arundy whispered. “Incredible.”
Volsun seemed to enjoy the exchange. “Well, lets have a good meal while I read this. And we can answer everyone’s questions for dessert.”
Arundy bowed. “You are most gracious, Jarl Volsun. Alain’s complimentary desciptions have fallen short of doing you justice.”
Volsun laughed. “Save the golden tongue for wooing. We’ve more pressing matters.” He waved his hand in the air and his voice boomed. “See to the needs of our visitors. Summon the
Thanes. Bring dinner to us in the council chamber.”
Several dwarves saluted and scurried away. Others gently led the majority of Arundy’s folk from the hall.
Alain bowed and began to leave.
Volsun held up a finger. “You, stay with me. Yer days as a liason might never be over now.”
Alain’s jaw dropped but he caught it quickly.
Duke Arundy looked towards the Highgate and cleared his throat. “May I ask one favor, Jarl Volsun?”
“Hmm? What’s that?”
“I have a man outside who may be in danger. Could someone open the door for him, if he arrives?”
Volsun frowned. “Does he know the chant of greetings?”
Alain cursed himself for failing to share that before Balinor had departed.
Arundy exchanged glances with Alain and then sadly shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so, Jarl.”
“Then, I’m sorry. Not possible. Perhaps we’ll take a look for him later.”
Arundy sighed. He trusted that if anyone could find a means to survive it would be Balinor. He nodded to Robi Tork that she was permitted to leave, but placed a hand upon Leonara’s arm. “I would like this young lady to join us for dinner. I will gladly explain the necessity of her presence when we are in more private surroundings.”
Volsun grinned. “Oh, I hope you can tolerate a bunch of bearded old men who talk bluntly.”
Leonara flashed a questioning smirk at Arundy and then fought to establish an expression of acceptance. “I am honoured,” she fumbled, “Your Majesty.”
Volsun chuckled. “Yer a bit thin fer a girl, but I still like you.” He regarded the shield once more and ran a finger around the hole at the centre of the shield. Then he smiled widely and raised his voice to address the shadows at the rear of the hall. “Have Grumm, Olaf, and Pell bring the gem.”
“Grumm and Olaf?” Alain exclaimed. “They live?”
Volsun smirked. “Yer disappointed?”
“No,” Alain erupted. “My Jarl, I am deeply grateful to hear that they are alive.”
“Well then, dinner’s going to be a lively event, isn’t it? Good tales are the best salt for meat.”
With immense relief that made his legs shake, Arundy was beginning to understand why Alain was so loyal. Volsun was an honorable fellow.
***
Balinor grinned when he saw the gates of Thunderwall rising above him. He laughed when he saw the wagon tracks, the sheep pellets, and fresh horse droppings. Then his smile faded when he looked over his shoulder to see the Hillsedge pendant flapping colourfully as it crested a ridge only a quarter league to the west. He spurred his horse up the final hills and hoped the doors would still be open.
***
Most of the Thanes had returned to Thunderwall, their duties complete. Now they gathered in the throne room around the heartstone table, its central gem gleaming deep garnet red, and its stone surface crowded with every manner of dwarven delicacy and beverage. Only Glandrew remained away to assist Beru in securing The Crossing. Volsun stared at the empty seat and hoped that it was not a poor omen.
Joining the Jarl and his Thanes were Grumm, Pell, Dindur, Olaf, Alain, and the representatives of the human realm, Duke Arundy and his ward Leonara. Volsun respected how Arundy held his eyes firm, his shoulders square, and his chin upright. He projected a calm confidence and an openness to the truth. Yet his eyes also held the ghosts of loss that seasoned humility. His ward’s eyes were hungry with curiosity, yet fleeting and shy. Occasionally, she shivered despite the room being warmed with food and light.
Volsun struck his gavel upon the stone table. “Welcome Thanes of Thunderwall. Welcome guests of Thunderwall. Welcome shield bearers and gem bearers. Although we live in the time of the drakes’ awakening, we will stand as steady as this mountain, steady for our kin, steady because we are together.”
“All hail, Volsun, Jarl of Thunderwall,” the Thanes responded.
“Well then,” Volsun leaned back. “Young Dindur’s brought us a shield that has healing properties and that the Mysteries names as an item once used to subdue the drakes.”
“That’s a mighty proud claim,” Orwen responded.
Volsun riveted the Shornedge thane with a glare. “That’s not a claim, Orwen. That’s the truth as I judge it. Dindur’s presence here is proof. This shield repelled an attack by a drake, and healed Dindur’s many mortal wounds, not just from a drake but from razorwings as well.”
Orwen’s expression softened when Dindur stood and revealed his many scars.
Leonara gasped and looked away.
“But the shield, though it be mighty, is still missing something, isn’t it?” Volsun pointed at the hole in its centre. “There’s no mistake that the workings of the One have brought both shield and gem to us now.”
“My Jarl, as I reported, the Rajala asked us to return the shield to our greatest craftsmen so that it may be reunited with the gem.”
Volsun looked towards Grumm and his father, Feldspar, Thane of the Rockbottom clan. “Can you do it, Feldspar?”
Feldspar held out his hand. “If you could pass the gem to me and lift the shield?”
Volsun stood and brought the shield closer until he rested it on the table between father and son. Olaf gingerly withdrew a blazing blue gem from his new belt pouch and placed it in Feldspar’s calloused fingers.
As Feldspar held the gem close to the opening in the shield, both surged wi
th light, and the gem pulled from his fingers to sink itself firmly into the centre of the silver disk. A concussive blast thrummed through the room, and travelled outward though the mountain. Chests shook, ale spilled, gravy spattered, and food slopped. The runes glowed deep blue for several heartbeats and then faded to argent white.
At the centre of the shield, the gem seemed to encase a deep blue flame, and its edges had melted the metal firmly around it.
Everyone raised their heads, Leonara wide-eyed and frightened, most others in various stages of relief either for the soundness of themselves, their food, or their ale.
