They halted deep in the foothills. Dwarves swiftly surrounded the captives and blindfolded them with daft fingers, giving Bahr the impression not all was well within the Dwarven kingdom. Speaking only got them beat, a fact both he and Boen learned the hard way. The Dwarves were taking every precaution to ensure their prisoners were treated well but brokered little tolerance when it came to following instructions. For now Bahr counted his bruises and contemplated revenge.
The air around them changed suddenly. Harsh winds swirled to a stop and warmth flushed their skin. Acidic smells of sulfur and brimstone choked the air along with the combined taint of different metals. Small fires could be heard to their left and right. We’re inside. No escaping now. I hope that damned wizard knows what he’s doing or I’ll slit his throat myself.
“Where did you find these?” a gruff voice demanded.
“Wandering along the western border approach.”
Bahr could sense the speaker looking them over. Disdain bled through his words. The message was clear. Humans were not welcome in Drimmen Delf.
“So many. Is it a scouting party?”
Dwarves shuffled nervously. “They are girded for war and dangerous but we do not know whose side they are on.”
“We can’t take the risk of them being spies. Take them before the king. He will want to interrogate them personally.”
More prodding guided the weary band through the halls of the mighty Dwarven kingdom. So many twists and turns along the way made it impossible to keep track of the exit. Bahr quickly relented and accepted his current position. This wasn’t the first dungeon he’d been in since the quest began though he hoped it was the last. Finally, after what felt like hours, they were pulled to a stop and told to stand quiet.
Long moments passed when the imagination took hold and started to run wild. All manner of foul creatures lurked just beyond reach, waiting for the command to shred them to pieces. A dark hole, inescapable and forever, beckoned to them. Despair mocked each in a different way. The very whisper of movement was the sound of Giants casting boulders from the mountaintops.
“Well well. It has been a long time since I last laid eyes on a mountain brother,” the deep voice of the king rumbled through the throne room. “And here I find one in the company of Men. Strange times indeed have befallen us. Who speaks for you?”
Bahr immediately stepped forward and was disappointed to hear the rustle of clothes from someone else doing the same.
“Seems you have a disagreement,” the king smirked. “Remove their blindfolds.”
Rough hands stripped the fabric from Bahr’s eyes, allowing him to see for the first time in hours. He was immediately impressed. An onyx throne dominated the center of the chamber. Massive fires burned against the back wall, casting tendrils of shadows throughout. Carved dragons skulls emerged from the hand rests. The back was a mighty stone shield with a war hammer standing through the middle. Power resonated from the throne, unlike any Bahr had ever felt.
Enormous marble slabs tiled the floor, pristine and alabaster. Six columns stretched a hundred meters up to the vaulted ceiling. Bahr felt the urge to whisper upon seeing the stained glass covering the dome. The throne room of Drimmen Delf put the mightiest castle in Human lands to shame. The columns were so wide it would take ten Men to successfully circle one. Each was carved with intricate designs and runes, much like the armor of their captors.
Twenty armed guards stood at attention on each side of the throne. Each was dressed in crimson armor that reflected the hostility of the fire. Wings stuck out form their helmets. Long, flowing capes hung to the floor. Each guard stood with a massive spear. The tips glimmered, threatening sharpness unparalleled. Bahr bore no illusions that these Dwarves were only here for show. Each was a lord in his own right.
Bahr’s gaze finally fell upon Anienam, who’d brazenly stepped forward as well. The wizard’s eyes remained focused on the Dwarf lord, refusing to lock with Bahr. The Sea Wolf very much wanted to lash out and exact some measure of revenge but knew that in doing so he would damn them all. So he stood patiently and waited for the king to speak again.
“I am Thord, Dwarf Lord of Drimmen Delf. Now, quickly, tell me your names.”
Bahr sidled half a step ahead of Anienam. “I am Bahr of Delranan, a kingdom far to the west. I have co….”
Thord waved him off. “I don’t care. We’ll get to that later. Now, who is your other leader?”
The wizard bowed respectfully. “Anienam Keiss, my lord. Last of the ancient order of Mages and son of Dakeb.”
Whispers spread through the Dwarves massed behind them. Thord slammed the haft of his staff on the marble and the throne room fell silent. “The name Dakeb is known to our kind. He was a good Man. It pains me to learn of his passing.”
“His time on Malweir was ended. All things must move on eventually.”
Thord grunted thoughtfully. “True words. The name of Bahr is also known. Oh yes, we have knowledge of the infamous Sea Wolf even under our mountain strongholds. Pirate and would-be usurper, some say. For myself I see only an old Man past his prime. Why are you in my kingdom? Who sent you?”
Bahr ignored the insult and thought for a moment. Saying the wrong thing now would keep them in irons indefinitely. “We did not wish to intrude and had we known it was a crime to travel through Dwarven lands we surely would have taken the opportunity to go around, but our mission is dire and time is our enemy.”
“Time is the Great Enemy of us all, Sea Wolf,” Thord said. “Ever do we try to outrun it yet it still claims us all. What are you running from?”
“War,” Bahr replied.
Thord’s eyes darkened. His face tightened. “War seems to have a way of spreading. Are you spies? Or do you claim to have no knowledge of the war at our very doorsteps?”
Bahr passed a questioning look to Anienam and decided to let the wizard answer. The old Man continued to hold secrets close to his chest.
“I had heard whispers, rumors of a great Dwarf civil war on the eastern side of the Spine but had no way of knowing it for fact,” he said. “Our war comes from the west. A combined army of Men and Goblins is burning the northern kingdoms in the name of great evil. We seek to stop them and restore peace to the north.”
“Goblins and Men fighting together? What could have inspired such madness?” Thord almost laughed. The thought of the two races willingly working together for common purpose amused him, so ridiculous it sounded.
Anienam cleared his parched throat. His voice felt scratchy, irritated. “The dark gods once again seek to return and claim dominance of the world.”
Thord seemed to think for a while. When he spoke it was with conviction and…something else. “Evil constantly seeks to test us, to push us to the edge of our endurance and beyond. All good races should stand and combat this evil, but the wars of Men are of no concern for us. We are besieged by our kin and hard pressed to defend Drimmen Delf. You should not have come here.”
“I agree, my lord, but we must go south. The enemy hunts us and every hour we delay hastens a demise I would avoid,” Anienam pleaded. “So desperate is our position we risked a trip to find Venheim and enlist the aid of the Giants.”
“Venheim,” Thord uttered. “Long have I desired to look up the forges of the mountain folk. They have many secrets we Dwarves have long forgotten. Masters of steel and flame. What use for a Giant have a band of Humans?”
Bahr winced. Don’t tell him.
“We travel to ancient Trennaron to find the Blud Hamr,” Anienam said with authority.
Bahr felt his world collapse.
“Trennaron is a myth, wizard spawn,” Thord told them. “You waste your time.”
Thord’s immediate rebuke sparked caution in Bahr. Dwarves were notorious for their love of weapons and precious metals. The prospect of finding a weapon as powerful as the Blud Hamr would be too much to pass up. Any Dwarf hold would be increased exponentially. Human kingdoms would bend knee and pay homage. Bahr wondered what the D
warf lord’s true intentions were now that Anienam gave away their most guarded secret.
“I have walked this world for hundreds of years, never once relying on the wisdom of grounded Men claiming what is myth or not. While no adventurer, I have seen my share of things that ‘couldn’t possibly exist.’ Trennaron is one such place. I have seen the cold, grey walls of the ancient, forgotten castle with my own eyes.”
Thord held up a staying hand, desperate to stay the wizard’s tirade. Anger clouded his face, unaccustomed to being debated in his own throne room. “Peace, wizard. I meant no offense. We Dwarves are solitary folk. Much of the world remains impractical to our needs so we choose to ignore it but I too know a thing or two. Many stout warriors have gone off seeking Trennaron and the Hamr. None have ever returned. Whether from danger or sheer exhaustion from trying to find the impossible I won’t guess. We have a saying in Drimmen Delf: keep your eyes to the end of your nose and no trouble will find you.”
“Be that as it may, our quest takes us south, to the southern jungles,” Anienam added, hoping his tactic of baiting the Dwarf Lord into letting them go out of his own innate greed worked before too much time was lost.
“You’ll never make it. The jungles are hundreds of leagues away and there is a war on,” Thord said. “You are not enemies. I see that now, but neither are you Dwarf-friend. You may spend the remainder of the night in Drimmen Delf, under guard, naturally, and be sent on your way in the morning.”
Bahr interrupted, sensing all was about to be ruined. “My lord, if you could allow us passage through the mountains to the river we will leave immediately. We have no wish to impose upon your hospitality any more than necessary.”
“This is not the open water, Sea Wolf. You hold no command in these halls. If it’s the river you seek you will need to either go north or south to reach it. Passage through Drimmen Delf is forbidden to outsiders. My decision is final.”
Groge, standing at the back of the group, gently cleared his throat. Subtle as the noise was intended to be, the very ground trembled beneath their feet. “Dwarf king, I am Groge, apprentice to master smith Joden. Though I have no experience with the lower world and am barely good enough with steel to earn my titles, I have long desired to see the fabled Dwarven halls and experience what my mountain cousins have to offer.”
Thord considered this. “Ha! The Giant speaks better wisdom than wizard and pirate combined. Groge of the Giants, I shall grant you access to our forges, though many will argue and grow bitter at my decision. Dwarven smiths are notoriously jealous when it comes to their forges but even the best of us cannot compare to the skill and craftsmanship of your kind. It is an honor to have you in our halls.”
Groge bowed at the great honor. “My thanks, Dwarf Lord. I have but a single concern. You mentioned a war. What war is happening this far to the east, for it seems we have left one war for another?”
If possible, Thord’s face darkened more. “The dark clans from across the river have invaded, seeking to lay claim to Drimmen Delf’s wealth and status. You and your merry band have blundered into a full-blown civil war.”
ELEVEN
Vision Renewed
Prince Aurec stood at the edge of the tree line, staring off into the eastern skies. The wolf-skin cloak wrapped around his shoulders did little to reduce the ferocity of the wind slicing across the open field. His shivers lasted just enough to remind him of how insignificant he was compared to the grandeur of nature. The stubble covering his lower face ached from the cold but he didn’t mind. He and agony had become boon companions of late, a maddening spiral he couldn’t find escape from.
A golden sunrise turned the snow-covered fields into a mass of blinding light, leading him to question if the gods existed or not. He’d never been a believer. Faith stemmed from more of the use of cold steel than quiet ruminations. He’d never prayed, never felt the need to. Gods were more of an inconvenience than necessity. After all, what use was a supremely powerful being that refused to get involved? No. Aurec trudged through life with focus and individual intent.
Those dreams lay shattered now. Visions of his father’s impaled face atop the battlements of their fallen city tormented him at night. Much against his closest advisors, Aurec had snuck back to Rogscroft not long after the siege. He knew he risked too much and should have stayed in Grunmarrow to put together a strong resistance, but he also knew he had to see for himself. Together with a small band of rangers he slipped through enemy lines and stared up at all that remained of the once mighty King Stelskor. His father had not died well.
Now Aurec stood at the edge of everything his world had been reduced to, king and leader of a crippled nation. Perhaps it was time to start believing in the gods. He knew he needed as much aid as possible if there was any chance of winning the guerrilla war now engulfing the kingdom. Worse, he couldn’t help but think about Maleela and what might have become of her. The invasion kept his mind off of his missing betrothed but now both sides had settled down for a hard fight and one of the fiercest winters he could remember.
Maleela. Thoughts of her soft face rivaled any majestic sunrise or sunset. His heart relaxed with a content sigh. One of few he allowed himself of late. Maleela’s life was hard, though not as hard as his. Her father blamed her for the death of his wife, her mother, in childbirth. Some hatreds can’t be overcome, not matter how hard one tries. Maleela instantly took the blame for their ill-advised scheme of kidnapping. King Badron used it as a catalyst to launch his war.
Aurec’s thoughts came too quickly now. He vaguely wondered how he’d gone from admiration of the sunrise to lament and then to his abducted love and now to war. War. The very word once held such romance and dreams of glory, fame. Now Aurec saw how fatal war was. There was no glory to be had. Glory came from the survivors and the horrible scars, both mental and physical, they bore until their dying days. Foolish notions of storming the ramparts to raise the colors was childish at best. Aurec had seen war and never wished to again. He was tired, worn down to the point of ineffectiveness.
The others had seen it. He knew they spoke about him when they thought he wasn’t around. The council worried for the prince, now forced to be king before his time. Doubts swirled around the hem of his cloak much like freshly fallen winter snow in the cool dawn. Was he strong enough? Did his love of the enemy princess prevent him from making the tough decisions? Truthfully, Aurec didn’t know. He didn’t have answers. Didn’t have an exit strategy to miraculously save his people and reclaim the throne.
“Your highness, it’s time,” Sergeant Thorsson snapped from behind, his voice crisp in the chill air.
Aurec sighed again, realizing he did it far too much. “Sergeant, how long have you served in the army?”
“Sire?” Thorsson asked, confused.
“How long have you worn these colors? How many years have you given up the hope of a normal life?”
Scratching his chin he replied, “Seems like forever, especially now, but I figure around twenty years. It’s not a burden. Never that. I gladly gave up the doldrums of having a normal family and performing the same job day in and day out. My kingdom comes first. It’s the mark of a great soldier. We sacrifice so others don’t have to. We know there’s no great wealth to be had, no fame or enduring glory beyond living through the next scrape. We do it for you, Aurec. You and every single man, woman , and child in Rogscroft.”
Aurec found himself speechless. He’d never expected such passion and depth from a scarred, old veteran. He also felt deeply shamed. So much of his thoughts revolved around his own private miseries he’d neglected too much of his subjects. The idea of being ruler of the kingdom didn’t sit well, perhaps it never would. He didn’t feel like he belonged on the throne. His father was king and that was how it was. Only it wasn’t. Stelskor was gone, leaving young Aurec the only heir to an empty throne.
Hearing Thorsson’s rebuke was a refreshing slap in the face. He felt stunned, embarrassed. The time for lament was over. Maleela was go
ne. She hadn’t been in Rogscroft for months and might already be dead herself. His father was a memory, as was his home. What remained was the strongest of Rogscroft. They were leaderless despite how hard his council tried to keep it all together. They needed Aurec to assume the mantle he proved ever reluctant to. The hour had at last come, thanks to the unfiltered comments of a lone soldier who might have otherwise spent his life unknown.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Aurec said sincerely.
Confused, Thorsson asked, “For what, sire?”
Aurec stepped forward to lay his hand on Thorsson’s shoulder. “For putting me back in my place and making me realize my own pains and fears were petty. Now come, let us find my council and make plans for taking the war back to the Wolfsreik.”
Thorsson’s grin was savage, almost feral. Wounded in the fall of Rogscroft, he was fortunate to have survived and now, fully healed, relished the opportunity to take a measure of revenge. He nodded happily and led the prince back to the command tent. Heads snapped up as they entered. Many knew from Aurec’s bright expression that things were not the same as before. The prince, the warrior, was back.
“Gentlemen, my apologies for being a self-absorbed, absent monarch, but the good sergeant has helped me see the error in my ways. Now, what is the enemy status? Where are we going to go back to war?”
General Vajna had recently returned from the northern reaches of the Murdes Mountains with grim news. “Sire, elements of the Wolfsreik have combined with the Goblins and are moving into the foothills here.” He paused to point out the position on the map covering the wooden table. “My scouts estimate their strength at close to one thousand.”
A Whisper After Midnight Page 9
