Fate of Thorik

by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

A two-thousand-foot high vertical slice out of the White Summit Mountain gave way to a stone statue just over half the height of the cliff face. This statue of the Mountain King stood with its back flat against the cliff wall as its feet rested in a half-circle lake, surrounded by stone and crystal statues of various animals. The King looked down toward his crown, held in his hands, with warmth and kindness in his face.

  The accuracy was amazing. At a great distance a traveler would see a king in his flowing robes and a few scars from his war with the Notarians. If they had swum across the lake to touch the statue, they would feel each individual fiber that made up the threads of his grand clothes.

  Built next to the lake, against the same carved wall as the King’s status, was the city. Ambrosius had walked onto the third terrace of the main garden in front of the city, overlooking the lake, to find Beltrow along with many other Nums. They were all preparing the plants for the winter. The morning sun had worked its way down the Mountain King’s body, onto the City of Kingsfoot, and then across the terrace they stood upon.

  “Bless the King’s travels,” Fir Beltrow Ruddlehoth announced. “How many years has it been?” Short and stocky, even by Polenum standards, Beltrow had a solidness to him, which gave validity to his words. Curly light red hair covered his head as well as his chin. Small thoughtful eyes looked out from under graying eyebrows, as he smiled from behind his overgrown mustache.

  “Too long, Fir Beltrow, too long. I apologize for not visiting you sooner, there is so much to be done and my youth has been lost in the wake. You, however, look as you haven’t aged at all,” Ambrosius said.

  “Maybe not on the outside, but I can feel it in my bones. For the first time in decades, my legs weren’t able to make the journey to Shoreview for the annual trade visit. My daughter had traveled with the group in my stead.” Beltrow motioned Ambrosius to come over and help him lift and flip a clay pot over the plant he was working on.

  “I want to thank you for agreeing to host the Grand Council at your Temple. It is important that no one feels at a disadvantage. It was also of great help for you to send out escorts, helping us find our way. I now understand why this valley is unknown by the rest of us in the south. Has anyone else arrived yet?” Ambrosius continued helping with the Num’s chores.

  Only a handful of spiritual leaders and a small group of residents knew the location, for they lived among it as the Temple’s caretakers. Typically keeping to themselves, this was a unique situation that required a secluded location out of evil’s view. They had extended the offer to hold the meeting after hearing of Ambrosius’ desire to revive the Grand Council and restore peace.

  “A few arrived last night, but they asked not to be disturbed.” He continued to work on his plants as he said goodbye to them for the winter. “It looks like we have a group that will arrive in the next few hours,” he noted while motioning his head toward the lake.

  Ambrosius looked to the far side of the lake and up on the valley’s southern mountainside. “Your eyesight is as keen as any Num I’ve ever met. I don’t think you’re as old as you claim.”

  Scoffing at the comment, Beltrow peered up at the Grand Mountain King statue standing in the center of the half-circle lake. “It will be a long cold climb up those steps in the morning. I hope I’m up for it.”

  “If you’re not, I’ll have Draquol fly you to the crown. His tongue may be sharp, but the ride will be as smooth as yakka cream.”

  “Draquol is here? How are he and his family?”

  “He’s scouting for uninvited guests at the moment. His family is of good health and wellbeing.”

  “Last I heard, he was going to be a father. Did the hatchling survive the escape from his egg?”

  “Yes, he and Melendrol are parents of a little hell-raiser named Fraquendol who broke open that thick shell like it was parchment. He needs a lot of taming before meeting you.”

  “Ah, yes. I recall the first time I met Draquol.” Beltrow placed a hand at his thigh and patted it a few times. “I can’t say that he had a lot of restraint himself.”

  They both laughed at the fond memories.

  Reaching out with a strong two-handed handshake, he properly welcomed Ambrosius. “Welcome to Kingsfoot, my friend. My people will tend to your needs inside. I will join you later.”

  “I shall be looking forward to it,” Ambrosius responded before leaving to stroll around the city.

  Although the city’s architecture was not from the Polenum culture, the courtyard floor had been built with large interlocking hexagonal Runestones. Carved vertical stones, resembling open scrolls, lined the courtyard’s perimeter as they unraveled from eight feet in the air down to the ground.

  Approaching the city, Ambrosius marveled at the exterior wall filled with a collage of animal and plant carvings in various scenes. Beltrow had neglected to tell him about the beauty of Kingsfoot and its valley. They had met during the Fir’s annual summer trade visit to Shoreview, many ages ago, and the Fir had only mentioned that they lived in a small spiritual community.

  Ambrosius wandered inside and found it was filled with odd shaped rooms and walkways to give way for artistic structures. One room was carved out to look like the inside of a whale while another had carved insects across the walls. Every surface was designed to appear as some part of nature.

  The floors depicted sand, leaves, water, and rocks. Ambrosius thought this was amusing seeing that it was all rock. The designs in the floor were visually bold but subtle to the touch and could only be felt with bare feet or the touch of ones fingers. He was again amazed by the detail and he bent down to feel a pebble that he couldn’t quite tell if it was real or carved into the floor.

  “Did you drop something?” a soft voice said.

  Ambrosius looked up to see a lean and voluptuous woman in a long gown of red and black as he realized he was grabbing at an etching in the floor. “No.” He stood back up. “Just admiring the workmanship. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Yes, of course it is, it was built by Irluk,” she said to educate him.

  “The Death Witch?” he replied with amusement.

  “Long before being murdered by Wyrlyn, just prior to the Alchemist and E’rudite War. When she ruled Australis as the most powerful Alchemist ever. She was practically a god.”

  Before opening his mouth, he remembered why he asked the council to attend this meeting and decided to let it go, for now. “I see.” He controlled his tone the best he could. “I am Ambrosius, founder of the Grand Council. And you are?”

  “Megyn.” She eyed him up and down with distaste. “I am the new Prominent of EverSpring. I have heard your name before and you are not welcome in our lands.”

  Ambrosius had a history of conflicts with the Alchemists and had hoped that his actions over the past several years had improved relations between them. Apparently it had not.

  “All the more reason we convene in a neutral location such as this. Where is your predecessor, Bryus Grum? Has he retired at an early age?”

  “He no longer leads us. I am authorized to speak for the guild now, but you will not like what I have to say.”

  “I’m sure that Bryus passed down his knowledge to you of our intent. We wish to mend old ills and build an alliance against the coming threat of war. Surely we can agree to that.”

  “Perhaps the approaching threat is only coming after you and your power. It might be the change that the rest of us need. Is it your fear of losing what you have that would drive us to battle and sacrifice our lives?” She sneered at him out of disgust. “The changes before us are confrontational only because you and the other leaders have made them such. Accepting Darkmere’s rule would stop all conflicts.”

  Ambrosius raised his voice. “I know Darkmere all too well; his treachery and his tyranny. He will only give you what you want until he needs you no more. The opportunity that you seek with him is a spell of your own illusions. Do not be fooled by your own desires.”

  “You’re too closed min
ded to see what opportunities lay ahead,” she said as her servant approached and whispered in her ear. Upon completion, Megyn returned to Ambrosius. “I must be leaving now. We can continue this debate at the council meeting tomorrow. I think you will find that I do not stand alone.”

  “Megyn!” He paused to relax his voice before continuing. “Please think about my words.”

  “Likewise.” She began to leave, but suddenly stopped and swiveling on the toes of her feet back toward him. “I nearly forgot something. Oddly enough, Darkmere gave me a message to give to the mighty Ambrosius just in case I should ever run into you. He has a thirtieth anniversary gift for you.”

  Ambrosius’ face became motionless as the blood appeared to leave his face. A message from Darkmere was unexpected and was more of a threat than a gift. It had been thirty years since the end of the Civil War, a time and battle he’d rather forget. Many thoughts raced through his mind. Bryus Grum, who had been one of Ambrosius’ most difficult but critical converts, now was suspiciously absent from the equation. This new Prominent now seemed more entangled with the enemy than he had first assumed. Was she a spy? Not a very subtle one, if so. But what if there is a spy in the valley and Megyn is there to keep Ambrosius off-balance enough not to uncover the truth. Sounded like Darkmere, devious but not too creative. Vigilance was required.

  She watched his tension with pleasure for a moment before she turned and walked around the bend of the corridor with her servant.

  Ambrosius woke up early the next morning to walk with Beltrow up to the Temple, situated inside the Mountain King Statue’s crown that was held in the King’s open palms before him.

  As they made the pilgrimage up the long stairway inside the mountain, they rested at each of the small sitting areas along the way. Every platform had a bench to view the glorious valley through its windows. The rising sun warmed the stairwell as light refracted off the small etched glass, shining prisms of color up and down the angled hallway.

  Ambrosius sat with Beltrow in the window seat and listened to the Fir’s lyrics of the Rune Scrolls come alive. It had been a shame that he had never spent any time learning about this culture.

  Periodically, a few other Council Members would pass them by as they sat. Often a nod would suffice as they climbed the steps, trying not to interrupt Beltrow’s readings. Others never even gave them a glance.

  Climbing the stairs became less of a task and more of a spiritual journey through poignant thoughts being read out loud. Time was given to quietly contemplate each verse prior to ascending to the next window seat. The journey took most of the day and Ambrosius felt he had gained years of insight from it and was thankful for the enlightenment.

  They rested one last time at the final complex of rooms just below the Temple. Food and drink were set out as servants calmly and quietly organized the area for the long meeting ahead.

  Beltrow and Ambrosius continued to ascend the last few steps up to the opening of a large glass domed room, which overlooked the entire valley. The breathtaking view was even more than Ambrosius was expecting as he walked over to the far side of the Temple. He could see the valley open up to a gorge where the winding river ran from the lake below him toward the distant Lake Luthralum.

  After gazing like a child out into the valley, Ambrosius looked up and out of the glass ceiling to see the pronounced chin and face of the Mountain King several hundred feet above them. The cold autumn air had left a strong beard of white from the night’s mild storm. As odd as it might seem to Ambrosius, the ice below the King’s eyes made him look disheartened.

  He felt a slight chill from the sight of the cold outside. Lowering his eyes, he watched one of the servants light eight large oil vats near the walls of the Temple. A second servant took a long thin rod and opened a hinged glass tile in the roof to allow the smoke to escape.

  The pillars around the Temple’s exterior were carved to look like open scrolls hanging from the glass ceiling. They unraveled fluidly down onto the Temple floor, sometimes extending into the room a foot or two. The scrolls listed out each of the Rules of Order facing inward toward the center of the room. The details of the stone carvings were remarkable, the rips and folds of the paper where it had hit the floor and bounced into the room suggested it had been released from above.

  Making up the walls of the Temple, the pillars also were the sides of the crown. The King held the crown slightly out in front of him as though he was giving it to those who wished to have it.

  By the time all of the Council Members had eaten and rested from their trek up the long staircase, the evening light was starting to fade. Opening proceedings would take place for a few hours on the first night to voice all of the concerns that needed to be discussed over the next week.

  Beltrow called the meeting to order. The Council Members were a variety of several Del’Unday and Ov’Unday species as well as humans and a single Polenum. Ambrosius sat across from Beltrow in hopes of not implying his allegiance with him. The rest began to sit as he had expected. Those with similar beliefs tended to sit together.

  The Grand Council convened at the large round granite table. Carved into its surface, twelve oil vats formed a circle, providing each member with equal lighting. The flames shined evenly upon the faces of various creatures sitting around the massive stone. Many had sent their servants to their quarters, after bowls of fruit and decorative crystals had been placed on the table for the debates.

  Beltrow started the meeting off. “Welcome, I am your host, Fir Beltrow Ruddlehoth of Kingsfoot.” The group nodded respectfully. “Before we begin these talks, I need to impress upon this council the fact that our temple is a neutral center where everyone should feel equal. I hope this will reduce the apprehension that had been troublesome in prior council meetings. I commend each one of you for having the courage to attend today. This single gathering is going to be a historical event that will shape the future of Terra Australis.”

  The conference had begun. Beltrow sat down, motioning for Ambrosius to take over.

  Ambrosius rose from his chair with the help of his black metal staff. His mahogany hair fell down to his royal blue cloak, flowing under its own capacity. His mannerisms were refined from years of public speaking and his words were clear and precise.

  “It is of these times that I speak, when alliances and a man’s word have been blurred by the dishonesty and treachery of those who would see us all suffer,” Ambrosius stated. “Members of the Grand Council, Province and City Leaders of Terra Australis, I implore you to heed my warnings. Darkmere is prepared to strike and this time it is not merely to conquer, but to destroy.”

  It was the first Council Meeting since they had disbanded the sessions years prior due to frustration and distrust infecting its members. Servants of Darkmere had contaminated the once powerful alliance of leaders with historical prejudices. This was their last chance at unification.

  Ambrosius continued with a poignant and factual oration. He then paused long enough to take a sip of his drink. “This is our final stand. I have presented the evidence before you.” Pointing to the marked up maps spread out on the table. “These demonstrate the same movements of forces that my messengers sent you earlier. Darkmere has tightened his claws around your lands and pitted us against one another to do his bidding. Further debate only acts to delay action while he continues his sedition. We must unite against Darkmere, the scourge upon our world, before it is too late.” His eyes thinned as he watched his audience for reaction.

  “Why should we follow you?” Megyn asked. “We don’t need another one of your blood baths.”

  “True, many have died under my command on the battlefield, both in victory and defeat. I have a full understanding of the horrific nature of war, but I still believe that a battle for freedom is a justified cause. Peaceful slavery is no way to live.”

  The Del’Unday representative, Volnic, spit on the map in front of him before standing. Rich dark red skin covered his giant seven-foot tall muscular f
rame supported by two thick hairy wolf-like legs. His exposed upper body was lined with various bladed spikes that jutted out from his shoulder blades, spine, and elbows. Self-inflicted scars across his chest were worn as badges of honor for successful battles and conquests. Light from the oil vats reflected off his solid red eyes set inside a dragon-like head. Volnic was a Blothrud which were known for their bad tempers and warrior mentalities. He embraced both of these attributes as critical qualities of Del’Unday leadership.

  Making a point, Volnic raised his head up and looked down over his long bony face at Ambrosius. Thin layers of skin stretched out over the ridged bone structure of his hairless wolf-like snout. “I have been offered expansion to my lands with full authority over them. You have offered me nothing, and yet you would put the Del’Undays on your front lines to fight for your safety.” His voice was powerful and successfully filled the others with unease.

  Ambrosius replied calmly. “We offer to aid you in keeping your freedom. Darkmere only offers you false promises.”

  Gregory Marl of the Eastland Province shook his head. “You Altereds make my stomach turn. You would allow the destruction of peaceful societies for your own greed.” Eastland was a human province that had seen more battles with the Del’Unday than any other. The resentment in Gregory ran deep to the roots in his family tree.

  Volnic erupted with fury over the comment and quickly knocked over a servant and a few council members before grabbing Gregory’s body and lifting it into the air. “Peaceful? I should rip out your tongue for such lies.” Volnic screamed in the man’s face while veins in his neck and along the bony structure of his face pulsed with heated blood. “You humans have enslaved my people for centuries and now you have the audacity to say peaceful?”

  Gregory’s pain went deep into his ribs from Volnic’s grasp, but his hatred of the Altereds was too great to show it. “Only after your species enslaved us for thousands of years. You and all your filthy vile type are an abomination of nature and don’t deserve any better.”

  The thought of a Del’Unday being subservient to a lesser creature was repulsive to Volnic, who threw Gregory across the room toward one of the large windows that overlooked the valley. Ambrosius reacted and used his mental E’rudite abilities to stop the man from crashing through the glass and falling to his death. Instead, he fell to the stone floor with only a slight bounce.

  “Volnic, this is not a place for you to wage war!” Ambrosius shouted.

  “But it is for you. That’s why you’ve brought us all together. To wage war against a growing power that threatens your own, not mine. I will not be a part of your next Maegoth massacre!”

  The comment hit Ambrosius hard, for his history with Darkmere would provide Volnic with the evidence that the Blothrud could use to convict Ambrosius of such crimes. The city of Maegoth had been in the center of the Civil War, which destroyed the Dovenar Kingdom. The battle left many tens of thousands dead and felled the once great civilization. Blood from these deaths still stained Ambrosius’ hands and dreams, even after thirty years.

  Ambrosius was not willing to give up, knowing all too well what was at stake. He began to walk around the table as he spoke to the entire committee. “Say what you will about my dealings with Darkmere, but I can tell you that his only interest in you is to carry out his own doings.”

  Megyn watched Gregory being escorted out of the chamber while his arms protected his ribs, broken by Volnic’s grasp. “Darkmere has approached many of us and it is true that his words come with a cost. But so do yours.” Her hooded cloak showed only her beautiful face and soft hands as they extended beyond its black emptiness. Light literally did not reflect from her cloak, appearing as though there was a hole in space.

  Ambrosius conceded. “Agreed, my price is high.” He ran a finger along his short beard that shaped his face without hiding it. “The alternative price of forever living under his rule is higher. He is not what you think he is.”

  “Are you?” she tossed back at him.

  He stopped walking and placed his hands on the back of the chair previously used by Gregory Marl. “I will not debate you on my history.” Glancing down, he noticed a decorative round metal object on the floor and knew instantly what it was. Looking back up at the faces in the Council, he continued, “We are here to make a choice for our world. Do we leave here as a united front to end the attacks that have caused our people to suffer and live in fear, or do we act like cowards, give into his threats and kneel at his feet?”

  “Cowards?” Volnic roared at the accusation.

  Ambrosius was not going to let go of his control over this discussion. He leaned down and picked up the metal disk and leather necklace before making his way back to his chair. “Volnic, I have received information that one among us is working directly for Darkmere with the sole purpose of stopping us from uniting. You seem to be an advocate for him. Where do your alliances lie? Have you become one of his minions, here to spy on us?”

  The Council erupted with protest while a few members were stunned at the allegation.

  “How dare you accuse me of being a servant of a human,” Volnic yelled as he pounded both of his massive fists onto the thick granite table causing it to crack in many directions.

  Ambrosius turned to look at the Guild Prominent of EverSpring. “Or perhaps you, Megyn. You speak kindly of Darkmere’s barbaric ways.”

  Megyn’s emotions exploded. “We all know your feelings about Alchemists and the Del’Unday and it is not surprising that you selected us to accuse of these baseless crimes against the Council. You have no proof of such an act and you’re using this premise to scare us all into agreeing with you.”

  “But I have such evidence. There is a traitor here, among us,” Ambrosius held up the round brass disk he had found on the floor. It held a spherical gem in the center that was foggy and peppered with red glowing dots. The disk that held the gem was fashioned with Darkmere’s symbols. His was the ancient E’rudite powers of alteration that were used by the Notarians, a forbidden power in Terra Australis.

  Ambrosius tossed the item out into the center of the table for all to see. “Someone at this meeting has been spreading Darkmere’s poison into our thoughts. We now have the opportunity to capture his servant as well as turn the tide on his quest of power.”

  “Outrageous!” Fir Beltrow shouted from the opposite side of the table. “You have compromised our location and used our sacred temple as trap for Darkmere’s servant? Blasphemy, I tell you! Blasphemy!” Beltrow slammed his fists on the table, causing it to rumble from his attack. Then the floor began to shake and tremble. And it continued to the walls, ceiling, and beyond.

  Everyone stepped back from the table as the vibrations increased.

  Across the room, Ambrosius caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure of mist and ashes. Bloodstained eyes were covered by a veil of long black hair. No flesh, only bones and veins could be seen. Burnt debris mingled in the smoke that comprised a female body. The Death Witch, Irluk, had arrived and Ambrosius knew too well what this meant. She was her to collect the souls of those lost in violent deaths.

  A loud crack of thunder erupted from above the glass ceiling. Looking up, the members could see the glass cracking under the quake’s stress as well as from rocks falling from above. Beyond the glass something wasn’t right. A fissure opened above them, in the Mountain King’s neckline. It spanned from his left shoulder, across the front, to the right side of the neck. The width of the crack increased and decreased as the shaking continued.

  And then it stopped. The room went silent. The world seemed to stand still and everyone struggled to absorb what was happening. Thousands of images and thoughts rushed through their minds in that fraction of a second before the crack under the King’s neck burst open with flaming red magma erupted from it.

  The explosive power lifted the statue’s head up and then out. The stone face tilted forward as it fell off the cliff and rushed down toward the Council Members. Red glowing molten ro
ck trailed behind the head as it roared down the cliff face. The members looked up at the ominous sight, only for a moment, before the statue’s head crashed into and through the Temple’s dome.

  Chapter 14

  Kingsfoot Lake

  Thorik’s Log: 16th day of the 10th month of the 649th year.

  We have reached Kingsfoot Lake. I now understand why this is our spiritual center, for no other place on earth could look this beautiful and feel this refreshing.