The Obsidian Axe: Prelude to the Prophecy

by Patrick Sattler

Draegos opened his eyes and sat straight up, his long, curly hair frizzy from the sweat, and he turned to look at his friends. They both sat there dumbfounded at the dwarf's sudden movement. After a few moments, Greffel spoke to the now-awake dwarf.

  "Draegos? You all right, man?" Greffel asked, moving to the dwarf's side. Glorýa sat upright in her bed as she watched.

  "What? Oh! Yeah," Draegos replied, blinked twice, and then lay back down. His eyes sat transfixed on the ceiling, holding on to the image of his dream, and he slowly breathed.

  "Is he in a trance, sis?" Greffel asked Glorýa, who only shrugged, as they watched to see what would happen next.

  Draegos recalled the last events that transpired over the last week and slowly he asked, "Did we make it to Nýa'Bín?"

  "Aye, we did, thanks to you," Greffel responded.

  "Glorýa. Is she okay?"

  "I'm all right, dwarf, again thanks to you," she replied from her bed.

  "How many days was I out?" Draegos asked. He shifted in his bed and prepared to sit up.

  "Seven days," they both responded.

  "Dor'Úátá?" Draegos barely asked while continuing focusing on sitting up.

  "I've sent word. The dwarfs are evacuating the Citadel," Greffel offered and continued, "They are awaiting your arrival. Marshal Gulan'Mór has two hundred Marauders holding the keep. All one thousand five hundred thirty-six dwarfs were saved because of you, Draegos."

  "Any word from them lately?" he asked as he sat up slowly, his hands were bandaged, and he carefully began unwrapping them.

  "Those who fled have settled in a nearby town of Nuáth'Lý. No word of any activity. All is quiet on the mountain," Greffel explained.

  "New Hope," Draegos whispered as he sat looking at the wall. He was having a hard time reconnecting.

  Glorýa tilted her head to the side and called out to Draegos, "What was that?"

  Draegos turned to look at his green-eyed friend. A deep warmth flowed throughout his body, and he softly smiled as he saw the glowing gear mark on her forehead. A tear rolled from his eye, as he knew what that meant, and he spoke as he held back a cry. "It means 'New Hope' in Ar'Ko'Nýan." Then he wiped the tear away quickly and choked back the sadness. "That's a fine idea," Draegos said to no one, but everyone heard him.

  "What's he on about?" Greffel looked at Glorýa and asked, pointing his thumb at the dwarf.

  "He's walking between worlds, brother. Give him a few minutes to fully come back."

  "Oh . . . more of that Mystic stuff huh?"

  "He's unlike any Mystic I have ever come across, Greffel. You and I have seen our share of them over the years. Draegos is different. Very different."

  "I'll say he is. I'm going to go downstairs and get some food. You want some?"

  "Yes, I would. I am famished!"

  As Greffel left the room, Glorýa returned her watchful gaze to the dwarf. He's changed so much over the last few weeks, she thought.

  Draegos turned his head towards the gnome and winked, then added, "Not as much as I will have when this is all done."

  "You can hear my thoughts?" Glorýa asked while she sat wide-eyed in wonderment.

  "No, but the spirits can. I see the mark, you know," Draegos said as he pointed to her forehead, tears welling up in his left eye.

  "What mark?" she asked, as she turned and grabbed a silver mirror, checking her forehead, but seeing none. She slowly stopped feeling her forehead and turned toward the dwarf. "What is going on, Draegos?"

  "The Crimson Moon Prophecy," he replied, and then he wept. He cried for his people, whom he missed, and wept for his parents, whom he would never hug or hold again. He let it all out as he wept for Glorýa’s future death, and he cried at the loss of all light. Most of all, he cried for all the innocence that would be lost. Glorýa held him close and slowly rocked the broken dwarf, stroking his hair, and softly whispering words in his ear.

  "You have lost so much, friend," she whispered. "Hold high, my friend. You will survive."

  He let out a sob as he heard those last few words, adding mentally, but you won't. He pulled the gnome close, and cried into her shoulder for a few minutes, relieving himself of the long-held burden. He pulled away and wiped his tears. Looking deep into her green eyes, he gently cradled her face with his left palm.

  "You have the most beautiful green eyes. I could get lost in them." He looked longingly into her eyes.

  The sadness overwhelmed her, tears welling up in her eyes as she also knew. She returned the loving gaze with her own and added, "Then, when we are done, what say you and I take a night and swim in each other's eyes?"

  He held his face still as she said that, knowing full well it would never come, and instead replied with, "That's a deal." Sadness crept into his eye, and he turned away before she could glimpse it, just as Greffel came back with a plateful of food.

  "Is our Dwarven Mystic back yet?" Greffel asked Glorýa as he placed the plate on a small end table for the two.

  "Aye, as close as he'll be. Mind your thoughts," Glorýa said as she scooped up fresh strawberries and gillyberries. The two together made for a tangy-sweet taste.

  "Eh..? Whatever. Draegos, there is someone here to speak with you," Greffel said abruptly. He then left the room and brought back a dwarf, a minstrel.

  "My name is Dýn'Gál, Magi to the Marshal Gulan'Mór of Dor'Úátá. He sent me here to make sure that what you say is true, and I can tell by the look in your eyes it is so. Grave news indeed, my brother dwarf, Draegos the Wanderer. It is true then, the loss of the two northern citadels?"

  Draegos saw the mark on the dwarven Magi's head and nodded slowly. He looked over at Glorýa, and she saw the tears in his eye.

  "Not all is lost," she began as she looked reassuringly at Draegos, "because you all still have one Citadel left. How soon before you can go, Draegos?" she asked.

  The dwarf shook his head and seemed to come out of his reverie, replying, "I am okay to travel, just let me get my things together and gather my thoughts." The others nodded and filtered out of the room to let the dwarf be.

  He placed his feet on the ground, his fused toes hurting from the cold stone floor, and he put his hands on his knees. He sat, back straight, and took several deep breaths. He closed his eye and focused on light, bright energy. He took this energy deep into his being and felt it flow through his entire body. Slowly, he reconnected with his spirits, drew in their energy, and centered his being.

  He opened his eye and went about dressing in his clean clothes. He tied up his high, soft leather boots, wrapping each one in a wolf pelt, then adorned his tunic and hooded cloak. Finally, he put on his pack, grabbed his wide-brimmed black hat, and placed it on. He then tied his ax to his belt and headed downstairs to undergo the next part of his journey.

  As he descended the stairs, he heard a crowd of people cheering and clapping as he entered the tavern room. Everyone stood as the dwarf landed on the main floor and they thanked him for saving so many. As he made his way to the two gnomes, people patted him on the back and shook his hands. He approached the two and smiled broadly, as they stood in new suits of chain armor, and he whistled at them as the crowd dispersed.

  "Fancy!" he exclaimed. They were finely made shirts of chainmail, the color of the purest silver, with just a hint of magic that was used on them adding a few protections.

  "Well, we have one more for you," Greffel said as he pulled out another shirt.

  "They are a gift from a dwarven armorsmith. We saved him, and his family's lives, so he rewarded us with these." Glorýa informed Draegos. Draegos removed his outerwear and put on the beautiful chainmail shirt, then tunic, finishing with his cloak and hat. He stood there, an enigma of a dwarf, and the room grew silent. One by one the people knelt before the dwarf as he gazed around the room, and each prayed for his success. Glorýa motioned for the trio to depart and leave the tavern.

  As they exited the tavern, Greffel pointed to a group of horses and called out to Draegos, "These are our new horses. Ho
pe you don't mind that I used some of your gold, but we'll ride them instead of the wagon. Faster." As he spoke the words, he motioned his head upwards to emphasize the word faster. The three mounted their horses and prepared to ride off when Dýn'Gál trotted up.

  "May I travel with your group?" the Magi asked.

  "Of course you can, brother dwarf, but we all mind ourselves, understood?" Draegos responded.

  "Completely," Dýn'Gál answered.

  As they prepared to leave, Draegos noticed Glorýa wrapping something up in a cloth and placing it into a saddlebag.

  "What was that?" he asked her.

  "Our contingency plan," she stated and dug her heels into the horse’s side to spur her into movement. Draegos followed suit and got in line behind her and Greffel, as Dýn'Gál picked up the rear. Once they were out of the town, they dug in their heels and broke out into a full gallop. They were on their way to Dor'Úátá.

  After several hours of hard riding, they slowed to a walk so the horses could relax, and Dýn'Gál leaned towards Draegos and spoke, "Perhaps we should sparingly use our magic, so we don't have to rest as long."

  "Good idea. I'll ride up and tell Glorýa, you inform Greffel of the plan," Draegos responded. He nudged his horse’s side and sped up, calling out to Greffel and telling him to drop back, as he rode by Glorýa's side. The road was barely wide enough for two horses, but they were able to manage the space.

  "Dýn'Gál suggested we keep our spell usage to only dire situations," he informed his gnome friend. She nodded in agreement while holding her stare forward.

  "How are you holding up?" Glorýa asked after a lengthy silence. She sat relaxed in her saddle, gently holding the reins as she moved with each step of the horse.

  "I am sore but doing alright. Sorry about destroying your old packs. 'Twas the only materials around to make a stretcher for you two," he softly spoke. He kept his eye forward, but something kept dragging his thoughts behind them. Nervously he looked over his shoulder, only to see the other two companions. He scanned the area with his good eye and took notes on the scenery.

  The Shield Mountains were known for their Iron Pine trees. This majestic species of tree grew to an astounding seventy-five feet, sprouting many branches and pine needles. Their dark metallic green color allowed them to soak up the light of the sun during the hard winter months. The pine needles were robust enough to be used as darts, as by the Sylvan and Ghern people, and the bark was very hardy as well, which was great when building structures or wagons.

  Only two months were free of snow in the Shield Mountains, and so by mid-winter, there were several huge drifts. The Long Road was kept clear for passage by a group of local Martyrs who used wagon-pushed wedges, which helped keep trade flowing all season. The Southern Realms were full of chivalry and honor and possessed equally dark and sinister plots, but none rivaled the sheer size of this set of mountains.

  As Draegos focused forward again, he noted tracks of various animals along the sides of the road. He thought about what he had learned as an apprentice of flora and fauna of the Southern Realms. In this particular part of the world roamed cave bears, ice lynxes, winter wolves, longhorn sheep, Mýd'Rým deer, several species of fox—snow, ice, and red—along with a wide assortment of seasonal flora. The tracks he had seen were those of an ice lynx, and it was big, standing half his body at the shoulders.

  "Sorry about spending your gold to replace them," she winked and said back.

  He chuckled and replied, "Good. I always wanted someone to spend all of my gold."

  "Dwarfs always attract gold. It's a fetish for them." She jeered back and laughed.

  "No different than a gnome and their love for gems!" he shot back, joining in the laughter. They both sat staring forward, neither wanting to think about what they both knew. So as they rode, they chided each other and laughed as they learned to love each other, at the moment. But soon it came time to bring the horses to a full run, so they lined up one after the other and spurred their horses into action.

  They rode with intensity and purpose, stopping only for a few hours at night to rest the horses. As they traveled higher into the Shield Mountains, the scenery changed from iron pines to scrub oak, and sparse vegetation disappeared as the snow grew deeper. Even the animal sightings became rare the higher they traveled, and on the eve of the sixth day of the journey, they rested a full night, setting up camp in a small canyon. Glorýa brought out the wagon, placed it in the center of the area and uttered the secret arcane phrase. It returned to its original full size, and they were now able to enter it.

  Draegos pitched a small tent outside and laid out his furs and bedroll. He then used his pack as a pillow and exited the tent to join the others in the wagon. Glorýa had already prepared a hearty stew, and Greffel had decided to partake in Dýn'Gál's exotic tobaccos and herbs. The two sat giggling and chiding Glorýa, while she rebuked them for acting like children. As Draegos entered, they all turned to face him and greeted him with open arms. He took a seat on the floor nearby the small stove where Glorýa sat stirring the pot.

  The soft light from the small lamps beautifully lit her face, highlighting her face in such a way that all he could see were her shapely lips and emerald green eyes. He loved her, deeply, and the thought of losing her tormented him. He casually sat witnessing the antics of the two apparently intoxicated fellows as they heckled each other and her. He even chuckled a few times, but his thoughts were in a deep conversation with the spirits.

  Why? He began the conversation.

  There must be an equal exchange. Magic calls for great sacrifice. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the magic.

  But you are asking me to sacrifice my friends, in essence, to give you a blood sacrifice.

  We are not asking for anything. It’s what the Primordials demand. You are sacrificing two lives to save hundreds of thousands.

  But why me? He sat there watching the joyous laughter of his friends, poking each other and talking about frivolous things, and then he turned to watch Glorýa. She caught his eye and looked away, smirking as she did, and his heart hurt. He took a deep sigh, and she saw the sadness in his eye. He smiled sadly and continued his silent conversation.

  Great power requires humility and insight. Your suffering has enabled you to become humble, and your experiences grant you incredible insight into others. Though you may feel broken at times, you are the best vessel through which the Primordials can accomplish their plans. You are pure of intent and spirit.

  Can I do this? He thought.

  This and more. The events have already been cast in stone, dwarf. The results will be what dictate the next age and what it will bring forth.

  And if I fail? He pondered.

  Then there will be no next age. All will be lost to the darkness.

  Glorýa nudged the distant dwarf with a bowl of stew and shook him from his reverie. He nodded in silent thanks and joined the others in eating the delightful dish. Greffel poured out some ale, and the group shared a silent toast. Then the Magi climbed up into a bunk bed, and Greffel settled down on the bed. Glorýa placed containers in the cabinets as Draegos left the wagon. He stood outside looking into the night sky and wondering what worlds existed far beyond.

  As he searched the heavens, he felt her hands on his shoulders; he turned and took her in his arms. He kissed her suddenly, firm but gentle, and he inhaled her scent deeply. Her body responded in kind, and as she felt the fires rise within herself she pulled from him slightly, whispering, "Can we dance like lovers tonight? This one night? Will you hold onto that forever?" She leaned her forehead against his.

  "I shall love no other as I will love you," he whispered back through tears, and then he picked her up in his arms and carried her over to his tent. He threw back the flap and laid her gently on the sleeping area. He pulled the flap down, tied it, and then tied up a windbreaker. He grabbed a small white stone, held it to his mouth and whispered several words, and the stone began to glow a soft white light while heating
the tent up.

  Draegos removed his outerwear and laid it by the door. He then sat beside Glorýa who was removing her clothing. He leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder as she reached over to stroke his beard, and as he kissed his way up to her sublime lips, she met him halfway. They both lay back, kissing each other feverishly, their fingers exploring each other's body, and the heat of the passion creating a lasting memory. As they danced like lovers into the early dawn, the world moved around them, and as they passed out from the passion, their dreams were of better days.

  As the early morning rays touched the tips of the pines, Draegos was dressed and outdoors. He decided that he would don his father's war cloak as they prepared to ride to the citadel. He stood there amongst the snow-covered pines, dressed for battle, and as he knelt to pray to the Divine Mother, he called upon Her blessings for a successful campaign. In the distance, he heard the deep rumbling of thunder, but the sound wasn't a natural noise, something big was moving.

  Draegos finished his morning prayers and then banged on the wagon to wake his companions within. Then he called to Glorýa and alerted her, "We've got to get moving! Something is coming!" Within moments she was dressed and outside the tent, looking to help take it down.

  "Leave it, we've got no time!" he said as he saddled up his horse. Glorýa followed suit and began prepping her horse, then together they got the other two ready as the two fellows emerged from the wagon. Each had their gear and strapped it to the backs of the saddles, and as Glorýa performed the wagon ritual, the others made sure everything was packed, shy of Draegos' tent.

  "Draegos, I need to use your pack to store the wagon." She said as she quickly shoved it into his backpack, then she quickly saddled up. As she did so, she was the first to go into a full-on run, leaving the men to contemplate briefly and then join in. As they raced down the road towards the Citadel, they all could feel the darkness approaching on the heels of their horses.

  Several hours passed as they rode their horses up into the windy pass that led to the Citadel of Blood. The clouds had gathered, the winds increased, and the light in the sky was at its fullest. As they rounded the bend of a very large mountain, the Citadel came into view, and its long causeway seemed ethereal. Impressive in size, the citadel was an immense work of engineering, with a giant barbican and drawbridge at its center adorned by five towers connected by a wall with battlements. The banner of the Mórs hung on all sides, the white dove overlaying a downturned sword, displaying the current marshal's house.