“We are always learning,” the cleric told him. “Those who cannot learn new things have closed their minds to new ideas.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Simon interjected, before they began arguing. “I haven't seen any children anywhere. Are they not allowed into this part of the city?”
He scanned the crowd again but there were only adults mingling, laughing, slipping in and out of shops. The square felt vibrant and alive, but there wasn't a child to be seen. He looked at the cleric and caught a momentary flash of sadness on her face before she concealed it.
“I'm sorry, Opheilla. I didn't mean to upset you.”
“I'm not upset, my friend,” she told him with a poignant smile. “Just a mother's loneliness, I suppose. My daughter is long grown and living her life on the other side of the capital. We don't see each other very often, that's all.”
She nodded at the crowd.
“As for the children, it is the middle of the day.” She glanced up at the distant, dark ceiling and back at Simon. “Well, the middle of our day underground, that is. All of the youngsters are in school.”
“Aye, but when the horn sounds, the little ones make their presence well known as they escape their daily bondage,” Shandon said with a grin. “If you think it's loud in this area now, wait until you hear it when the children are out and about.”
“It's lovely,” the cleric said with a wistful sigh.
“It's chaos,” Shandon said and Opheilla glared at him.
“Well, it is. I'm not fond of the little urchins, truth be told. Children should be seen and not heard, my father used to say. I couldn't agree more.”
The cleric began walking along the edge of the square and Simon followed, trying to look everywhere at once.
“Your problem is that you never took a wife and started a family,” Opheilla told Shandon over her shoulder. “If you had, you would have had a much different opinion of our youngsters.”
“Bah. Who has time for a family? I allowed my elder brother to perform that duty and reap the rewards, such as they were. And he never even managed to have children. Me? I think a warrior needs as few attachments as possible. Less to worry about.”
“The brother you never spoke of?” the cleric asked archly. “The one you pretended didn't exist?”
“We didn't get along,” Shandon told her with a scowl. “Let's leave it at that, shall we?”
It sounded like an old argument and Simon listened with one ear as he kept staring at the dwarves who were passing by.
A few caught his eye as they walked past, but there was no look of surprise or enmity from any of them. It was as if they were used to seeing humans in their city; something that Simon was quite sure wasn't true.
“Your people don't seem very curious about me,” he ventured to say as they made their way past what was surely a tavern. A deep-voiced chorus was drunkenly singing some martial song in dwarvish and, as they finished, loud laughter and shouting followed.
“We are a very private people, young wizard,” Shandon said from behind him. “I assure you, they are burning with curiosity, but are much too polite to stare.”
“News passed through the city about your arrival months ago,” the cleric added.
They reached the other end of the square and she entered another corridor, much wider and brighter than the last one.
“People are aware that the only living human wizard is staying with us to recover from wounds inflicted by a dragon.”
She stopped and turned to look up at Simon.
“They are quite impressed, my friend. You've become something of a hero among our younger citizens, and my weekly briefing of the ruling counsel is always well attended by spectators.”
Simon felt a blush creep up his neck.
“I'm no hero, Opheilla,” he protested. “Just a guy who's had some good luck, that's all.”
“If that's the case, then we could all do with more of that sort of luck, lad,” Shandon told him with a grin.
They moved to the side of the hallway to give the stream of people coming and going from the square room to pass.
The cleric met Simon's eyes soberly and lowered her voice.
“Luck or not, you're a bit of a celebrity now. I wanted to tell you that because, now that you are on your feet again, you will be expected to appear at the next council meeting in a few days time. It should cause quite a stir.”
“Me? Why would they want to talk to me?” he asked nervously.
“Because Shandon has a point. Your 'luck' as you call it has not only saved your life many times, it has led to the deaths of four primal dragons. The king and his council would like a first-hand accounting of those battles. Not to sit in judgment over you,” she hastened to add as she saw Simon's face become pale. “Nothing like that. But your tactics have been innovative and your results, frankly, have been spectacular. They are impressed and I believe they hope that they can learn from you.”
Simon felt scared and flattered at the same time. Put like that, it didn't sound so bad.
“I'll tell them anything they wish to know, of course, even though I doubt that they will find any of what I have to say useful.”
“Don't underestimate yourself, laddie,” Shandon said and clapped a hand in the wizard's skinny shoulder. “You helped to save our people. For that alone, I can guarantee you a warm reception at the council meeting.”
Simon just nodded silently as he watched the busy dwarves coming and going.
“At any rate,” Opheilla said, “that worry can wait. We are going to circle around and head back to your room, Simon. This has been a good beginning but you mustn't overdo it on your first day back on your feet. Follow me please.”
Back in his room, Simon collapsed on to the bed, distressed to find himself as weak as a kitten after what had been a very short walk. When he mentioned that to the cleric, she patted his hand.
“You have been in a coma for six months, my friend,” she said reassuringly. “Goodness, even walking that small distance is amazing. We kept your muscles from atrophying by constantly moving your limbs and by begging the gods' favor, but I must admit that you are in much better condition than even I could have hoped.”
Simon pulled off his robe and Opheilla hung it up for him. Then he slipped into bed again with relief. His legs had begun trembling.
“Really?” he asked. “I was really that badly injured?”
Opheilla sat down next to the bed and nodded soberly.
“You really were, young wizard. There were a few times that I despaired that you would ever heal and, even if you did, that you would be whole and able-bodied again.” She smiled at him. “But look at you now. The gods favor you, Simon. I have never, in all my years as a cleric, seen anyone so close to the brink of death brought back and restored as you have been. I dislike using the word miraculous, but there simply is no other way to describe your condition.”
Simon propped himself up on his pillows again and considered the cleric's comments. Apparently the old gods of Light still had work for him to do. He was glad. Having been to the edge of the abyss once before, he no longer feared death. The journey that lay beyond life wasn't something to be afraid of. But he had to admit that he wasn't quite ready to give up on the New Earth just yet.
“Opheilla, I was wondering if I could summon my elemental friends while I'm here. I'd really like to know how they are and what's been happening up on the surface.”
The cleric frowned and then shook her head once.
“Even if I wanted to allow you to use magic so soon after you've recovered, that simply isn't possible. You know how my people feel about the elementals now. All of our cities are warded against them. Your summoning would not succeed, I'm afraid, and you would be wasting your strength for nothing.”
The wizard sighed. Obviously the dwarves held a grudge for a very long time. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so sad.
“You do know that the earthen admire your people greatly, don't you?” he asked h
er. “My friend Kronk, in particular, is very fond of you all. It's really...unfortunate that you feel that way.”
Opheilla smooth out his quilt and adjusted his pillows before answering.
“I personally don't feel that way. I've never known any elementals, but I know of your talent for using elemental magic. I agree that it's unfortunate but what can I do? Rules are rules and I certainly am not one to break them.”
“That's the truth,” Shandon said with a twisted grin as he appeared in the doorway. “Our lovely cleric toes the line in all respects, young wizard. She would never do anything to go against the rules.”
Opheilla turned and glared at him.
“Now that is unfair, Shandon. I have pushed boundaries when warranted. But in this case, it is not. And where did you slip off to?”
The dwarf hesitated and then smiled at Simon.
“I thought that your patient might need something to help cheer him up, seeing that none of his friends are here to keep him company while he recovers.”
“That's not quite true, Shandon,” Simon told him. “You're here. And my new friend, Opheilla.”
Both dwarves appeared startled by his statement and the cleric actually blushed.
“Why, thank you,” she said a little awkwardly. “It is a great compliment to be named the friend of a human spell-caster. And for a wizard to declare such a thing, well, it is an honor.”
“Aye, I agree,” Shandon said and he actually bowed.
Simon knew that he was turning red as well but held his smile and nodded at both of them.
“And now that we've had that lovely moment,” the dwarf said from the doorway, “I have something for you, young man.”
He reached out into the hallway, grabbed something and then entered the room and approached the bed.
“I had the time while you were deep in your healing sleep to craft this for you. We have some old drawings of such things from eons ago, specifically made for wizards, and I thought I'd try my hand at it. I hope it is to your liking.”
He held the object out with both hands and waited for Simon's reaction.
The wizard stared in wonder. Shandon was offering him a staff.
The weapon was longer than the dwarf was tall and very slim. It wasn't made of wood; instead some sort of shiny metal had been used in its crafting. Inlaid into the metal were dwarven runes that Simon couldn't read, runes made of precious metals like silver and gold. The bottom of the staff boasted a wicked spike of some black mineral and, at the top, a large clear crystal pulled in the light from the torches and reflected it back in a rainbow of colors. Simon had never seen anything so beautiful.
“Shandon, it's...it's magnificent!”
He accepted the staff, expecting it to be as heavy as a length of metal should be. It wasn't. The staff was lighter than his old wooden one and Simon bounced it a few times in his palms, delighted by its minimal weight.
“My God, it's so light. What's it made of?”
“It is a secret of my people. Dwarven silver. A combination of several minerals and metals smelted over many weeks to just the right balance. It is very exacting work but the results are well worth it.”
The dwarf tapped the staff lightly.
“It is, as you have learned, as light as a feather. But it is harder than steel. Nothing on Earth can harm that metal except a weapon made of the same material.” Shandon' eyes glowed with pride. “It is an ideal conductor of magical energy and, so the old records say, will enhance a wizard's powers when used to cast spells. And I have taken the liberty of adding something of my own.”
“Which is?” Simon asked as he slowly rolled the staff along his palms, fascinated by its beauty.
“The runes that you see. My people may not like spell-casters, at least amongst ourselves, but we are not adverse to using the power in our crafts. I have imbued the staff with two specific spells. The runes inlaid with silver represent the enchantment for loyalty. Once sealed to you, young wizard, this weapon can never be lost. If it is misplaced or stolen, all you need do is call for it and it will return to you, no matter where it may be.”
“Wow. That's amazing.”
“Simplicity for a master smith, really,” Shandon said modesty.
Opheilla rolled her eyes silently behind him and Simon stifled a laugh.
“The runes inlaid with gold spell out a second enchantment; one that could prove very useful in the weeks and months to come.”
“What is it, Shandon?” the cleric asked as she stepped forward to peer at the runes. “I'll admit, I'm not familiar with that enchantment.”
“It is a very obscure one,” the dwarf replied with some excitement. “I had to dig deep into old tomes and dusty scrolls, some dating back to the early days of our people. I wasn't even sure that it existed; I had only heard rumors and vague stories from my master when I was an apprentice smith.”
“Well, don't keep us in suspense,” Opheilla told him with a touch of exasperation. “What exactly is it?”
“It is an enchantment specifically created to battle dragons,” Shandon answered and his tone became grave. He caught Simon's wide eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes. You see, do you not, young wizard? I have given you a staff of dragon slaying.”
Chapter 4
Simon spent the rest of the day and the next in bed. His first short walk had taken more out of him than he would have believed and he was simply too weak to do more than slip out of bed to use the latrine down the hall. He did manage to wash himself, which was something of a relief, and he ate as much as Opheilla put in front of him.
The cleric was encouraged and endured his complaints about his weakness with good grace.
“It is to be expected, Simon,” she told him patiently yet again. It was a few days after he'd woken up from his coma and he was rapidly becoming short-tempered; not at the cleric but at himself and his weak constitution.
“Wizards aren't known for their stamina, as I'm sure you realize by now. You must allow your reserves to build up to sustainable levels before trying anything physical, and that includes simply walking.” She smiled at him and patted his hand. “Cheer up. Tomorrow, whether I approve or not, you have an appointment with the ruling council. It isn't too far, but I assure you that you will get as much exercise as you can handle and more. So rest now and try to be patient.”
That quieted Simon down immediately. He'd forgotten about the council and now nervously plucked at his quilt.
“Are they...reasonable people?” he asked in a small voice.
The cleric laughed lightly.
“They are like any group of people. Some stubborn, some open-minded. Some irritating beyond words, others quite endearing. A good mix of personalities, I'd say. We've always chosen the council with an eye toward balance. While my people are technically controlled by a monarchy, we elect our own council members. The king, of course, has the final say in all decisions, but he defers to the council members in most things. Usually he acts as the tie-breaking vote if the council is deadlocked about some matter or other.”
“The king is going to be there?” Simon asked, his stomach knotting with anxiety.
“Perhaps,” Opheilla said with a gentle smile. “It's hard to say. With the battles on the edges of our territory heating up, he is often in the field, checking troop positions and boosting morale, that sort of thing. I have no idea if he is even in the city at the moment, so I can't really say whether he will be there tomorrow or not.”
“What's he like?”
The cleric smoothed her clothing before she answered, looking pensive. She was wearing a pale green robe today and it reflected in her blue eyes, making her look younger than Simon thought she was. She smelled faintly of some flowery perfume.
“The king is...a good person. No one can argue with that. But he is also intractable in some ways. This rule about keeping the ban on elementals is a good example. There are many in the council who wanted to appeal to the elemental realms in our recent conflict with the mutated dra
gons and their new allies, the water elementals. It was believed that if we contacted you and asked that you act as an intermediary, we might have stood a fair chance of gaining some aid.”
“Really? My name was brought up?”
Opheilla smiled at Simon's surprise.
“Yes. As I've said, you are well known here. But the king would have none of it.”
She stood up and began to walk slowly around the room, appearing restless.
“Our ruler is a traditionalist. The decision to bar the elementals was made thousands of years ago, before magic disappeared from the world, and makes no real sense anymore but because it is entrenched in our laws, he has refused to change it.”
She opened the closet and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door.
“That same mindset is responsible for the lack of magic-users among my people,” she told Simon as she frowned at her reflection. “While we do have the occasional seer or enchanter, talents that are at least tolerated here, a mage or wizard has not existed among us since ancient times.” She turned her head to look at the wizard. “If people are born with that amount of magical talent these days, they hide it most carefully. Granted, magic itself has only been returned to the world for a handful of years, but my people are still leery of those who can use it.”
Simon pushed himself up higher on his pillows.
“But what would happen if someone just embraced their powers? You know, acknowledged their abilities. What would your people do to them?”
Opheilla sighed and closed the closet. She walked back to the bedside and sat down.
“Banishment,” she stated flatly. “It hasn't happened in a very long time, but historical accounts are quite specific, as are our laws. Unacceptable magical behavior will be punished by the perpetrator being turned out of the city, escorted to our borders and left there. I doubt that the innocent souls who faced such punishment long ago lasted very long. There were a lot of deadly creatures out there in the dark, and now they are returning.”
Tales from the New Earth: Volume Two Page 4
