by RG Long
And in their own ways, they had proven themselves more than a little helpful.
Jurgon, with his great skill in cooking, was enough to please any dwarf with Gorplin's appetite. Also, though he hardly said more than two words at a time, he was a skilled Speaker. A Speaker was one who could do magic by combining the right words and the right piece of Rimstone, a magical and mysterious rock found on Gilia. He had saved their lives once with his skill and been able to grant them passage to Beaton when it seemed nearly impossible.
Though Jurrin was neither a Speaker nor quite as skilled a chef as Jurgon, he was good company. To Gorplin, that was reason enough to have him along.
“Bah,” said Gorplin, answering their question with a smile. “He'll be along when he's good and ready. You saw the mess outside. Got a lot on his plate.”
He had been trying to be cheerful, but it was for the sake of the halflings’ spirits as well as his own. They had lost a comrade on the journey. Gaflion, longtime faithful servant to the country of Thoran and steadfast warrior. The old fool had sacrificed himself so that they could escape an onslaught of demon hounds.
The loss had been hard on all of them. The task of finding the dwarves and requesting their aid so that his sacrifice would not be in vain was all that kept Gorplin moving forward.
That, and the knowledge that two halflings out in the wild wouldn't fare too long.
So now they waited for an audience with the king of the famed dwarven halls of the north. Gorplin had heard tales of these dwarven cities and forges.
When they had first walked inside the hall, Gorplin's breath had been taken away. He was accustomed to fine rooms and dwarven architecture, which made the best use of a cave's natural pillars and columns. This hall was, however, the finest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Dwarven kings of old were carved into the ceiling supports. Their mighty stone hands held shields and maces. Their crowns held the mountain above them and their boots met the solid floor. Tiles were laid on the floor in intricate patterns.
An odd rumbling could be heard every so often. The two halflings looked up at Gorplin, concern showing on their faces.
“Never mind that,” Gorplin said. “Sometimes we dwarves get a bit carried away with our mining and excavating. Bah. Probably four stories beneath us, dwarves are mining a new vein of gold, or else trying to get to one.”
They went back to looking at their surroundings, their fears assuaged.
Jurrin and Jurgon were fascinated with the floors as much as they were the mosaics on the walls. Battles between goblins, elves, and even rival dwarven clans, before the mountains were unified under one banner, were depicted in beautiful detail.
What made Gorplin all the more impressed, was that this was just the entry hall. One room in the hall. They hadn't even seen the throne room of the king yet. What could top such a wonderful room?
Some dwarves, carrying papers, were moving from one side room to another.
A dwarf in brilliantly polished armor from head to toe came from the tall door on the south end of the ancient hall. With long strides and military style marching, the warrior approached the trio, who waited by a large, beautifully carved column that was made in the likeness of the second king of the unified dwarves: Grinain Ironhand, Goblinbane.
“The king will see you now, Gorplin, son of Thorplin, from Kaz-Ulum. Your attendants may follow us inside his chambers,” he said in a mighty voice that echoed throughout the hall. “Come this way.”
The soldier turned on his heel and marched back towards the door he had come through.
“I didn't know Jurgon and I were your attendants, sir,” Jurrin said, scrunching his eyebrows as he followed the armor plated dwarf. “Think we ought to tell him he's got it wrong?”
“Bah,” Gorplin replied. “Probably just got confused when they were talking about us.”
In reality, Gorplin was very sure the dwarf thought he had two attendants with him on the journey. Halflings were not unknown to the other races on Ruyn, just rarely thought of. The dwarf had not told the two that he was someone of importance back with the dwarves of the south.
But he also hadn't told these dwarves about that either.
He wondered how they knew that he was the son of Thorplin and that he hailed from Kaz-Ulum.
Odd as it seemed, it didn't prepare him for what he saw when he entered through the door and into the room of the king.
“Mister Gorplin, sir,” Jurrin managed as they followed him through the portal. “What's that?”
“That...” Gorplin said after he took a deep breath and steeled himself to approach the king who sat on his throne. The ornate stone carving and gold that inlaid the chair, as well as the stairs that led up to the seat, were a true marvel to behold. But the focus of the three newcomers to Grandun-Krator was on the beast that took up at least half of the gigantic chamber.
Its scales were red. A deep rumbling filled the chamber as its body moved up and down rhythmically, matching the gusts of air that shot from its nose. That explained the rumbling they heard earlier.
Massive horns came out above its ears and smaller ones extended out of its mouth. Great yellow wings rested against the wall and the floor and a tail curved around the throne and nearly met them at the door.
The very air it exhaled was hot on their skin.
“That is a dragon.”
12: Dwarven Halls
“Welcome to Grandun-Krator,” the dragon said in a mighty, deep sounding voice. “The Dwarf Lord Thuda, Son of Thakadar, welcomes you to his throne.”
Jurrin took three steps back, as did Jurgon.
“Bless us, sir!” he said in shock. “It talks!”
Gorplin backed up and put his hands on the two of them, softly patting their shoulders and easing them forward.
“Indeed,” he replied. In a hushed voice, he leaned down to them. “Best not call it an ‘it’, though.”
A hearty chuckle filled the cavern. Both the dragon and the king who sat on the throne were laughing. The dwarf lord was nearly a reflection of the dragon. His hair was fiery red and his eyes sparkled with the light of the torches that lit his chamber. He wore kingly robes of red and orange. Intricate runes of gold were woven into the fabric and along the edges of the robes. A golden rope was tied around his waist. The symbol of the dwarves of Grandun-Krator was centered on his chest: a golden hammer on top of a mountain.
“You are a wise dwarf, Gorplin, Son of Thorplin, from Kaz-Ulum. You are welcome in the mountain of the dwarves. You and your wards need not fear me nor Nidashma, here.”
The dwarf who sat on the intricately carved throne put out his hand to indicate the dragon. With very purposeful movements, the beast rose slightly and nodded its head in salute.
Gorplin was, for a moment at least, speechless.
“It's an honor, sir,” Jurrin said, bowing his small frame to the dragon.
“Yup,” Jurgon echoed, mimicking his halfling friend and bowing.
King Thuda cleared his throat.
"Ma’am," he corrected Jurrin, motioning to the dragon with his hand. "Nidashma is the finest dragon mother I've ever seen."
If it were possible for such a creature to do so, Gorplin would have said that the dragon was smiling at them. The dwarf finally found his tongue.
“My father told me many stories of the dwarves of the north. He described your vast halls and beautiful mines. He told me nearly everything about the grand halls we would find here,” Gorplin said as he approached the throne, coming closer with every step. The two halflings followed him closely. He came to the bottom of the stairs and bowed low. He stood and faced the great beast, looking in its large, yellow eyes. “But he never told me of a dragon.”
“Do not fault your father,” Thuda said, standing to his feet and returning the bow the three had given him. “Nida, here, has only been at Grandun-Krator for a century. If I recall, you are now just in your one hundred and twentieth year?”
Gorplin shook his head in bewilderment.
&
nbsp; “You know so much, great king,” he said. “How is it that you know of my family and my origins?”
The king descended the steps until he was level with the visitors. Four guards, two on each side of the stairs stood at attention. They were armored in the same polished metal as the guard who had told them to see the king. Even their faces were protected by large helmets that had noble dwarven masks crafted into them.
“Your father came here on expedition, seeking to learn of our mines and our crafts,” the dwarf lord said. “He was a skilled metal worker himself, if I remember.”
The dragon gave a great sigh.
“I came many years after your father would have visited,” she said in a booming voice. It echoed throughout the chamber and shook Gorplin's chest as he listened. “There was much I needed to learn of Ruyn and the dwarves who mined here.”
Gorplin nodded, though for what reason, he wasn't sure yet. He was still in shock that a dragon was here before him. He had heard tales of dragons, but they had always happened on faraway continents like Redact and Irradan. Never on Ruyn.
“What brings the son of Thorplin to my kingdom?” Thuda asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
The reason they had come.
It had been so long since they had set out from Thoran with the blessing of Teresa, daughter of the slain monarch who had sheltered Gorplin's people in the midst of terrible violence and destruction.
Now it was time to make his plea. Not just for Thoran, but for his people.
“King Thuda of Grandun-Krator,” Gorplin said, again bowing low to the dwarf in front of him. “We are in need of your armies.”
"THIS IS NO SMALL REQUEST you make of me," Thuda said as they walked along one of the hallways that led away from the throne room and its dragon. The trio walked alongside the king as he made his way through the winding paths of the dwarven city. Though on the outside it appeared to be nothing more than a great mountain with an unusually large and well-crafted door, on the inside it was a sprawling capital city.
Thousands of dwarves call this place home, Thuda had told them. And they defended it with their lives.
"In the last two months alone, goblins have organized and attacked our settlements many times. Only with the help of Nida have we been able to repel them."
They descended a large staircase that opened into an enormous chamber filled with a network of interconnected walkways and stairways.
Jurgon whistled at the sight. The echo of the sound joined with hundreds of other dwarves who went up and down the stairs, tending to their daily business. Any who came close to the king stood at attention and bowed until he passed them.
"Don't you ever get lost in here, king, sir?" Jurrin asked.
Thuda laughed heartily at the question.
"At first I did, young one," he answered. "But I have tread these halls for 300 years. If I wanted to get somewhere badly enough, I could probably walk there in my sleep."
Indeed, the king hardly looked where he was going. Instead, he kept pointing out various statues of former kings who had done great deeds or a mosaic that depicted an especially memorable battle.
"Ah," he said as he pointed out a mosaic that span from floor to ceiling with a door carved into the scene.
"This is the battle of my great-great-grandfather, Goblinbane, when he defeated Red Eye, the troll chieftain."
A dwarf stood with a mace in one hand, held high in the air, while his other hand rested on the giant head of a defeated troll. In the background, hordes of goblins and dwarves fought each other in a grisly scene. Fires burned all around them.
"Hard to tell who won that battle, sir," Jurrin said sadly.
Thuda's voice was slightly agitated as he questioned the halfling.
"What do you mean it's hard to tell? Can you not see Goblinbane and the creature at his feet?"
Thuda pointed out the dwarf Lord, as if Jurrin hadn't seen him properly. The depiction was over four stories tall.
"Oh it's not that, sir," Jurrin said with a look of surprise at the king's frustrated tone. "It looks like all the dwarves are winning right in this scene, but how many of your comrades fell, sir?"
For a moment, the dwarven king was silent as he stared at the halfling, and then at the mosaic on the wall. Several dwarves stood at attention below and above the steps, as they waited for their king to pass.
Finally, he answered.
“Enough to ensure a glorious victory.”
With that, he walked underneath the scene and through the door it surrounded.
Gorplin patted Jurrin on the shoulder, who was still looking at the scene with a sad expression, and then followed after the king.
As soon as they entered through the large iron double doors, they were met with the sound of hundreds of chisels, hammers, and other mining tools, clinking away at solid rock and other minerals.
They had entered the fabled mines of Grandun-Krator.
A great circular chasm met them, almost as soon as they walked through the door. Dark brown rock faded into black as the hole went further and further down. Wooden beams and trusses encircled the chasm and spiraled downward. All along it, dwarf miners and workers went up and down the walkway. Some pushed carts, others carried bags or picks or hammers.
All the while, the clink of chisels and other tools for mining echoed throughout the deep chasm.
Many workers called out at the sight of the king walking in their midst. Some important looking dwarves came over to them and bowed deeply.
“My Lord!” one called out after they stood again. “Are you here to inspect the stones?”
This dwarf was aged, but hardly looked like it. He moved along as if he were the same age as Gorplin, though his wrinkles betrayed him. His hair and beard were gray to the very last strand, but his back was not slouched and his eyes were bright. This was an old dwarf who loved mining as much as he did breathing. He held himself as one who has earned his position of importance, not by arbitrary appointment but by skill and skill alone.
This dwarf was a miner among dwarves.
Thuda nodded and stroked his long beard.
“Yes, Thrank, I think I will,” he said as he looked around at the workers and miners. “Bring me the latest load over to the viewing table.”
Thrank, the aged dwarf, bowed again, and then turned and began shouting orders to the dwarves who were nearby.
“Viewing table, sir?” Jurrin asked as he looked after the dwarves who had run off. “Is that where you look at the gold that you mine?”
Thuda moved closer to the railing that kept them from falling impossibly far down into the chasm below.
“We don't mine gold here, little one,” the king said, motioning them to come closer to the chasm and look down into the depths for themselves.
Gorplin and the two halflings walked forward and leaned over the rail as far as they dared.
Below them, they didn't see veins of gold or silver. No metallic shine reflected in the light of torches and lanterns that faded far below them and out of sight.
Minerals, every color of the rainbow, glowed dimly from the rock in which they were encased. Carts of the deepest blue were followed by brilliantly colored rocks of red and yellow. The greatest thing the dwarves of Grandun-Krator could pull from underneath the mountain was not a metal, nor was it a gem or natural stone.
These dwarves mined Rimstone.
“Mister Gorplin, sir,” Jurrin asked as he gazed downward at the sight of the magical stones being carefully removed from the earth. “Did your father tell you what these dwarves mined?”
“Bah,” said Gorplin. “Course he did. And I never believed him until just now. I thought it was fairy tales.”
Thrank returned with a bag and placed it on the viewing table: a solid stone slab that was carved with intricate dwarven runes.
“No fables or legends here,” the king said as he escorted them to the table to view the raw stones that Thrank had placed there. Two blue ones the size of Gorplin's fist
. Three yellow stones half that size. Finally, a deep red stone, the color of the last light of a sunset.
They were arranged in order from largest to smallest. Thuda picked up each in turn and looked at them with careful scrutiny. After turning one in particular in his hands several times, he held it close to his mouth and Spoke a word of magic to the stone.
A bright flash of light came from the rock. The room filled with the blue light, and even seemed to still be illuminated after the shine faded back into Thuda's hand.
Jurgon looked at them all, wide eyed.
Gorplin saw the look in the young halfling's eye. He knew that he carried a small wand of sorts, with a piece of Rimstone on the end of it. The rock was no larger than Gorplin's thumb.
These all made his precious magic gem seem minuscule by comparison.
Thuda must have seen the glint in Jurgon's eye. The dwarf lord smiled at the little one from Big Tree.
“Armies I may not be able to grant,” he said as he placed the rock back on the viewing table. “But what I do have in plenty I offer freely.”
He turned and looked Jurgon in the eye.
“Are you a Speaker, lad?” he asked him.
Jurgon gulped and bowed his head respectfully, though he still just said, “Yup.”
Thuda chuckled.
“Our tour of the mines and skill of the dwarves is only at its beginning!” he said boisterously. “Choose any stone on the table as your own, Jurgon, Halfling from Thoran. Not only shall it be yours, but I will personally oversee its crafting.”
Gorplin's eyes went wide, though not quite as much as Jurgon's.
The halfling could hardly know the value of what the dwarf lord had just offered him.
With steady hands, Jurgon pointed at the red stone, and Thuda nodded.
“Thrank!” he called with his booming voice.
The dwarf miner briskly walked over to answer the call of the king.
