The Rover

by Mel Odom

  Wick looked up but saw only blue sky overhead. He’d heard the thunder earlier in the day, but it had never sounded this close. “Was that a storm?” he asked. “And if it is, where is it?”

  “That’s no storm,” Brant responded. “That was the volcano.”

  “Volcano?” Lago asked. “You didn’t say anything about a volcano when we talked about this little trip over the mountains.”

  Brant shrugged. “The traders I talked to thought the volcano might have gone dormant.”

  The thunder rolled again, sounding more powerful this time. The little librarian felt the fierce cannonade vibrate through his body. A volcano? Something worried at the back of his mind, some half-buried memory of a description he’d read at the Library. Although he’d never found a single detailed source describing Dream, the city mentored by the Changeling race, he’d still read several different accounts of the city—and the land and sea surrounding it.

  Just as Wick knew of the Silver Sea sailors, he also knew of the Broken Forge Mountains. Only the mountain range hadn’t been called the Broken Forge Mountains then any more than the Forest of Fangs and Shadows had been called the Forest of Fangs and Shadows.

  The little librarian turned to the thieves. “There may be another way.”

  Brant’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Once, a long time ago,” Wick said, growing more certain as he put the pieces together in his mind, “these mountains were called the Iron Hammer Peaks, named for the dwarven clans that mined them.”

  “Dwarves, you say?” Lago asked, rubbing at his face and thinking about it. “My memory goes back a long time, and that of my clan stretches even further, young halfer, and I’ve heard stories from sailors and warriors and traders in all these parts. But not one of those stories has ever mentioned the Iron Hammer Peaks.”

  Wick stepped closer, hobbling because of his injury. Somehow, he felt he had to convince the little band he’d fallen in with. He didn’t want to see any of them die, and—to his way of thinking—the tunnels snaking through the mountains offered a surer, faster escape.

  He summoned all his conviction and stood before the group of thieves, making himself forget that he was smaller than them, weaker than them, and to remember that he was a Librarian at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Not only that, but he was an experienced Third Level Librarian, not some wet-behind-the-ears Novice. He made his voice stronger, trying not to think about the Purple Cloaks riding toward their position even now.

  “They probably haven’t been called the Iron Hammer Peaks,” Wick began, “since a time before the Cataclysm, before Lord Kharrion summoned the arcane powers that sundered the land known as Teldane’s Bounty and caused it to be renamed the Shattered Coast.” He looked out over his audience, knowing his words had captured their attention if not their belief. He kept the desperation from his voice as Grandmagister Ludaan had trained him to do.

  A Librarian’s greatest tool is his mind, Edgewick, Grandmagister Ludaan used to say. But his next greatest tool is the manner in which he uses the knowledge he spends all of his life seeking and finding.

  Focusing on his presentation, Wick ignored the dull, throbbing pain in his wound. “The Goblin Lord’s hatred for Teldane’s Bounty was immense. All the dwarven, elven, and human forces that had dared face his goblin hordes in those last dark days after the fall of the Western Empire had taken refuge there. The desperate warriors regrouped there, all of them driven from hearth and home, riven from kith and kin, with only the Gentlewind Sea at their backs and no way for all of them to cross. When Lord Kharrion had finished his preparations, he unleashed the greatest spells of the Cataclysm and destroyed Teldane’s Bounty.”

  The volcano rumbled in the distance.

  The thieves, including Brant and Cobner, jumped at the sound.

  “The ravages of the earth sank much of the coastline into the Gentlewind Sea,” Wick went on. “Whole villages dropped into the ocean and were never seen again. A fleet of ships, standing by in scattered harbors to continue the work the warriors had done to preserve what they could of their histories and lives, was reduced by huge waves to flotsam and detritus. And further south, Dream, the Changelings’ city where all races lived in peace, barely stood against the volcanoes that belched death from the sea floor. The proud Black Shields, the mountains that had protected the Silver Sea and the daring sailors that had lived there, crumbled and were lost beneath the waves. In one violent surge, the Silver Sea burst its boundaries and drank down the sailors and their families that had made their homes there for generations. And the Silver Sea rose as the land shifted, till the waters lapped at the feet of Dream, drowning all the humans and dwarves that lived in the lower regions.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brant said. “How does this help us now?”

  “Dream was the unification of the three greatest races in the world at that time,” Wick said. “Before you stands the dangerous woods that you call the Forest of Fangs and Shadows. But then the forest was called Bliss Arobor, and it was one of the largest sylvan homelands of the elves. It was also one of the oldest areas.”

  In the distance, the Purple Cloaks broke free of the wooded cover. They still followed the trail as surely as wolves tracking blood scent.

  Wick shifted his pack, terribly aware of the books he carried, and that he couldn’t allow them to fall into goblinkin hands. Yet if it came to it and I had no choice but to destroy them in order to prevent that, would I have the strength? He didn’t know.

  The little librarian gestured to the mountains behind them. “Here in the Iron Hammer Peaks, as they were called then, there lived the Iron Hammer dwarven clan.” He eyed the dwarven thieves among Brant’s group, and walked briefly up and down the line that they made like a general in front of his troops. “Anyone of dwarven blood that was born within five hundred miles of these mountains might well be of Iron Hammer blood stock.”

  Cobner drew himself up straighter. “I’m from the Swift River Hollow clan. Less than two hundred miles from these mountains. The goblinkin wiped out my clan, but as long as one of us yet lives, we can rebuild.”

  Wick nodded. “That’s how the Iron Hammer clan thought. When they saw that Lord Kharrion could not be defeated that day, and everything they’d fought for and crafted in Dream could not be held any more than the humans could hold the Silver Sea or the elves could hold Bliss Arobor, they left the Iron Hammer Peaks and moved to other lands to regroup and rebuild as is the dwarven nature.”

  “You’re not saying that they ran, are you?” Cobner asked.

  “They didn’t run,” Wick assured the big dwarf. “The dwarven clans have never run from a battle, only positioned themselves at the ready to once more take up the fight. And they did at the Cataclysm. Iron Hammer Peaks clan members struck back at the end of the Cataclysm and helped end Lord Kharrion’s threat. But by that time, many clans took on new names because the Iron Hammer Peaks held only death and nearly emptied mines.”

  “What good does knowing this now do us?” Brant asked. “Assuming it’s true.”

  “It’s true,” Wick said, meeting the master thief’s unspoken challenge. “And it matters because I know the Iron Hammer Peaks clan cut tunnels through these mountains to allow trade between the eastern and western territories.”

  “Do you know where one of these tunnels is?” Brant asked.

  “I think so.”

  Brant hesitated a moment, glancing back at the Forest of Fangs and Shadows. “Then let’s get moving in that direction. Going through the mountains will be easier than going over them. Safer, too.

  “And there’s a chance the Purple Cloaks may not know of those tunnels.”

  Stepping into his horse’s stirrup, the master thief pulled himself into the saddle. The beast fidgeted, stamping its hooves nervously, ready to be on the move as well. “Mount up.”

  Gamely, Wick tried to haul himself into his horse’s saddle. Unfortunately, his wounded backside made it nearly impossibl
e to get up. Cobner leaned down and grabbed him by his backpack straps, then pulled him into the saddle.

  “Thank you,” Wick said.

  “Take the lead,” Brant instructed.

  Wick hesitated only a moment, then pulled his horse’s head around and headed south. Librarians weren’t meant to be actual expedition leaders. I’ll go in the direction of the noise of the volcano. if things haven’t moved around too greatly, I’ll find one of those tunnels there. He hoped they still existed.

  Sonne urged her horse beside the little librarian’s, matching his gait. She carried a crossbow at the ready in her free hand.

  Wick gazed up the steep slope of the mountain. Please let the tunnels still be there.

  20

  Dragon Myths

  If so much work had been done here,” Sonne asked after the group had been under way for a few minutes through the wooded foothills of the Broken Forge Mountains,”why didn’t the Iron Hammer Peaks dwarves return to these mountains after the Cataclysm?”

  “They didn’t return because death was here,” Wick said quietly. His horse’s hooves rattled against small rocks that had been mined from the area and spilled down the mountain. For a moment he was almost convinced that the horse was going to tumble over the side of the small trail they’d found that led slightly above the treeline to the right.

  “You’re talking about the dead men left here?” Sonne looked confused.

  “No,” Wick answered. “Death itself. After Lord Kharrion sundered Teldane’s Bounty and created the Shattered Coast, he also made a bargain with Shengharck.”

  “Who is Shengharck?” Sonne asked.

  “A great and fearsome dragon,” Lago answered. “Surely you’ve heard of him.”

  Sonne shook her head. “Dragons don’t exist.”

  Wick started to respond, but his horse stumbled on loose rock and slid sideways for just a moment. The animal’s muscles bunched and surged beneath him. He grabbed onto the saddle pommel fretfully.

  “Dragons do so exist,” Lago replied fiercely as Wick managed to resume an even keel and a position that favored his wound. “Why, dwarves and dragons have been at war with one another longer than elves and humans even knew the critters were about. Shengharck is the reputed King of the Dragons.”

  “Faugh!” Cobner stated from just behind Wick. “I think that’s a story embellishment. Dragons don’t have anything resembling kings. They don’t get along too well between themselves, always warring and arguing over rights to lands and hunting areas. I’m just glad there aren’t many of them left.”

  “I’ve only heard of dragons in stories,” Sonne said. “No one I know has ever really seen one.”

  “Most who do see dragons wind up dead,” Lago said. “Why, it’s lucky we are that we have any information about them foul beasties at all. Dragonkin aren’t overly tolerant of those that intrude on their lands. Upon occasion, dragons have destroyed whole companies of the fiercest dwarven warriors you could ever hope to meet.”

  “But you’ve never seen one,” Sonne protested.

  “A sailor never sees the wind that pushes his vessel either,” Cobner said. “Yet the wind is there and he uses it as he sees fit. The problem with you humans—and I offer no disrespect here, Sonne, because you know I think highly of you—is that your lives are too short to properly appreciate everything you see and hear and do. Why, a community of humans hardly has time to learn from their own mistakes before a whole new generation comes along and makes those same mistakes all over again like they’d just been smithed.”

  “You don’t believe this Shengharck is King of the Dragons?” Sonne said.

  “No,” Cobner agreed. “But I do believe that dragons exist.”

  “And why not a Dragon King?” Sonne persisted.

  “Because it is said that the Dragon King receives fealty from all the other dragons,” Cobner said. “I know that dragons aren’t civilized creatures; they’re solitary monsters. They hunt and feed and demand tribute for their own pleasures. They’re evil, with no thought but for themselves. No man may ever befriend one or conquer one.”

  “Evidently Lord Kharrion did,” Sonne said. “Unless Wick’s stories aren’t true.”

  “Lord Kharrion didn’t befriend Shengharck,” Wick jumped in quickly, wanting to guide the conversation back to more pertinent ground and to get the story back around to the facts. I didn’t say Lord Kharrion befriended the Dragon King, did I? He sighed. Sometimes talking to the thieves was like presenting material to a group of hardheaded Novices who only wanted to prove a teacher wrong so they could be quickly on to greatness. “The Goblin Lord made a bargain with Shengharck after Teldane’s Bounty was destroyed.”

  “I thought you couldn’t bargain with dragons,” Sonne said.

  “At times,” Lago said, “it has been done. But only as a last resort. Dragons will not be used, and they are very treacherous. If there is any room to break a bargain to a dragon’s advantage, the foul creatures will.”

  According to some of the books Wick had read, the dwarves knew first hand of a dragon’s deceitful nature. There were some scholars of all races who contended that the dwarves had been allies of the dragons in the beginning, only to find themselves later betrayed. Of all the races, the dwarves had the least use for dragons.

  “What was the nature of the bargain Shengharck struck with Lord Kharrion?” Hamual asked from further back.

  “Shengharck lived in the north,” Wick told them, remembering the stories he’d read about the fearsome dragon. “King Amalryn united the Western Empire further up the coast. The unified armies there killed two lesser dragons in that area. One of them was Shengharck’s child.”

  “You’ve got to understand,” Lago said, “dragons don’t really experience the love a father feels for a child.” The old dwarf blinked when Sonne gave him a hard look. “Or a mother feels, neither. But they do have their pride about such things. A dragon’s life spans thousands of years. There are some that claim the fierce beasts are eternal, as ageless as the Old Ones themselves.”

  “And others who say that the dragons are kin to the Old Ones,” Cobner added. He spat, and the spittle flew out over the trees below. “That’s a particular view I choose not to share. I can’t imagine the dwarven deities having anything to do with dragons.”

  “It’s said,” Brant put in, “that the first dwarves stole the secret of forging steel from the dragons.”

  “True,” Cobner said, and his thick chest swelled with pride. “That I can believe. Only a dwarf would have a need so great and bravery enough to do that.”

  The other dwarves quickly agreed.

  “Anyway,” Wick said, seizing an opportune moment to leap back into the conversation, “Shengharck long held enmity against the elven, dwarven, and human races. Although Lord Kharrion had destroyed Teldane’s Bounty, there yet remained the threat of Dream, which stood in the south.”

  “Hanged Elf’s Point, you mean,” Baldarn said.

  “The city still stood as Dream then,” Wick returned with stern politeness. “Dream was the grandest city in the south, just as Cloud Heights in Silverleaves Glen was the grandest city in the west, and people of all races loved the city and the lives it made possible. Despite the ravages of the Goblin Lord’s arcane spells, Dream yet stood, and it drew an army to its walls.”

  The little librarian heard his voice echo against the tall wall of stone the mountain made to his left. Eagles left their aeries above, giving careful watch over the interlopers that had chosen to travel through their territory. The clop-clop-clopping of the horse’s hooves served as a counterpoint to his words.

  “Massacring the remnants of the Western Empire armies took time even for Lord Kharrion’s goblin horde,” Wick said. “While those men gave their lives along the Shattered Coast, Dream pulled another army to her walls, embracing all who would take up arms against the approaching goblinkin. A bloodbath washed over all the broken coastline, but it flowed relentlessly toward Dream.”

&nb
sp; “By the Old Ones,” Hamual swore quietly, “how many goblins were there in Lord Kharrion’s army?”

  “More died in those last dark days than lived to tell of the victories they’d had,” Wick said. His mind filled with the grim narratives he’d read of those forced marches and skirmishes. There had even been journals saved that had been written by generals who’d fallen on the front lines. “But the goblins left no enemy alive behind them, no village unburned, no farm or orchard left unblemished and unsalted. When they were finished, nothing lived again in those places for a hundred years and more.”

  “I’ve heard it said,” Rithilin stated quietly, “that if a man knows where to look around Lottar’s Crossing, the scars of that march can still be seen.”

  “I’ve been told that some of the beaches along those coasts were first started from the bodies of the men who fell there,” Cobner said. “That if you go out far enough, dig down deeply enough, you will find the skeletons of goblins, dwarves, elves, and men that make up the foundations of those shoals.”

  “Yes,” Wick said. “The remnants of the Western Empire’s armies and those who’d taken up arms in Teldane’s Bounty were forced back into the Gentlewind Sea as far as they could go. Then they were killed, without mercy, without quarter. For a time, the Gentlewind Sea was supposed to have run red with the blood of those who died there. By some accounts, the dwarven, human, and elven warriors took down two or three goblins each before falling themselves. They were trained troops and they battled with the desperation of warriors defending their families.”

  “Their families were there?” Sonne asked.

  The thundering roll sounded closer when it filled the mountains again. Rocks tumbled from the higher reaches of the mountain, and Wick thought he could feel the ground shiver beneath them.

  “The families of most of them were there,” Wick said. “In the beginning, the Western Empire had arranged for ships that would take their families to safer lands.”

  “Where?” Brant asked.