Ren of Atikala: The Empire of Dust

by David Adams

  “I’ll live,” said Dorydd. “But shit of the dead gods, their axes are sharp.”

  I turned my gaze to Queen Orirbela. “Well,” I spat, “I hope my display pleases you.”

  “I had hoped for more fire,” she said, a tinge of regret in her voice.

  Well then. I closed my hand, summoning a tiny golden ball of light in my hand. I stepped towards her, right to the base of her throne, and I threw it at my feet.

  A wave of flame enveloped me, a flash-heat that ignited the dress I wore, igniting it. I activated my wings, lifting off and away from the tattered ashes, naked and wreathed in flame, flying up until she and I were seeing at the same level.

  “Better,” said Queen Orirbela, the edges of her lips curling up in a smile.

  “Then I expect,” I said, fiery wings beating in the air, “that you will treat me with greater fairness in our future dealings.”

  “Fairness?” Orirbela seemed amused by the notion. “Do you even know what you’re asking?”

  “I understand fairness,” I said, breathing in the smoke rising from the ruined dress. It felt good to burn it.

  “Do you?” said Orirbela. She twisted around and reached into a recessed part of her throne, withdrawing a round disc of cheese that couldn’t possibly have fit within it.

  My nose wrinkled. I hated the stuff. Not for its taste, which was truly delicious, but for its origins, which were…best not discussed. “What does this have to do with anything?” I asked.

  “Everything.” Orirbela took out a dagger from her hip—identical to the one the dwarven guards had—and traced across the surface of the cheese. “Humans typically practice strict division. They give all parties an equal slice. Strictly equal.”

  “Kobolds do as well,” I said. “In this respect we are the same.”

  “Mmm. Dwarves are different. My people divide it according to need: the hungriest mouth gets the biggest piece. This, we feel, is more equal. The tall do not starve, the short do not grow fat. Equality of need.”

  “I see.”

  “Orcs divide differently than humans and dwarves. The one who made the cheese receives the most; this rewards contribution and encourages community.” She smiled thinly. “And cheating.” Orirbela put down the knife. “This is equality of contribution.”

  “Neither of us are orcs. Nor are we set against them.”

  Orirbela’s shoulders slumped, and I sensed that, genuinely, I had disappointed her. “The lesson was not how orcs think. It was that other people, other cultures, do things differently. The lesson is that things can be different than strictly equal, but still fair.”

  “Very well,” I said.

  Orirbela cut another piece of the cheese. “Then there is equality of preference. Say the cheese is to be divided between an ogre and an elf; elves prefer the body of the cheese, while ogres prefer the rinds. Both can survive on their respective undesirable parts, but why not give both what they want, even if the rind’s share is so much less than the cheese itself. Equality of preference.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Good,” said Orirbela. “And understand, Ren of Atikala, that you will be treated with some degree of fairness, but it will not be that to which you are accustomed.”

  “As you desire,” I said. “Humans will do no better.”

  “Humans…humans. The problem with humans…” She slid a piece of cheese into her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully, then put her finger to her lips, as though in deep thought. “It’s not really a problem with them per se.”

  “I am confused,” I admitted.

  “I’ll try to explain.” She tilted her impossibly thin neck until it cracked. “Dwarves, by and large, are creators. We build. We mine. We forge. We are also summoners…” She gestured to her large demon eidolon. “We call. We bind. We control. We are patient and wise. In this we are the same as humans; when they choose to create, they’re industrious, hard working, and tenacious. But when they choose to destroy, they are wild, savage, and unrelenting. That’s not the problem.”

  “So what is the problem?” I asked.

  Queen Orirbela narrowed her eyes in thought. “Do you have any children?”

  “No,” I said, “although I consider Valen my child, even if we do not share blood.”

  Valen looked at me. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. He did not look pleased by this admission.“Then he is as much a child as any you have brought into the world,” Orirbela said. “Creating life is hard. Trying to have and raise a child is a difficult task, not for the feint of heart. Controlling a child is harder. We all outgrow our parents, Lady Ren, and you would know a lot about that, I imagine.”

  I ground my teeth together. Word of my relation to Contremulus had spread even to here. “Some amount, yes. But what does all this have to do with…anything?”

  “Killing someone else’s child,” she said, “is easy.”

  “I don’t think all humans are childkillers.”

  “No, no. However, humans may till the soil and plant crops, or they might administrate and organise. Eventually, though, all humans discover that rather than farming for a year and earning an honest living, it is much easier to walk to the nearest dragon’s den, and then stab the occupant to death and take their horde for themselves.”

  “I have no horde,” I said. “And dragons with a horde worth envying are hardly children. But I understand.”

  “It is good that you do,” said Queen Orirbela.

  Slowly I descended, sinking back down to the scorched stone that stank of burned dwarf. Dorydd was bandaging her wounds with Valen’s help. Her wounds did not appear as serious as I had first thought…or Dorydd was truly tougher than the stone she walked upon.

  “Will you aid us, Queen Orirbela?” I asked.

  The queen sat silent on her throne, and for a time, I thought she might refuse me. Then, she smiled ever so slightly.

  “I will dispatch three hundred of my soldiers to the coming battle,” she said, “along with a handful of our battle-mages to transport them. Derodohr will arrive with the reinforcements, and to negotiate the trade which shall begin when your city is safe.”

  “Very well,” I said, dipping my head politely. “Then by your leave, Queen Orirbela, I should probably not keep my wizard waiting any further.”

  “What purpose do servants perform except to answer your whims?”

  I had no adequate answer to that. “Wizards can be capricious,” I said. “It is best not to keep them waiting.”

  She smiled, genuinely. “That is most certainly wise. Then, by my leave, I dismiss you.”

  “I await the arrival of your troops,” I said.

  “And I await the first shipment of your deep ore,” she said. “In fair trade, for services rendered initially, and later, in exchange for metals, gems, and surface goods.”

  “Of course.” I bowed my head low, and then turned away from her.

  “Get my stuff,” I said to Valen. And then, still naked, I walked out of the queen’s hall and away from the city.

  CHAPTER XIV

  MANY DWARVEN EYES WATCHED ME as I walked away from the feast hall and towards the main gate. They seemed less concerned with the smoke rising out of the main doors and more concerned with my nakedness.

  I didn’t care. Smoke trailed behind me as I walked, ashes of the dress drifting away from me like snow. I marched with purpose, striding towards the exit.

  Salviana was waiting for me, once more riding her litter.

  “I’m assuming from the fire and blood,” she said, a false smile on her face that reminded me of Sirora, “that your negotiations went well?”

  “Scorchingly,” I said, unable to resist.

  Salviana’s expression didn’t change. “I see. Well, then the event was a success.”

  “You don’t seem surprised by this,” I said, pointing over my shoulder at the rising column of smoke. “Do all your diplomatic endeavours end in fireworks?”

  “Some,” she admitted, “but only fo
r the most successful diplomats. Most do not walk out of the queen’s hall.”

  “Are you not worried for your queen?”

  “It would be a tragic error,” said Salviana, “for you to assume that Derodohr is the most dangerous creature in that room. A summoner spins their eidolon’s form from the stuff between the stars, shaping it as they will. Queen Orirbela needed the most threatening fiend she could conjure to distract from her own power.”

  Her withered body, seeming barely alive, stuck in my memory. But so did the strength with which she held up her heavy crown. “What if I were an archer?” I said. “A stray arrow could have ended her.”

  “Your hypothetical arrow,” said Salviana, “would have struck an invisible, impregnable wall of force set just before the throne. Assuming it could penetrate it, or you could detect and bypass it, she is warded beyond consideration, powerful glyphs and spells and enhancements, so many she presumably barely remembers them. Attacks against her would be returned with electrical energy. She is warded from all forms of energy and magical attacks…and if she felt vaguely threatened, well, the entire room would become a field of anti-magic. A field her eidolon was glyphed to be immune to, of course.” She shrugged. “And all this is what has been discovered and made public. Many more defences remain.”

  I digested all of this. I normally slept in my room unguarded and without any kind of magical wardings at all. My nature was fire, not pure arcane arts.

  “It is good,” I said carefully, “that I am not, in fact, an archer.”

  “Do not fear,” said Salviana. “You do your job well.”

  “I did not enjoy it. Killing dwarves left a bitter taste in my mouth.”

  “And yet you did your duty, as was expected of you. I learned two things from my father: one, when I sit down for supper I ask myself…did I earn this meal today? Even if my job is just to greet the guests, I do it like I am going to be paid a million gold for it; you can hate your job, but love your work.”

  I wasn’t sure what the distinction was. “Kobolds have a saying too,” I said. “Work completes us as we complete it.”

  “An interesting sentiment,” said Salviana, “given the bloodshed at your hands.”

  Unsure of how to answer, I dipped my head to Salviana. “A fair comment, fairly stated. I bid you good day, Lady. I hope we meet again soon, under favourable conditions.”

  “As do I,” she said, and then her litter carried her away.

  “A storm’s coming,” said Dorydd, appearing by my side. Her hip was bloodied, and she walked with a limp, but there was strength in her yet. Valen was with her, his arms full of my armour. Dorydd carried the heaviest pieces.

  “The weather looks fine to me. We won’t know for sure until we get outside.”

  “That…wasn’t what I meant. I meant that war is upon us. Sooner than we might expect.”

  I started picking pieces of armour off Valen. “What am I to do?” I asked. “I am already seeking allies, strengthening our defences…what more would you ask of me?”

  “A wise leader knows when to fight,” said Dorydd, “and when to flee.”

  I scowled, pulling on an armoured glove. “I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.”

  “I mean,” said Dorydd, “that we should abandon Ssarsdale. Move your people into the tunnels. Relocate. Strike out at Contremulus when he’s not expecting you—where he won’t see you.” She gestured around, to the under mountain. “Look at this place. Look at the strength of its gates, the might of its soldiers. It is weathered, beaten, scarred…the dwarves within are hard. But Irondarrow Keep has endured nothing like what you plan to face.”

  “We will endure,” I said. “We always do. Kobolds are accustomed to loss. To sacrifice.”

  “A wise leader—“

  “A wise leader knows when to stop listening to their advisors and act!” Would she never shut up? Would anyone ever stop trying to talk me to death?

  To my surprise she smiled. I hadn’t seen her do that in a while. “That is actually good advice.”

  I struggled to pull on my greaves. “Good.”

  The huge gates of Irondarrow Keep groaned as they opened, the sound reverberating in the closed off under mountain. I felt like a fool, half dressed, so I wiggled out of what I’d put on and carried it.

  We walked past the bones, past the gates, and then they shut behind us. Vaarden waited where we had arrived, floating three feet off the ground, his legs folded beneath him. His face was a mask of impatient contempt.

  I began to walk towards him, not looking back.

  “When we return to Ssarsdale,” said Dorydd, “we should talk more about how I can help you strengthen Ssarsdale’s defences. Hopefully the time you’ve spent here has been illuminating.”

  I certainly had learnt a lot. “That would be excellent. I have a lot to learn.”

  Dorydd touched my shoulder affectionately as we walked. “Start tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I grimaced. “I’m tired. Wounded.”

  “Learning this will take time, Ren. If you cannot force yourself to start today and have to wait until tomorrow, tomorrow will never come.”

  “Then,” I said with a weary sigh, “I will start tonight. The first thing I want to find out is how someone could live that long and still be so strong.”

  Dorydd shook her head. “Appearances are deceiving, but not even the highest magic can hide the passage of time. The queen is old. In a few decades she will be dead.”

  “A few decades? She looked like every breath she took could be her last.”

  She eyed me curiously. “You sound like you want that.”

  “I could take care of it for you?” asked Valen. “I could sneak back into the city. A wall of force is a substantial barrier, but—”

  I silenced him with a glare. “No,” I said to him, then looked to Dorydd. “But if she does die, will her heir be more accommodating?”

  Dorydd took a deep breath. “No,” she said, with a tone that hid something within it, “they would not.”

  “Salviana, I presume.”

  “No,” said Dorydd. “Her brother. I know him well. He would be a poor king.”

  There was something else to her words, but I couldn’t place it. “What’s a king?”

  “Our leaders are called queens and kings, for females and males, respectively.”

  “At what point do you call yourself a king?”

  “You don’t, lass. Other people call you that.”

  I wasn’t sure what Dorydd was trying to tell me.

  “The queen sent soldiers,” said Valen, his tail swinging behind him. “What more could you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just feel like we could have gotten more.”

  “Don’t be greedy,” said Dorydd. “You know the strength of the dwarven people first hand. Irondarrow is giving you an edge, not fighting the war for you.”

  “Still,” I grumbled.

  “If you’re concerned,” said Dorydd, “we can see her again in a year.”

  That was far, far too distant. This whole thing would be wrapped up in a month. Weeks, possibly. “Can we not be more expedient?”

  “Change takes time.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Dwarves are patient folk,” Dorydd said. “The young become adults, they work, change, grow a society. Then their time passes, they become elders, and they die so a new generation can make their mark. Progress comes one funeral at a time.”

  “Some funerals could come more quickly than others,” I said, a little more bitterly than I intended.

  Even Valen seemed surprised by my tone. “Like I said, if you want her dead—“

  “No,” I said, both to him and myself. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s just…” I didn’t know why I felt so bloodthirsty all of a sudden. The queen had shown me a fraction of her power. I’d barely won against her first rank of guards, let alone her eidolon, or her magical wards—most of which I had not even an idea about.
<
br />   It would have been crazy to attack her.

  So why did I keep feeling like I should?

  “Are you all right?” asked Valen. “You’re not going to pass out again?”

  I took a deep breath. “No. I’m fine.”

  Dorydd reached down and patted his snout. “Leader Ren is just tired,” she said. “The stress of command. Dwarves have a saying, heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

  That made sense to me. A crown was merely a round band of metal; it didn’t provide protection, sat loosely on the head, and was easy to knock off, and didn’t even keep the wearer’s hair dry. Some crowns had spikes, but they were useless for headbutting. Their queen’s was a good example—thick, heavy, iron…

  “Your people should forge lighter crowns.”

  She went to talk, but Vaarden cut her off.

  “What are you babbling about?” He waved a large hand. “No, do not answer. My patience is at an end. Are we ready to leave?”

  The sooner I was out of here the better. I reached out for Vaarden’s hand. “Let’s go,” I said. “Take me back to Ssarsdale.”

  Vaarden took my hand, cast his spell, and we were whisked away back to Ssarsdale in the blink of an eye.

  We appeared in the central bazaar of Ssarsdale, the shadow of the ruined central spire towering over us. Almost instantly, the hum of magic filled the air. A dwarf man, his hair flowing down to his feet, appeared right beside us in the centre of town.

  Fearing another intrusion, the kobolds around snatched up their weapons. But I recognised his clothes. The golden dagger of the Thunderhelms emblazoned on his chest.

  “Wait,” I called. “He is from Irondarrow. Our ally.”

  The strange dwarf, seemingly unconcerned for the kobolds gathered around him, withdrew a small pouch and hooked his thumbs around the outside. He stretched it far wider than one should normally be able to, until it became a doorway. From that doorway came a column of dwarven soldiers, and at the tail, the enormous demonic eidolon, Derodohr.

  “Welcome,” I said to them all.

  The dwarven spellcaster examined the ruined tower with a curious eye, pinching his nose. “What in the name of the dead gods happened here?”