by Clark Graham
A Human rider came into camp in the morning and so Verian had to go see what he had to report. He was holding his aching head, but not moaning. Istuin, however, was moaning and complaining and he didn't care who heard it. When Sarchise arrived to hear what the messenger said, he seemed to be fine.
"How can you be that well? You had more to drink than I did.?" Verian asked.
"In all my time with the Dwarves I have learned how to handle my ale."
Verian just shook his head and Istuin let out another groan.
The messenger was looking around the group, not quite understanding what had happened in the night, but needing to give his report anyway. "The Trolls have barred the doors. Our history tells us that when they barred the doors last time, they no longer came out to attack, up until the time that the Elves moved to the mountain. Aron and his men will come in tomorrow as he thought that you would be in front of the mountains by then."
Verian spoke up, "Tell Aron to give us three days; we will rest our forces here until tomorrow and then get an early start."
"Very well. " The messenger got on his horse and rode off.
The Elves and Dwarves stayed in camp that entire day with some of the Elves inspecting the ruins of Morgus Tier. The once proud town had all of its walls still intact except for the one section that the Trolls had knocked down. They also searched for the body of Bellios and found his remains against the wall next to the corner of the wall. Istuin looked down sadly at him. “He stayed behind to slow down the enemy; that is what got him killed.”
Verian replied, “In the end it did not matter whether he stayed behind or not, the Trolls wanted to destroy the buildings more than they wanted to kill at that point.”
“So much senseless destruction, as Chancellor Kolis said, only because we wanted some wine like we had in Elvenshore.” Istuin said.
“Kolis is a very negative person, but this time, correct,” Verian replied.
Verian had some of his men remove the body of Bellios and some of the other dead that they found in the town and bury them on the hill where the Humans had buried their dead. They then left out the gate. It was hard to maintain morale when they whole world of the Elves had been destroyed.
Sarchise had seen the completeness of the destruction and could only imagine the beauty of the town when the Elves were in their heyday.
A March into the Forest
In the morning, both camps packed up and marched out together. The Elves were having to walk slow to let the Dwarves keep up. They respected the Dwarves and enjoyed their company. Heads still aching from the ale, Istuin and Verian vowed to never go to another Dwarf bonfire. Marching through the forest was a different experience for the Dwarves. In Elvenshore there were trails, but no roads; here there was a well-kept road. They came across a swath of broken trees. They surmised that this is where to Trolls had come through on their way to and from the mountain.
They camped that night in the middle of the forest. It was a thick forest with a lot of undergrowth and it was hard to find enough room for both of the armies off the road. When the Dwarves saw that the Elves simply cut out the underbrush to make room, they followed suit. Soon everyone was settled and the Dwarves went out to find food. The forest was hard to get through, but they found game plentiful.
Again, both camps headed out the next day at the same time. After midday, the armies were marching out of the thick forest and looked up to see the mountain looming above them. It was tall and made of solid rock. It was as if a giant in the sky had sat down his favorite rock as he passed by the Far Shore. Sarchise kept staring at it; he had never seen anything like it. It seemed almost twice as tall as High Mountain on Elvenshore. There was lots of vegetation on the fertile hills leading up to the mountain, but on the mountain itself, there was none. The roots of plants could not penetrate the dense rock.
It was near dark when the armies arrived at the base of the mountains where the Trolls had made a trail up to the hillside. No one had yet looked to find the doors that led into the mountain. The Elves saw that the dead of their Calvary still lay upon the hillside, both horses and warriors. They sent out a burial team to take care of the bodies of the warriors, the remains of the horses they burned. The Village that had been built upon the mountainside had seen a lot of Troll attention. There was not one stone that was piled on another and every stone had been scattered far and wide. Every piece of wood had been burned. It was as though there had never been a village there in the first place.
The Humans had already made camp and were waiting for the arrival of the other two armies. The three armies settled in for the night.
Verian had half expected to see the Trolls attack them in the night and had his soldiers stationed to give them early warning, but the Humans knew that the doors to the mountain had been closed and the opening of the doors would wake them, so they all slept very well.
This morning Verian called a counsel of war and got all of the leaders together.
“Here we are. The mountain did not stir during the night,” Verian started out.
“The doors to the mountain are now closed; we felt them do so, just like they felt them of old,” Aron replied.
“Are we still sure we want to go into the home of the enemy?” Verian asked. He was looking for hesitation for the groups, mostly the Dwarves. It was no his desire to do this.
“Going underground comes second nature for the Dwarves,” Sarchise replied. “It is time to take the battle to the enemy’s house. There is not much left of this land. I can only imagine the beauty of it, having seen the Elf cities in my homeland.”
“Then I guess we will have to cut our way in as they did not leave the doors open,” Verian replied.
Sarchise smiled, “That won’t be a problem, I have the best workers of stone anywhere.”
When the meeting broke up, Sarchise and fifty of his best stone masons headed up the hill following in the tracks of the Trolls. The trail led past an outcropping of rock. When they passed by that, they could see two massive stone doors, high enough for a Troll to pass through without having to bend down.
The masons tapped the stone, trying to see how deep the doors were. They could not tell, so they started in cutting a hole with chisels and bores. The masons worked in shifts around the clock. When it was dark, Sarchise came down from the mountainside and went to sleep. In the morning, he ate a quick breakfast and then made his way back up to the mountain to watch the progress.
By then the Dwarf stone masons had cut a small hole all the way through. The door was about two feet thick. Sarchise watched as they expanded the hole and made it big enough for an Elf to walk through without having to bend down.
Into the Mountain
Verian could not believe that the Trolls had sat in the mountain and allowed the Dwarves to cut a hole through the door. After acting so aggressive about the building of a small village on the side of the mountain and then sit there and allow an enemy army to gain access to their base, didn’t make sense to him. Still that is what had happened had happened and he gathered up his men and stood shoulder to shoulder with the Humans and the Dwarves ready to enter into the mountain home of the Trolls. They didn’t wait for morning because it would not matter whether it was day or night inside the mountain. With torches lit, they marched in single file through the hole in the door. First the Dwarves, then the Elves, then the Humans.
The passageway opened up once they were inside. It was wide enough for all three races to walk side by side and was the height of a Troll. The inside looked as if it had been chiseled out by enormous tools. As they marched the the passageway increased to that when the group held up their torches they could barely see the top of the chamber. The walls were nearly straight up and down, and there would be nowhere to hide in the event of an attack.
The armies slowly made their way down to the end of the chamber. There was no sign of the enemy. When they arrived at the end of the corridor, there was a short Human, in a tattered robe and with a gold staff s
tanding there.
The group approached the man warily. When they were near enough he spoke. “I am Goran, spokesmen for the children of the mountain. Who dares enter here?”
Sarchise stepped forward, “I am Sarchise of Elvenshore, asked by the Elves of this land for help in fighting an evil foe that kills and destroys without provocation.“
“Provocations? The Elves built a village on the home of the children of the mountain.”
“They did not know that anyone lived in the mountain.”
Goran glared at Verian, “Then they are fools.”
Sarchise ignored his gesture towards Verian and said, “The punishment does not fit the crime, so we have come to end this war once and for all.”
“Leave the children alone, they are all hurt, they are sick and dying,” Goran insisted.
“Dying?” Sarchise asked.
“See for yourself, they are around the corner.”
Sarchise and the other leaders rounded the corner, they were hit immediately by the smell of rotting flesh. When they looked there was a great hall with an empty throne at the end of it. Lining the walls were eleven Trolls sitting on the ground, some on each side of the hall. Massive torches lit up the room. Each of the Trolls had red and swollen feet. Infection had set in and all of the Trolls were sweating badly. Puss was oozing from their wounds and some of them had already died and turned to stone, including the one on the far end with a missing toe.
A healer of the Elves came up and asked Verian, “Do you want us to try and save the Trolls? we have medicine that will help with the infection.”
Sarchise cut in, “Let them die, they have done enough evil. They would not hesitate to kill again if we saved them.”
Goran was displeased at his words. “They were not all bad, just protective of their home. They did not attack the Humans because I told them that the Humans had done them no harm.”
Aron looked into Goran’s face and saw something familiar, “When came you to live here?”
“I was captured when I was a boy. They attacked my village and killed many, but took me and six others prisoners. At first we were their slaves, but then we were given our freedom to come and go as we pleased. We were all ashamed to go back to our homes after having served the children of the mountain for so long, so we stayed. I am the last one of those that were taken. All the rest have died.”
“From what clan do you hail?” Aron asked, even though by looking at his bone structure of his face, he already knew the answer.
“I am Goran Tewl.”
“Then you are my uncle,” Aron replied. “We thought that you and the rest had died, although we never found your bodies, and I tell you right now, you will be welcomed home warmly.”
Goran got a sad look on his face and slowly shook his head back and forth, “I will stay here. I would be ashamed to go home. You are young and idealistic, to some I would still be a traitor.”
“Are there more of these monsters around?” Sarchise asked.
“They are not monsters, just angry. No, there are no more. The mother and the father of the mountain lived here when I first arrived, but they were old and the mother was now barren. She had only had sons over the years, so when she died, there was no hope of a next generation. The father died many years later. The children were always angry and looking for a fight, so when the Elves moved onto the mountain them they decided to destroy them.”
“That’s where they made their last mistake,” Sarchise said.
Hemlot was looking around and liking what he saw. “When the children are all gone, I think that some of my warriors and their families will move in here and keep you company.”
Goran was stunned, “I had thought that I would live the rest of my life alone, I would not mind some company.”
Verain stiffened, he did not like the idea, but when he thought about it for a minute and the fact that it looked that gold had already been found in the mountain, by the looks of Goran’s staff, he then relaxed. ‘Maybe there would be some gold to work if the Dwarves lived in the land,’ he thought.
Helot turned to Sarchise, “Do you want to be King under Mount Ealdwine?”
Sarchise just shook his head, “I just want a quiet life in the Lost City with my family.”
Hemlot smiled, “You married a Valkyrie and you expect a quiet life?”
When Istuin heard the words he was taken back, “Valkyrie? Lost City? You have a tale to tell, my friend.”
Sarchise started at the beginning, “I was hunting in the woods one day with my fellow Royal Scouts…”
A Political Treachery
It had been hard for the Elves that had fled to the swampland to rely on the Humans for their support. They had been a proud and self-reliant nation before. The Humans didn’t seem to mind, and it seemed even as if they were enjoying the opportunity to learn more about their Elf neighbors. It had been a chance to exchange ideas and other things such as food. The Elves had never eaten fish, which was the main staple in the swampland. They found it very delicious. They even liked it more than some of the Humans did that were not from the swampland. The Elves too shared a recipe. They had found the seeds of a particular plant that grew in the forest made excellent bread. There were none of those plants on the swampland, but there was a similar plant. The plant was not used by the Humans as a food source so there was an abundance of it. When they tried making that type of bread with they found it worked very well and soon they Humans and the Elves were enjoying the loaves.
For Mauric, it had been a nightmare getting there. The endless mud and the days on the road had taken a toll on him. When the Humans had given him a mud hut to live in he had thought his world was coming to an end. Something he had always looked down on was the mud hut of the Humans and had refused to go inside one in the past. He did not have much of a choice this time as he was caked in dry mud and his clothes were filthy. He had no other option so he gave in, even though he thought it was beneath him.
When he walked into the one hut he had been assigned to he was surprised. It had a wood floor and paneled walls. The beams of the roof made it look rustic and the round design distributed the heat of the fireplace evenly. He had now changed his mind about the structures and was even contemplating using these structures until the Elves could get back on their feet and rebuild.
News from the war was getting to the swampland by way of Darnic’s group of volunteer horsemen. It was a particularly sad day when the news of Darnic’s death reached the Humans of the swampland. He had been a great man among his people and among the Elves, so both races mourned his passing.
When the news that the situation looked like it was stabilizing after the battles in the village of Vil Mawe, Mauric knew that his window of opportunity was rapidly closing. He had a plan to gain power and he had to act on it before the war was over.
He called the Elves of the swampland together in the center of the village that the Humans had supplied them. When they were all gathered, he began his speech. “Greetings, people of the Elves, the survivors of this horrible war that is upon us. I, Mauric, had urged the Chancellor not to let the Elves build on the side of the mountain, but he did not listen to me. He did not listen to the wise counsel of Darnic either and so now we find ourselves exiles amidst the Humans. We have been driven and killed by a monstrous beast, and have been forced to flee to the only safe place that could be found.
“We find that we are now ruled over by a man who has only driven horse teams for his occupation. He was made Chancellor by a badly injured, and almost certainly on the influence of a pain potion at the time, Armurous. Our laws state that as soon as practical, we are to elect a proper Chancellor by the voice of the people. Since those that have fled to Elvenshore may or may not return, and since we are the only ones guaranteed to still live on the Far Shore when all this is over, I say that we elect a Chancellor in exile. Thus we will have a government in place as soon as this horrible war is over, a man that can help us rebuild our cities, our nation and our li
ves.
“There is no reason to wait, we can have a government in place from day one after victory is achieved. What say you? All those who will support me as their new Chancellor raise your hands.”
There was a lot of grumbling in the crowd, but since Mauric had handpicked his supporters to come with him on the ships from Vil Mawe, he held the majority of those present and was elected Chancellor of the Far Shore.
His first act was to send a proclamation, by riders, throughout the land detailing his election as Chancellor and after that he appoint two counselors and start planning for the future of the nation.
The Humans just shook their heads about how that happened. A lot of them had met Mauric did not like him because he was demanding and looked down on them. They did, however, like the Elves they had met and seemed to get along with them well. Those Elves that had fled to the swampland always would have a special place in their heart for the Humans that had saved them.
A Night Under the Mountain
The Elves and the Humans had marched out of the mountain to start their lives over again, but Sarchise and the Dwarves lingered behind until they were sure that the last of the Trolls were dead. It gave Hemlot and his men a chance to explore the caverns for themselves. They liked what they saw. There was an underground river in the caves behind the throne of the Trolls that had been a food source and a source of water for the beasts. Goran showed them all of the caves and caverns that he knew about.
Hemlot came to Sarchise one night. “Do you suppose that the Elves will let us stay in this mountain?”
“I would think that they would be so grateful for what you did for them that they would not object,” Sarchise replied.
“There is a nice stones in this mountain that has, in the past, given us ore bearing rock. It is a matter of finding it, but that is what we Dwarves do best.”
