The men of Southwind clamored their shields and raised their blades as more soldiers reached the field and began the dirty work of finishing the injured ogre and gathering their fallen comrades. Lord Alexei galloped his horse to Lavress and Liogan, lifting his steel visor and sheathing his blood covered blade.
“You? That was your daring diversion on the field?” Alexei looked to Lavress.
“No my lord, it was my idea. I released the prisoner to assist me.” Liogan bowed his head.
“Well done, Liogan Andellis. Chancellor Marcus says that your plan saved the keep, as did the assistance of our guest, Lavress Tilaniun here.” Lord T’Vellon smiled, bowed his head, and reached down and patted Lavress on the shoulder, knowingly.
“Thank you , my lord.” Liogan looked to Lavress, receiving an elven smile that assured him that the stretch of the truth was acceptable. All three men turned to the sound of horns and trumpets in the castle.
“Come, my brave horsemen, the king arrives in Southwind.” Alexei drove his horse to the keep, giving Lavress one last nod of respect and apology, though he said nothing.
Lavress needed no words, the eyes of the man before him told him clearly that he knew he had made a mistake, and owed him gratitude for his bravery. The elven hunter bowed in return, saying nothing.
In the keep, the cheers and trumpets were gone. The men were huddled and converging in the courtyard, silent. They made way for their lord as he dismounted and his two heroes walked in beside him. The crowd parted, only a small bit of room between blood and mud covered men in armor. Lady Aelaine looked troubled with her head on the shoulder of Kendrynn Shilde as the honor guard and Chancellor Marcus Mederris carried a stretcher toward the north tower. Alexei, Lavress, and Liogan got close, close enough to see King Mikhail being lifted up the stairs. His gray beard and plate armor were splattered with blood and dirt, his balding head cut and swelling, his blue cape and golden blade were carried by a squire that also had his helm. A spike of wood was broken off in his shoulder, all the way through and pointing up above his chest nearly two feet. The men were silent as Marcus whispered to the king. No one could tell whether it was prayer, last rites, or simply words of comfort.
“Is he…is the king dead, my lord?” Liogan whispered to Alexei T’vellon.
The crowd gasped quietly as the left hand of the king rose and fell and his head turned to the right.
“No, not yet, brave Liogan Andellis. Though I hear you and Lavress there have saved the keep, your chancellor has told me. Well done, Sir Liogan and my elven friend, well done.” Mikhail could not feel his right side, blood trickled from his lips as he spoke, yet he had to give praise where it was deserved.
“Thank you, your majesty.” Liogan bowed.
“I bid you a quick recovery, your grace.” Lavress bowed as well, and watched the blue eyes of the king smile at him, at Liogan, and at Lord T’vellon. Then, they closed.
Azenairk III:I
Redbridge District, City of Marlennak
“…Dark be’ith the days, and haunted be’ith the nights, in what was once and shall n’er be again. Too grand for the greedy, too holy for the wicked, the dream that was dreamed an n’er seen by eyes that would n’er return home...”---Dwarven folk tale passage regarding the myth of the lost Kakisteele mines. Circa 1335 B.C.
Axes, hammers, picks, strong and sturdy blades, and armor with every manner of spike and blade decorated merchant armorers and bladesmiths in Redbridge, one of many districts deep in the city of Marlennak under the Misathi. Zen grew up with four or five merchants that specialized in such smiths and forges, here, there were fifty or more. Heavy instruments of war, thicker than a human man would wield, and all with a black glimmer to the finish from the iron that was below the city. The smiths called out from the open shops in the dark red stone piled next to and above one another, calling for passers by to check their metals and buy some steel. Zen looked to the architecture, massive curved pillars reaching each other, holding up the fifty feet of ceiling above them. The echoes of pounding anvils and clanking hammers were music to his ears.
Heads turned to the mixed lot with father Drodun that toured the tight quarters on their way to Blackbridge. The minotaur, happy to be able to walk tall in the open caverns, received the most stares and solicitations since he could likely handle any heavy weapon they could forge. The red bearded dwarves gazed upon the golden elf and the dark haired woman as well, as much awe at their beauty as suspicion as to what such women were doing here. As for James, they paid little mind. Azenairk shook many hands, entertained many a questioning merchant, and spoke softly and quietly as to his home and family history in Boraduum. They could tell by the look, the black beard and roundness to his eyes, that he was from the Bori Mountains. The same, he was a priest of Vundren and garnished much respect from all he met.
“Should ye’ care to be better armed or such, let me know then. I can arrange to have the smiths come to ye’ instead of dealing with the crowds down here.” Father Drodun mentioned when none of the merchants were in earshot.
“I would, actually, be likin’ a hammer like this one I have here.” Azenairk spoke up.
“Father Thalanaxe, ye’ have a fine weapon there. Knowin’ Boraduum families and all, it is passed down, is it not?” Drodun commented, curious as he was.
“Tis’, aye, but…well…I have me reasons then.”
“Very well then, I will be arrangin’ that for ye’. I settle for only the best steel and fairest price. I know the best forge in Blackbridge, I will take ye’ to it then.” Drodun looked to gather the rest. The ladies were bowing and greeting to many a dirty dwarven smithy, James and Saberrak the same on the other side of the busy streets.
“Seems me’ friends are quite the attraction, father Drodun.” Zen felt safe, felt his friends were safe, and he smiled.
“Aye, aye at that they are. Dwarves see dwarves all the time, somethin’ different is gonna cause a stir, Vundren’s certaintly on that.”
“Vundren’s certainty.” Zen agreed and walked ahead toward the stone signs that pointed to the road to Blackbridge.
“How many, in Boraduum I mean, father Thalanaxe?”
“Over thirty thousand still, if I recall correct. And Marlennak?”
“Just over twenty five thousand account o’ last census by the temple. Fazurand is less than fifteen.” Drodun walked with his fellow man of the hammer and moons of their God.
“Humans be flourishing, Vundren’s certainty there as well. If they stop killin’ each other that is.”
“Aye, men be too busy fightin’ o’er whose God is their God n’ whose is not. Takin’ heads o’ beasts, heads o’ each other, claiming all the lands they can, then killin’ more for em’ generations later. They done lost sight some millennia ago, n’er gained it back I think.” The priest o’ the Cracked Wall tried to smile, a little sadness to the false grin.
“Aye, agreed. Though, I have met some that are better n’ others. James there, Gwenneth, their king in Chazzrynn. Another lord in Harlheim or two as well.” Zen thought of his friends, those he had met since leaving his home in the Bori Mountains at the dying request of his father.
“Ha!, Ha, ha! How many ye’ met, hundreds? That be’ith the problem with men, Azenairk Thalanaxe. Ye’ meet four or five good ones out o’ hundreds, then those get killed off fightin’ the bad anyways.”
“Or, they pass on well before yer’ time if they do survive, don’t they?” Zen hung his head, knowing that, besides Shinayne, he would outlive his friends by at least a hundred fifty years, if they made it to the century mark. He knew that the minotaur would not, a third of that was their normal lifespan.
“Ye’ have gotten attached here, to these folk, have ye’ not?” Drodun’s question was rhetorical, he could tell.
“They are my friends, aye, closest company indeed.”
“They feel the same for ye’ then?”
“Aye, as best as a dwarf could tell.” Zen looked to his friends, saying their farewells
to merchants they had just met, stepping to catch up with he and their guide.
“Then, love em’ all ye’ can and keep em’ close. But, remember what is comin’ in the future, my friend. Ye’ have a big heart there, a dwarf can tell.” Drodun patted Zen on the shoulder plate, nice and hard, the dwarven way.
“How do ye’ do that, have that outlook and not think of it with yer waking mind then?” Zen smiled, thinking of Blackbridge and Castle Vairrek, the two kings they might meet, anything but the thoughts of losing any of his friends.
“Keep grounded in the true eye, n’ love real in the feel eye.” Drodun smacked his chest, right over the heart, repeating the little rhyme his mother had told him years and years ago to differentiate between feelings and facts through what one saw.
“Ha, me mum used to sing the same tune to me and me brothers. Long time since I heard that. Thank ye’ father Anduvann.” Zen smiled, a real one this time.
“Any time, any time, father Thalanaxe. Allright! Shall we head down further, to Blackbridge?” He said it loud so that the gathered companions of Azenairk would hear it over the hammers that began again now that their visitors had passed along.
“Aye, aye indeed!” James did his best dwarven accent, smiling as his friends shook their heads. James saw the smiles. “It was close though, you must admit.”
“Come on, James Andellis o’ Chazzrynn, it be time to take the long walk to Blackbridge.” Drodun turned, taking roads that few, other than dwarves, had seen in thousands of years.
The walk took an hour nearly, yet none complained of it. The fiery sconces that lit the way were heftier than the minotaur, spaced out every few hundred feet. Drodun told them that the flames would burn for a week before they needed refilling. The redrock road, covered in a thin film of ash mostly, was wide enough for twenty dwarves before the stone guardrail on either side. Only Zen could tell of the five companions, but the road twisted and turned and was at a slight incline down the entire time. They passed manorhomes into the very stone, some with stairs spiraling up a hundred feet before a square door could be reached. Others were stacked, windows with no glass, no doors in doorways on the walls, yet laughter, feasting, drinking, and children playing echoed in the deep of the Misathi.
The ceiling was as non-existent at times as the ground below the roads and bridges. Deep chasms of utter black, celings with no end save a ridge or wandering stalagmite, and walls to their right and left that vanished into the grand beyond. They stopped halfway, gazing across into nothingness with no light. No ground, ceiling, or walls, just a bridge that arced to the next solid rock. The cool air did not move, no light shone when the sconces were far, yet never out of sight. Even the echoes did not return in the depths of Marlennak.
A last turn on the red stones and they beheld it, Blackbridge. The name fit well, as they all saw an immense bridge of black iron and rock, some hundred feet across and nearly a mile long. The guardrails were sheer spikes of metal, and the pillars holding it up numbered in the hundreds from the black rocky floor a half mile down. Over the bridge was a wall of gray and red stone, cracked in the middle, and it connected to a massive round topped temple that boasted a metal hammer and two moons from the dome, the symbol of Vundren. Beyond that were several more temples of smaller fashion, a giant rectangle of a stone bulding with twenty floors, all of which had candles aglow in hundreds of windows. Forges buried under rock domes poured steam into the open sky beneath the mountains, at least twelve, all the size of surface castles themselves.
One single cylinder of red stone rose from floor to ceiling behind and over them all, six bridges arcing out from different floors, and symbols decorated and etched into every open space of outer wall. A spear, a round shield, a sword, an axe, a hammer, a helmet, a suit of armor, and a pick, every one of them glowing with divine light of gold and blue. No one moved, even Azenairk froze at the awe and majesty of such a sight. The center of Marlennak was a mile across, stairs led in every direction, and surrounded by a crevice that looked to have no end.
Father Drodun spoke softly, letting his guests take in the view. Most lost their breath, even other dwarves could not tell how it was built all those thousands of years ago, but here it was.
“This, be Blackbridge. In every war and invasion we here in Marlennak have had, this bridge was n’er taken, not once. In some battles, that lasted weeks mind ye’, this bridge held over ten thousand dwarves fightin’ to protect our center.”
“How…how was this..built.” James stammered it out, his eyes resisting the need to blink.
“No one knows that, Sir James, no one knows. It be lost in the histories o’ our people.” Drodun continued.
“That there is me home, to the left upper window there, on the wall. The wall is cracked, by a giant king they say, one that Vundren himself slayed and threw into the crevice. The Temple o’ the Cracked Wall was built by order of Vundren himself. And over there, ye see the forges, the mines are below them there, bringin’ our tough and heavy black iron from deep in the stone. Best one is my cousin, Jederak’s, we will be seein’ him soon I think. Lady Gwenneth, there be yer’ books in the tall rectangle, the Historium Calaudrumm Vem, or Library of King Calaud the First of Marlennak. Not much on magicks I would assume, as we don’t be practicing the dark stuff much, but ye might find interest in the ten or twenty thousand or so tomes.” He paused, so much to say his mouth had run dry. His flask quenched quickly the thirst of his throat, and he continued.
“Lastly, the cylinder like structure ye’ see there that is nearly three hundred feet up, that be Castle Vairrek. They say the first kings here were told what to craft by Vundren, and to remind them, he drew with his holy finger upon their first building, the castle. It been glowin’ for thousands o’ years, and we here been craftin’ and fightin’ with every weapon we make ever since.”
“It is so amazing to see, I almost want to just stand here and watch.” Shinayne never knew that dwarves could build such things of beauty and wonder.
“So ye don’t want to be goin’ in then, me lady?” Drodun looked to the elven woman.
“Oh yes, yes I do. By all means, lead on.”
He led them in, he and Azenairk receiving trusting nods from plate covered dwarven guards by the dozens, black spears and shields, razored and polished helms, and dark green cloaks and gloves of lizard leather. Up close, the buldings were even more ominous and grand. Polished marble of greens and reds, fires in braziers the size of small homes, and house banners of kings long gone marked their road.
“Now, we did skip a few areas here in me home, case ye’ be stayin’ awhile then. Ye’ saw Redbridge and southside but, on the other side o’ the center here in Blackbridge, there are two more districts. Ye’ have northside, mostly common homes and hunting grounds, mold farms and some other mines be there. To the west there is Greenbridge, sure ye’ be likin’ that. The finest meadhouses and whiskey distilleries in the three dwarven kingdoms be there, n’ a few inns and spots to sleep for the travelers we get here n’ there. We fight, we drink, and we make weapons to kill things and drink after that. In quiet times, they let us o’ the cloth try n’ keep some peace and tradition goin’.” Drodun pointed out the bridges that led out to the other districts as they wandered near the center of Marlennak.
“Who is it ye’ fight, with such a deep city and all? Boraduum has few that would dare trouble us, but this is a nation ready for war, is it not?” Zen was curious as to who could still war with such a place. In Boraduum, the city was closer to the top, built in the outer walls, and had parts of the fortress on the rock face. Here, nothing but a door would give hint there was a city underneath.
“Oh, mind ye’ there now, the mountains, outside and within, boast a swarm o’ nasties we fight all the time Azenairk. Ye’ got the cannibalistic Mogi giants to the south, green salisan lizard folk to the north, ogre from Bloodskull right west in the Misathi here, deep giants and sky giants, hells I heard ye’ even had a dragon followin’ ye’ here, ain’t seen one o’ t
hem ever, thought they be all dead. Last war was with the ogre, bout’ fifty years past now. Yer’ father came up with Boraduum for that one he did, Vundren rest him. Fazurand sent soldiers too. Now talk about a deep city, Fazurand has rivers o’ molten ore and caverns o’ crystal they say. We here though, are always ready for a war, father Thalanaxe.”
A soldier approached Zen and Drodun, eyed the rest suspiciously, then whispered into Drodun’s ear. The conversation looked serious.
“Aye, very good then. I will be in with em’ in a moment.” He turned to Azenairk.
“What is it then?”
“Seems our king wishes to meet the travelers that braved Deadman’s Pass and a dragon, King Rallik that is. Ye’ be famous already me friends. Come on now, and mind yer words, our king he will pick a fight over anything, Vundren bless em’ both.” Drodun turned toward Castle Vairrek.
“What about your other king…” Zen paused.
“Therrak? He wishes to meet ye’ as well, but…” Drodun paused.
“…but what?” Saberrak huffed.
“King Therrak wishes to meet those that brought a dragon and an army from Willborne upon the Misathi close to his kingdom. I was told he is not pleased much t’all.” Drodun turned and walked ahead, waving them to follow.
“Great, one king hates us and the other thinks we are brave. Now what?” Saberrak looked down to Zen.
“And one other there wishes to see ye’, me higher up is all.” Drodun interjected quickly as he went toward the castle.
“Oh by Vundren’s beard, a High Hammer in the king’s courts, this may get a bit complicated then.” Zen furrowed his brow, rubbed his bald head, and turned to his friends.
“What does that mean, Zen?” Saberrak did not understand.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 28
