Simon was using his staff as a support as he walked and the length of metal rang musically each time he set the end against the ground. Several of the passing dwarves seemed to stare overlong at the weapon as he passed and he wondered why.
Opheilla became thoughtful when he mentioned it to her.
“Well, you know how many of my people feel toward those who use magic. Staves are almost unknown to us, as they are a symbol of spell-casters; wizards specifically. And now here you are, using one in public. It just reemphasizes a possible change in attitude toward both magic and humans. I suppose some of my folk are uncomfortable with the idea of such changes.”
“And do the council members share those feelings?” Simon asked, beginning get nervous again.
“Some do, I suppose,” the cleric answered, apparently unconcerned. “But others do not. These things tend to balance each other out when it comes to the council. Try not to worry about it.”
Easier said than done, Simon thought as he walked along.
They had reached a main thoroughfare and the tunnel was now twenty yards wide, with doors set deeply into the walls on either side. Lanterns hung down from the ceiling high overhead and lit the area brightly, throwing off a warm yellow glow, almost like sunlight.
“The lights are interesting,” Simon commented as they walked. “It sort of feels like we're above ground.”
“Ah, you have a keen eye, my friend,” Opheilla replied with an approving smile. “Yes, that is the point. You see, my people weren't always stone dwellers. In the distant past, we too lived above ground; planted our crops, practiced our crafts. A cataclysm drove us into the deeps, but we still remember.” She sighed wistfully. “Yes, we remember.”
“I had no idea,” Simon said, surprised. “I've never heard of that before.”
The cleric looked up as they passed beneath one of the yellow lamps.
“We do not speak of it often. But the lights are actually unnecessary for us. My people can see in almost complete darkness, needing only the heat of our surroundings to guide us. The yellow lanterns are more of a symbol of what we've lost, rather than something that is useful.”
She gave Simon a teasing smile.
“Just as well for you though, isn't it? Otherwise you'd be stumbling around in the dark rather than walking in the light.”
He grinned and gave the lamps a thankful glance.
“No kidding. So your people can see into the infrared spectrum? That's interesting.”
“I have not heard that term before, but if it means that we can see heat, then yes, we can.”
“Fascinating.”
The hallway suddenly opened up into an enormous space and Simon stopped and stared around him.
“Whoa,” he whispered.
“This is the city center,” Opheilla told him and smiled at his awed expression. “All dwarven cities are constructed around a central core area, and Kingstone is the oldest of all of them.”
For a moment, Simon thought he'd stepped on to the surface of the world. The ceiling rose away from the tunnel and disappeared into the distance. Above them, an enormous light source, blazing like the midday sun, shone down on the city below. He put a hand up to block the light and saw wisps of what looked like clouds floating overhead.
“What is that?” he asked in amazement.
The cleric stood next to him and looked up at the light. Her expression was a mixture of affection and reverence.
“That is the symbol of our people, Simon,” she told him quietly as many dwarves moved by them, parting like the waters of a river as they stood together.
“We call it Daemor's Heart. Legend says that it was a gift from the patron god of the dwarves, Daemor the Old, first of the lords of Light. He created my people and, when we were driven below ground ages ago, guided us to this place and set the Heart above us as a symbol of his love for us. It gives us light and life and we will do anything to protect it.”
This last statement was delivered fiercely and Simon, looking at the cleric's face, saw an expression of almost savage resolve.
“Daemor's Heart,” he repeated quietly. “It's magnificent.”
Opheilla looked at him and smiled with pleasure.
“Thank you. Now, let's get a move on. It wouldn't do to keep the council waiting.”
Simon followed the cleric as she set off again, and tried to stare everywhere at once as they walked.
There were doors set all along the walls of the city center and above them were rows of windows. The windows rose up in tier after tier until they were lost from sight and Simon counted at least ten stories of what he assumed were homes. Some of them were lit and he saw shutters and curtains in many. It reminded him of apartment buildings back on old Earth.
The walls themselves were all ornately carved and inset with brightly-colored semi-precious stones and minerals. The carvings were a mixture of abstract pictures and martial scenes of battle. Simon saw great landscapes laid out with armies of dwarves fighting against beasts and monsters out of legend.
Dragons, wyverns, giants, the creatures seemed endless. He even saw what he guessed were armies of trolls and ogres, crude weapons raised over their heads, attacking a mixed cohort of dwarves, humans and, surprisingly, elves. The wizard stopped Opheilla for a moment and pointed at the incredibly life-like mosaic.
“I thought that dwarves and elves didn't get along,” he said to her. “And look, there are some of my people in that battle too.”
The cleric looked wistfully at the scene.
“We don't get along now, my friend,” she said as she approached the wall, looking upward. “But before our falling out, dwarves, humans and elves were great allies. We fought many battles together back in ancient times, when the world was young. Your race is older than you know.”
“So what happened? I mean, I know that there was a rift between the races, and I've heard some vague stories, but I've never really gotten the details.”
“And you won't today,” she told him with a teasing grin. “We simply don't have the time right now for a history lesson. Another day, perhaps. Now come along. We're going to be late.”
Opheilla turned away from the wall and struck out across the middle of the city center. This area was filled with shops. Many stands were set up and a dazzling array of goods were being sold.
Simon saw shops selling different types of mushrooms, root vegetables and odd looking fruits that he couldn't identify. There were several smiths hammering on anvils beside small forges. Their displays of weapons and armor were amazing. All of the work was beautiful and each seemed to have his or her own unique style.
“There are female blacksmiths?” he asked the cleric.
She glanced at him with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn't there be?”
“Err, no reason. Sorry.”
He thought he might have sounded insulting and quickly tried to explain.
“I'd forgotten that female dwarves are so strong. Human women are, as a rule, more agile than men but have less strength.”
Opheilla's frown faded and she nodded her understanding.
“Right, right. That's true. Well, women here share in all duties. We can be whatever we wish to be, if we have the talent for it. Some of our greatest warriors were female and are greatly venerated.”
They passed one female smith who was hammering on a glowing, red-hot blade and Simon thought that she looked strong enough to snap him in half.
“Not surprised,” he commented and they moved on.
Other vendors were selling ale and wine, but how they grew grapes underground was beyond him.
Pots and pans, furniture made of a dark wood that he couldn't identify, clothing of all kinds; the market was amazing and Simon wished he had the time to explore all of it.
Some other day, he promised himself.
Opheilla pulled him aside at one point to allow four armored figures to pass. The four of them, two men and two women, were wearing black enamele
d armor and armed with short swords. The quartet looked grim and business-like.
At Simon's curious look, the cleric nodded after them.
“City guard,” she said as they made their way through the crowd. “They keep order, watch out for thievery, that sort of thing.”
“There are thieves among your people?” Simon asked in surprise.
“I'm afraid so. Dwarves are no more saintly than your kind, my friend. We have both good and bad types, and many shades of gray in between.”
They were almost across the open area now and Simon stopped and looked back at the busy market. There were literally thousands of dwarves doing business and the entire place was filled with life and energy that reminded him of the high days of his own people. Days now lost, perhaps forever.
“You look sad, young wizard,” the cleric said softly.
He looked down at her and shrugged, trying to smile and almost succeeding.
“I suppose I am, a bit. Your race is ancient, Opheilla, and yet, look at them all. So alive and vibrant, so strong. We, the human race I mean, thought we had it all. We were the masters of our world, a great and wondrous race.” He laughed bitterly. “And now we're gone, a footnote in history, soon forgotten. This,” he gestured at the market, “this is the future now. I pray your people never make the same mistake we did and assume you're invincible.”
The cleric began to walk, heading into another broad tunnel, and Simon followed her, his thoughts dark and his mood somber.
“My friend, I'm sure that your people made many mistakes, as have mine,” she began to say as they walked. “But that wasn't what destroyed them. Blame the real culprits; the dark gods of Chaos. What the future would have held for humanity if the gods hadn't decided to return, well, we'll never know. But it might have been glorious.”
She punched him gently in the shoulder and smiled encouragingly.
“And don't give up just yet. Your people still survive and, as long as they do, you have to fight for them. Will you do that?”
Simon stared at her, surprised at the question.
“With my last breath and my last strength, Opheilla. I just don't know if it will be enough.”
“We can only do what we can do, young wizard. All else is out of our hands. Look now, the council chamber is up ahead.”
Simon followed her gaze.
The walls in this corridor were covered with bright white marble veined with gold. Torches hung in brackets every ten feet or so and made the marble glow warmly. Ahead, the tunnel ended at a set of massive metal doors. They shone like brass and stretched up a dozen yards.
Do the dwarves ever do anything on a small scale, he asked himself with some humor. A lesser man might have thought that they were trying to compensate for their smaller stature.
A guard stood on either side of the doors, huge glowing hammers rested on the ground in front of them, head-first. They wore the usual armor and were probably the strongest looking dwarves that Simon had seen yet.
“They look a bit...menacing,” he whispered to Opheilla as they walked toward them.
“The royal guard,” she replied quietly. “The king must be back. The guard is never far from his side and are responsible for his security. They are fanatically loyal and are chosen from our greatest warriors.” She winked at him. “Don't bother joking with them; I don't think any of them have a sense of humor.”
“No problem,” Simon said nervously.
The guard on the left was a woman and her expression was as grim and alert as her companion's. When the wizard and cleric had approached to within a dozen feet of the doors, both warriors fixed them with forbidding looks.
The guards lifted their hammers and moved together to block the doors.
“Hold,” the female said, her voice devoid of emotion. “And state your business.”
“I am Opheilla,” the cleric said calmly, meeting the cold glares from the guards. “A member of the priesthood of Daemor. The council has requested a meeting with my patient, Simon O'Toole. May we pass?”
Neither warrior answered for a long moment. They looked Simon up and down slowly and he shivered and stared at the enchanted hammers, thinking how easily they could crush him into a smear on the floor. He gripped his staff tightly, hoping that it wasn't shaking as badly as his knees were.
“He is a wizard, is he not?” the male asked, his deep voice filled with disdain.
“Yes, if that matters. He is first and foremost a guest of honor of our people,” Opheilla replied, her voice now as cold as the guards' eyes. “Will you shame us all by keeping a guest waiting like a dog outside of the council chambers doors?”
The guards turned their hostile looks on her and she met them with her own. The air chilled and, as Simon watched, he thought that the cleric had never looked so regal and proud.
Finally the tension broke and both warriors stepped back, grounding their weapons again.
“Apologies, lady cleric,” the female said respectfully. “The council waits within. You and your guest are welcome to enter.”
“Thank you,” Opheilla said, still sounding a little miffed by the holdup.
The doors began to open inward by themselves, the metal ringing musically as they moved.
“Follow closely, my friend,” the cleric said under her breath and strode forward.
Simon quickly moved to keep up, his knees weak after the confrontation with the guards. He was thankful for his staff as he leaned on it for support.
The council chamber was, like all dwarven structures, huge and ornate. It was round and about a hundred feet across and almost as high. On the distant ceiling, a brightly glowing gem, like a miniature copy of Daemor's Heart, lit the room with yellowish light. Tiers of benches circled the room, but were empty of spectators. The floor was made of marble like the hallway behind them, except that it was black with silver veins.
Across the room was a dais that rose several feet above the ground. Seated there were a dozen dwarves, men and women, wearing everything from simple tunics and trousers to robes. A few were even wearing armor.
A cross-section of the population was Simon's guess.
In the center of the dais, a high metal throne, apparently made of gold and silver and inset with fabulous gems, towered over the council members. It was occupied by a raven-haired dwarf dressed even more simply than the people around him.
Wearing a brown leather vest and matching pants, the dwarf sat comfortably, nodding at someone's comment. It had to be the king, but the only way that Simon could tell was the simple silver band the figure was wearing on his brow.
With Opheilla leading the way, they began crossing the chamber and Simon could see more details as they approached the dais. The king's beard was intricately braided and hung down to his knees as he sat on his throne. The wizard wasn't able to see the dwarf's face because he was leaning to the left and had his head turned while he spoke with several of the council members.
When they had approached to within twenty feet of the dais, Opheilla stopped and waited patiently to be noticed.
Simon stared at the king, thinking that the ruler must be a humble man. Why else wear such simple garb and chat so casually with his council? He just wished that they could get on with it. He was getting tired. The journey there had sapped his meager reserves of strength.
A woman in the group that the king was speaking with gestured toward the two visitors and the dwarf nodded and turned on his throne to stare down at them. The piercing black eyes caught Simon's in their gaze and the king smiled at him.
“Welcome, my friends,” the ruler said warmly and the wizard gaped up at him. Opheilla chuckled beside him.
“Stanis!” Simon finally gasped in disbelief.
The dwarf threw back his head and laughed heartily. Several of the council members joined in and the wizard felt his face burn with embarrassment.
Finally the king held up a hand and the laughter was cut off abruptly. He grinned at Simon.
“Forgive me, my fri
end. We are not mocking you. But you should have seen your expression. It was priceless.”
Simon had to smile at the comment.
“Yeah, I can imagine. But, but Stanis...you're the king? Why didn't you tell me? You said, way back when we first met, that your father was the ruler of a small city and that you were his second son.”
Stanis' face fell and his smile was replaced by a look of sad regret.
“That was quite true, my friend, at the time. What I may have neglected to say was that my father was the younger brother of our king. The king was killed in our confrontation with the mutated dragons, bravely leading our troops as a ruler should. He had no heirs and so my father became king and named my elder brother the heir apparent. Several months ago, they were both murdered by a traitorous faction here in the city. I was wounded but thankfully Opheilla was able to heal my injuries.”
Simon stared at him in horror.
“Murdered?”
Stanis nodded grimly.
“But that's terrible. By your own people? I don't understand.”
“What is there to understand, young man?” a councilor commented from the right side of the throne. He was a heavy-set dwarf with a sparse beard, wearing a rich purple robe and many gold chains.
“Dwarves can be as treacherous as any other race when it comes to grasping for power. Those traitors wanted to rule and were willing to commit regicide to do so. They have been neutralized,” he added with a cold smile.
Simon shivered. So even here in this ancient city, people could be as evil and treasonous as humans once were. It was a thought that filled him with sadness.
“Thank you, Durgen,” Stanis said heavily and the other dwarf sat back, nodding to himself.
“Yes, they were rooted out and punished,” the king continued. He waved a hand at the chambers around them and, when Simon looked back, he noticed dozens of guards standing like statues along the walls, almost hidden in the shadows.
“Now wherever I go, I'm forced to bring along a compliment of nursemaids with me. When I visited you, my friend, they waited nearby.”
Stanis looked at the council members sourly.
“My advisors here think it is for the best.”
The Dragons of Ash and Smoke (Tales from the New Earth Book 5) Page 6
