“It be all in Vundren’s hands now, just do not say anything about---“
Zen was cut off. “It will be fine. You men worry too much, let the ladies dazzle these men to their knees and flatter them until they drool.” Gwenneth raised her chin, ran her fingers through her dark hair, and walked with Shinayne to Castle Vairrek.
“Yes, I am sure o’ that, but do not mention a word of---“
Zen could not finish again. “Together, my dwarven priest, we will be strong as always.” James slapped his shoulder plate and urged him forward.
“I know, I know, but try not to speak about where---“
“Come on father Thalanaxe, best not keep the kings a waitin now!” Drodun yelled it back over as they went under the last arch of Blackbridge.
“Saberrak, do not let anyone mention the box, the key, the dust, the deed, or anything about Kakisteele or where we are heading. Not a word, please.” Zen whispered it so that other passers by would not hear.
“Very well, but why?” The minotaur was confused.
“Just trust me on this, tis’ trouble we do not need.” Zen breathed deep, composing his posture, pulling his beard, and said a silent prayer to his God of the mountains.
Zen walked in behind the rest, only Saberrak lagging behind near him as they entered. It was silent here, on guard always Zen had noticed. Not like Boraduum where family squabbles, formal courts on mining lines, and disputes over which family had expansion rights and which did not were common every day. The church oversaw as witnesses there, high priests and bishops to give direction, patterned more after the human churches of Alden generation by generation. Here, it seemed the High Hammers of the Fazurand Temples still held a seat in the monarchy. Agarian speech was just as common as Dwarven in his home, unlike here where some understood, few spoke it, all clinging to their old traditional heritage. Zen knew that Marlennak was still unchanged, he saw it everywhere though he had never set foot here until this morning. It saddened him to see a people so unknowing of the outside world, yet perhaps, he thought, it is better this way.
He felt the box in his pouch, still there. He smiled, shaking his head.
Father, I am in Marlennak now, and it is as you said, a splendor to the eyes it is indeed. Me friends are sure and strong, tell Vundren he has protected me well, though I am sure he already knows. I am honored to do this, for our family, forgive me for doubtin’ ye’. I have to go now, kings to meet and likely a High Hammer o’ the temples. Tell God I could use a bit o’ help here, to make it out quiet and all. I love ye’ father, I am on my way.
Exodus III:VII
Castle Vairrek, Center of Marlennak
The silence vanished once the great stone doors pushed open. Even the guards grimaced as a storm of noise rattled their ears inside black iron helms. Lantern light of yellow mixed with fires of orange, wooden chairs slid by the dozens, stone tables were pounded, and steel of every forged sort clanged with the howls, yells, cheers, and raucus that was the throneroom with two thrones. The ceilings bounced the commotion from the high reaches of at least ten dwarves tall, forty or fifty dwarves pointed and tried to yell their words louder than the next, and green marble floors held up animal rugs and tables of engraved steel mugs galore. Two thrones of golden square slabs, golden steps leading up to their cushioned seats, sat opposing each other north to south on the far walls. The hammer and moons rose from the back of each throne, sculpted of gold as well, yet those symbols were the only items not making noise or motion in the chaos of the castle.
Drodun raised his hand as he walked in first, nothing happened. He took his battle axe off his hip, then a shortblade from the other side, and then a belt of throwing hammers from under his robes. The priest set them down on the left center table, where hundreds of weapons were covering the fifty foot length, and piled two or three high. Drodun reached for a mug from the right center table, and raised it to both kings in their thrones. The noise carried on as if he and his visitors did not even exist. He drank the black mead, then slammed the steel mug down on the stone table.
Silence, sudden deafening quiet from every dwarf inside. All eyes were on him, and his guests, only breathing could be heard. A small dwarf, only two feet at best yet with a full grown beard, ran up and grabbed the mug. The gnome, one of many if one were to look down and around, ran off holding it over his head and out a side entrance to fill it.
“Yes, aye, speak then father Drodun Anduvann o’ the Cracked Wall. Ye’ bring yer’ King Rallik the visitors that braved the pass and the dragon then, do ye’?” Rallik, king of the south and of the mountains acknowledged the priest. His gray beard was braided long and low, his robes of dark reds over black armor were edged in white fur and rubies, and his dark eyes seemed to glimmer with a bit of excitement. His mustache hid any smile on his round face, yet dimples under his crown of golden mountain peaks gave his joy away. He lifted his black shining warhammer and let it thud beside his throne as he was done speaking.
“Naah, nay! Ye’ have broughten those that angered the old wyrm from Willborne n’ woke her up, is what ye’ did! And don’t be forgettin’ the Mogi, sure we will have the lot o’ them to kill of as well. Stirrin’ trouble in the pass, all I be seein’ here.” Therrak, king of the north and the city, hefted his gold engraved double edged axe, letting the domed tip of the shaft hit the floor at his throne, he was also done speaking. His brow furrowed, thick red curly eyebrows over a brushed and frazzled matching beard, and black polished full armor of ornate decoration. His crown sat atop his helm, speartips from a golden band, his cape and gloves were green leather, and his eyes squinted tight at the visitors.
Drodun motioned with his thick neck, his head turning to his guests, trying to get them to come close to him. They were hesitant in the grandeur of the thronesroom and sudden silence with all eyes going from north king to south king and finally to them. Saberrak stepped up to Drodun, the rest behind the minotaur.
“Yer’ weapons, ye’ need to put em on the table there, all o’ ye’. Tis a sign o’ peace and goodwill it is. And if ye’ want to speak, ye’ have to drink n’ slam it, lest no one here will hear ye’. Tell the others.” He whispered up to the leaning horned warrior.
Saberrak nodded, pulling off his two greataxes and stacking them onto the table to his left. The stack wobbled. He looked to the others, raised his eyebrows, and stood back behind their representing priest once more. Shinayne unstrapped Carice and Elicras, her matching elven blades, then another longblade that was across her back, and then a curved knife from her hip. As she placed them gently on the piled table, James placed his broadsword and a dagger and his enchanted shield on with the rest, followed by Zen who put his warhammer and shield down ontop of them all. The pile shifted, slid, and the crash of a hundred weapons and shields hitting the floor around the visiting dwarven priest sent noise once more to every corner of the room. The disbelieving company began to yell, harassing, commenting on who would have dared knocked all the weapons over in such fashion.
Baah, baah dammit!
Naah, nay, fool!
What the…my blade..awww!
Don’t scratch me…axe!
Damn foreigners…me shield, what the!
Azenairk turned three deep shades of red, one after the other, as he began picking up the weapons of his friends and the many dwarves here. Thank ye’ Vundren, thank ye’ father, for the humiliation, so kind o’ ye’, Thank ye’ Vundren, thank ye’ father, for the humiliation, so kind o’ ye’ Zen repeated it over and over in his head, not daring to open his lips right as of now.
Saberrak and Shinayne helped, then James joined in the cleanup. Drodun stood, red in the face a bit as well, with Gwenneth by his side. She carried no steel, no weapons, so she waited with her chin raised to the dwarves that stared and glared. She winked every so often, just to catch a few eyes, which she did indeed. She thought her time should be better spent at distracting, diversion from the accident, and a bit of social recovery. She walked forward, staff in one hand and rai
sing the other. All eyes were upon her as her friends finished the last of the stacking.
“Great Kings of Marlennak, I am---“
“Baah, naye, nay! Hudekk ans verder vaud! She has to drink, first! Tradition!” The heckling from all the dwarves, including the kings, was deafening.
“Ye’ have to drink first, Lady Gwenneth.” Drodun whispered and pointed to one of the dozens of mugs with thick black mead.
“I have to drink that? All of it?” She looked to the bits of foreign objects, small as they were, floating on the surface of the liquid. All eyes upon her again, now she realized what the smiles she had been receiving were for.
“Aye, then slam it down, hard.”
“Very well, simple tradition. Sure tis not that bad.” She smiled, arrogantly, more stares and smiles as the silence reigned again. Her friends finished just in time to see her take the mug, a little gnome waiting in anticipation of his refilling duties.
She lifted it, it was indeed heavy with one hand, larger now that she had it up to her lips. It smelled of licorice, roots, mildew, grass, dirt, and spirits. She nodded to those around, even her friends, and drank. Down her chin it dribbled, her face going from arrogance to squinted suffering rather quickly as dwarven smiles grew larger. It tasted worse that it both smelled and looked, much worse. Bitter, strong, like wine that had been filled with everything a dank cavern and a farm had to offer. She felt small pieces of things go down her throat with the black wash, she felt it trying to all come back up. She stopped halfway, eyes watering, but she could see the nervous looks of her friends, Drodun, and the smiles of the dwarven men. She could tell they would be pleased to see her stop or vomit, as if they were waiting for it. She mustered what strength of stomach she had, and finished the mug. Her breath echoed in the empty handled container, she waited to ensure it stayed down for the moment, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Gwenneth slammed the mug to the table, taken just as fast by the gnome. She noticed another two miniature dwarves waiting with towels and a small mop, both looked disappointed. Everyone else looked amazed.
“Great Kings of Marlennak, I am Lady Gwenneth Lazlette of Vallakazz. I wish to offer my deepest thanks and gratitude for the daring rescue of Marshall Tannek Anduvann and his Southern Outguard Scouts. Your city, father Drodun here, and your people have been nothing but kind and with warm welcome. It is an honor, and great pleasure, to meet you and be safe in your marvelous kingdom.” Gwenneth bowed, deeply, trying not to vomit the mead. Drodun translated as she had been speaking for those that did not understand Agarian. When he finished, all clamored and pounded the table, as she had hoped.
“Nice words there m’lady, nice words indeed, ye’ done this sort o’ thing then before, have ye’?” Drodun whispered to her ear, feeling relieved that the bit of mess had been recovered and that she kept down the mead. No human lady had ever done that before, she was the first.
“Yes, I was at noble court and teaching classes on the arcane at my academy by the age of fifteen. I was raised in rooms, well, similar to this you could say.” Gwenneth stepped back, next to her friends, all who looked at her with appreciation, especially Zen.
“How bad was it, Gwenne?” Shinayne whispered.
“Not at all actually, rather sweet and delicious.” She hid her smile, hid her aching stomach, tightened her angry bowels, and nodded for Shinayne to go next. She kept her composure as the elven noble walked forward with Drodun.
“Gwenneth!” Zen whispered accusingly, shaking his head. He knew what traditional speak-mead tasted like, it was the awful bottom of the vat that was given away to the church.
“Oh, come now. It will be fun, just watch.” She smiled as Drodun and the gathered dwarves argued a bit. Seemed they forgot that he had drank a mug, therefore had the floor, and wished to speak. It took a few minutes of heated debate in the dwarven tongue, but he was allowed.
Drodun raised his hand, pointed to Zen to translate as he gestured to his friends, and bowed to each king. He pulled out the thick tome of visitors from a satchel on his belt and opened it. “My kings, my high hammer Brunnwik, fellow dwarves, I, father Drodun Anduvann o’ the Temple o’ the Cracked Wall, bring ye’ great and noble travelers. The lady Gwenneth ye’ met from an honored house in Chazzrynn. They be led by a priest o’ the temple, a devout o’ Vundren from Boraduum. He is the last o’ his line, the last Thalanaxe. Son o’ the late and mighty Kimmarik he is, I ask ye’ to welcome Azenairk Thalanaxe.”
Zen walked forward, head bowed as the fists slammed the stone tables and Drodun patted him hard on the shoulder.
“Uhh, hmmmm…” Shinayne nudged Drodun in the round belly, she assumed he had forgotten she was there. He smiled to a robed dwarf, all covered in hammers and moons of green and gold, not paying much mind to her at all. She shrugged, seeing how things went in this tradition of theirs, and took a mug.
“No, Shinayne, no!” Zen whispered, knowing her refined elven pallat would not tolerate it, too late.
The elven noble drank three rancid gulps, felt the mold flavored pieces, thought she felt something move in her mouth, and spit it all out over the floor. It was the worst thing she had ever tasted, she gagged, and looked for her waterskin. The laughter erupted from half the room, and from Gwenneth, even Saberrak chuckled upon seeing her squirming visage. Shinayne bowed, wiped her mouth with an offered towel from a little gnome with a little mop. She walked back behind Drodun and Zen, right next to her robed friend.
“You, my dear Gwenneth, are so clever, clever indeed. So clever in fact, that I may have to ponder a bit of revenge.” Shinayne smiled to Gwenne, sarcasm dripping with word and amused glare.
“I cannot hear you, dearest Shinayne, with all the laughter and all. Could you repeat that please?” Gwenne smiled back, tears in her eyes and a rumbling in her stomach.
“Oh just you wait, just you wait.”
“How bad is it? I cannot drink it, but tell me, is it truly that foul?” James was curious.
“Your problem was with the wine, James, you should be fine. And yes, it is the foulest thing a person could drink indeed.” Gwenne answered, leaning across Shinayne toward James amidst all the quieting commotion.
“Sure, you warn him after I get to try the delicious and sweet version. You are in for it my lady of Lazlette.” Shinayne smiled, keeping her composure intact. Her mind swam with plans at playful revenge. “Just you wait and see.”
Zen took a mug, breathed deep, and swallowed it all with his eyes closed. Tough, chewy, bitter and dwarven speak-mead it was, he had tasted it before. He slammed the steel to the stone, nodding to the smallborn gnomes, the dwarves had put their unfortunate of stature to kind use, much like they did in Boraduum. The foreign priest raised his hand in the simmering volumes of the thronesroom of Marlennak, eyes of the high hammer and the kings upon him.
“Great King Rallik, great King Therrak, High Hammer Brunnwik and gathered dwarven lords, I am Azenairk Thalanaxe and I am in yer’ thanks and debt for such hospitality. Me friends be my true company that---”
“What brings ye’ to our doors, all the way from the Bori Mountains, then?” The high hammer spoke, thudding his mug down after a fast drink of mead. He stood and sat just as fast, gray and red beard braided tight, bulbous nose over his mustache, and shaved head with a bit of sheen or oil to it.
“We traveled from Chazzrynn, on a great quest for the minotaur, and ourselves I s’pose. Ancient relic found in the south, needed to get to safety in Soujan Mountain, north of the Zuran there, in Harlaheim. We had some troubles there, some wars and such with surface folk and beasts, led Saberrak Agrannar o’ the Grays to be getting’ captured. We freed him in Devonmir, and well, got chased into these here mountains of the Misathi. Thanks to you and yours, Marshall Tannek and his lewirja friend, we are safe in Marlennak with ye’.” Zen bowed to the High Hammer, the leading priest of Marlennak who answered directly to the Moon Hammer of Vundren, in the sacred temple forge of Fazurand.
“I knew yer’ father, young Azenairk, kn
ew him well. He done fought with our father in a few battles, sorry to hear o’ his passin’ and that you be all that is left o’ the Thalanaxes.” King Rallik smiled from his throne, thudding his hammer upside down when he was done speaking.
“Aye, I knew yer’ father and yer’ brothers, Vundren rest em’. I have a few daughters that be comin’ o’ age soon, if ye’ be thinkin’ o’ stayin here in Marlennak and holdin’ yer roots for growth. I could have ye’ meet---“ King Therrak was interrupted.
“Naah, naye! You was about what, ten or twelve when his brothers was here? Ye’ cannot remember yer’ crown half the time, doubtin’ yer’ mind remembers them t’all! And yer’ daughters, baah, speakin’ o’ beasts they is---“ Rallik was overpowered by the booming voice of his brother, the north king.
“I does so ye’ bleedin’ grayhair! Their names was Geadrik and Tadnek Thalanaxe, hah! And don’t ye’ be startin’ bout me daughters again! Ye’ be jealous cuz’ yer’ little king cannot make any future kings tis all! If ye’ knew how to use it---“ The king of the north was silenced by Rallik.
Dwarves now scattering to sides, half to the north, half to the south, in front of the thrones. Azenairk and company were on the south side with Drodun, watching the spectacle escalate. Mean looks, stares with iron faces and beard pulling began, and it looked as if the room would explode into battle.
“Ye’ better watch yer’ words little brother! That be no talk to a king, even from the younger king that our father, Vundren rest him, made a cute little throne for so he would stop his cryin’! Ye’ probably thought t’was a potty fer yer’ kingly shart and just sat---“ Rallik thudded his hammer over and over as he spoke, mirroring the pounding axe from across the room from Therrak.
“That be it! Ye’ done said it this time, I challenge ye’ words old brother! Let war decide it, I choose from yer side---“ Therrak waved his fist, pointing over the visitors who stood in shock.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 29
