Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Thork cleared his throat. “Princess, I would have you remember the tale of the Winter King and the Queen of Summer, and of the great noble beasts that protected her. Your Wind was like that, protecting her Queen; let her join the others within the ice, and perhaps one day if they truly rise again she will be with them, her great heart once more filled with life, her spirit dedicated to a noble cause.”

  Elyn rose from the snow and slung her arms about Thork and wept, and after a while they shouldered the gear and slowly made their way through the snow and back up the slopes, back into the sanctuary of Black Mountain.

  Two more days they spent within the Wizardholt, studying the great globe, assuming that the cluster of silvery sparkles marked where they were, and that the black gleam just to the north was Andrak’s holt. And they gauged how far they would have to travel by measuring the distances between other places, known places, along the surface of the sphere, thereby obtaining a scale. And they judged that they were some twenty-five miles or so from Andrak’s castle, twenty-five miles from the Kammerling. And often Elyn fingered the silveron nugget upon its leather thong, recalling the Wolfmage’s words, knowing that the protection it offered was tenuous at best. And so they spent two days planning, choosing which gear to take and which to leave behind, as well as speaking of strategy and tactics, though most things were left undecided, since much depended upon what they might find at the strongholt of their foe.

  When he wasn’t planning, Thork spent time examining the walls of the seven rooms they had access to, using his Châk-trained senses in this stone-cut den. At last he spoke to Elyn: “If I were to have carved these chambers and wished to conceal a door leading into a deeper interior, then I know where I would have placed a secret portal.”

  Elyn’s eyes sparkled. “Let us go look then, my Dwarven Warrior, and see the wonder of the Mages.”

  “Nay, Princess,” responded Thork. “I would not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for if they wish to remain hidden, then I for one would let them be.”

  Elyn was disappointed, yet she did not press the issue, though she did look closely at each of the walls, to no avail. Time and again, though, she and Thork did speculate upon why the Wizards were holed up within Black Mountain, and what they might be hiding from . . . or waiting for. Yet their conversations yielded no more than they already knew, and so the mystery of the Mages remained just that: an unsolved enigma.

  Just ere mid of night of the second day, Thork quietly rose up from his cot and donned his winter garb and stepped unto the gate. He spoke the name of the Allfather and trod out into the crystal dark. Long he stood, peering at the spangle above, his voice whispering unto Elwydd. For it was Year’s Long Night, and he repeated the great litany, the Starlight Invocation, unto the Giver of Life, his words in Châkur, the Dwarven tongue. And to the invocation he appended words of his own, but what he said is not recorded.

  And when he turned and came back inside, there he found Elyn waiting at the open gate, wrapped in a blanket, her saber in hand, ready to ward him should trouble be afoot. Assured that he was alright, saying not a word, she padded back to her cot and fell again into sleep, while behind, Thork watched her go, his eyes filled with unfathomable emotions.

  Thus passed two more days for the twain, days spent planning, resting, contemplating, regaining their energy, going through their belongings, abandoning that which was not absolutely necessary, or that which they could bring themselves to leave behind, lightening their loads, until at last it was time to press onward.

  And early on the morn of the following day, Elyn and Thork restored the tapestry to its hooks along the wall—except for that first night and next morning, they had not again huddled together under its warmth, instead bunking down upon the cots provided in the chamber within—and after the wall hanging was replaced, they gathered up their gear and stepped to the iron gates, opening them with the name of the Allfather.

  Angling downslope, around the shoulder of the mountain they went, aiming to the north, Andrak’s holt their goal.

  Behind them, the carven iron gates swung to, closing off the seven chambers within, and the myriad unexplored rooms hidden beyond, concealing the Mages in deep sleep, a sleep that had lasted for sixteen centuries and would last millennia more, as the Magi made ready for the final confrontation, preparing for the prophesied apocalyptic War. And when and if the Wizards ever awakened, they would discover abandoned in the outer chambers two saddles, bridles and bits, saddlebags of grain, a small amount of warm-weather clothing sized to fit a Dwarf and a slender Human, and a Harlingar spear and a Dwarven warhammer leaning against a wall. And the Mages would nod sagely, and perhaps sadly, knowing the tale of the twain who temporarily gained refuge herein.

  But that was yet to be, and in this time and place, the two now trudged northward and downward through the deep snow, seeking a dark castle and what lay within.

  And in a dark room within that dark castle, an invisible aura about a silveron warhammer shouted out for any who had the power to perceive, that a champion, that two champions, were coming to claim the Kammerling.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Quest of Black Mountain: Elyn

  Early and Mid summer, 3E1602

  [This Year]

  Groggily, Elyn opened her eyes. Framed by the blue sky, Mala’s features swam into view, fretting, and the Princess wondered why she was lying down, her head cradled in her aunt’s lap. Momentarily confused, Elyn groaned and looked left, seeing a shattered stone wall. With a rush, memories flooded back: Black Kalgalath! The keep!

  The Princess started up, and pain lanced throughout her being—“No, no!” cried Mala. “Don’t move! Devon is on the way.”—and Elyn fell back. Now she remembered the Drake whelming her into a wall.

  Slowly, gingerly, over Mala’s protests, Elyn rolled leftward and pushed herself up into a sitting position. All about, the stone of the keep lay in ruin, the main tower of the castle nought but rubble. Groaning, the Warrior Maiden stood, Mala gaining her feet as well, lending support to the Princess.

  Elyn could hear moans coming from the wreckage. “Get them help,” she hissed through teeth clenched against the pain. “They’re trapped, hurt, broken; mayhap some are slain.”

  “Help is on the way,” responded Mala. “It was the first thing I called for after that monster took wing.”

  In that moment, Old Devon came picking his way through the ruins. As the healer examined the Princess, Elyn asked, “Who dragged me from the wall where Black Kalgalath hammered me?”

  Mala answered, “I got you out when he went to tear down the gate—”

  “Here, get her to a bed and give her this,” interrupted Devon, handing Mala a small vial taken from his healer’s bag. And ere Elyn could protest: “Dispute me not, my Princess. You’ve taken a nasty hammering. Black and blue all over tomorrow. The Realm needs you, but it needs you healthy, not banged up. Now go! I’ve got more important things to do than to argue with a stubborn Woman.”

  From other parts of the ruins came members of the Castleward bearing victims of Black Kalgalath, the rescuers calling for healers. Devon turned his back upon Elyn and clambered across the rubble to aid the other wounded.

  Mala led Elyn to one of the outbuildings, where she found a cot and bade the Princess to lie down. Elyn swallowed the contents of Devon’s vial, and as her aunt gently washed grime from the Princess’s face, the Warrior Maiden fell asleep.

  The rest of that day and all the next the Princess slept, waking but a time or two to take long drinks and to relieve herself. And just ere dawn on the following day she awakened full. By the dim light of a small oil lamp Elyn could see Mala asleep in a chair beside her bed, the lines on her aunt’s face softened in slumber. Quietly, Elyn sat up, discovering that Old Devon had been right: she was black and blue, great bruises blotching her back and side, some on her legs as well. And she hurt. It hurt to sit still and it hurt to move. Even so, she got to her feet and gathered clothing unto herself and slowly, painfully d
ressed, for she was ravenously hungry.

  Slipping out through the door, gritting her teeth against the soreness, the Princess slowly made her way to the dining hall of the Castleward; meals for the guards were served there at all odd hours. She entered a hall buzzing with conversation, for a shift of the ward was about to take place. As she stumped toward the mess line, talk within the hall ceased, and the old Men and boys sprang to their feet to offer aid. First to reach her was Ardu, the fourteen-year-old brother of Reynor.

  “My Lady, let me help,” Ardu’s words tumbled out, and the slender yellow-haired youth caught up one of the wooden trenchers as well as a knife and spoon. Ushering her through the line, Ardu spoke of the Dragon’s raid and Elyn’s well-aimed but futile arrow shot ’gainst the mighty beast: “None else had the courage to stand up to the monster, my Lady. But by Ardon, you did! This will be a tale long told: that a Warrior Maiden would face a Drake with nought but bow and arrow. Hai! It be a thing that bards sing of.”

  All through her morning meal, Ardu’s words rushed one atop another, and she heard that Mala had commanded the rescue teams as well as organized repair crews. “Not only has she been the guiding hand behind the work, but she’s been sitting beside your bed each and every hour that she’s not been directing the efforts of others. No disrespect intended, Princess, but that Mala, well, she’s a tough old bird,” confided Ardu, his voice filled with the knowledge of youth. “All the warders jump at her command, and gladly, for she’s the one who seems to know what to do; while all the rest of us argue about what should be done first, she thinks things through and decides what’s important and what’s not. Then it’s crack the whip and we hop to; and you know, Old Devon says that Lady Mala is right more than she’s wrong, and that’s all that counts.”

  After breaking her fast, accompanied by Ardu, Elyn hobbled about the keep, examining the damage, the dawnlight casting long shadows across the bailey. And as she looked in dismay upon the wrack, Mala arrived, lines of worry now creasing her countenance.

  “Child, you should be at rest,” admonished the spinster.

  “No more than should you, my Aunt,” responded Elyn, “since you’ve guided the efforts here as well as watched over me—and for that I am grateful, though such a double undertaking might well put you into the sickbed alongside your patient.”

  Mala glanced down at her hands, pleased that she had been complimented yet knowing that in the same breath she had also been admonished.

  “Have you sent word to my sire?” asked Elyn.

  “Not yet, Princess,” replied Mala, “for I did not know just how the news of such a calamity might affect his conduct of the War.”

  “Aye,” agreed Elyn, “there is that to consider. Even so, Black Kalgalath swore to take vengeance upon Aranor for the deeds of Elgo: the Drake seeks to extract payment from the sire for the act of the son.” Elyn stood in thought for a moment. “Mala, I deem Father must be warned of that e’en though news of the devastation here might act ill upon him in this fight with the grasping foe.”

  Elyn turned to Ardu, her words bringing a swift grin of pleasure to the youth’s face. “Saddle a swift horse and tether a remount, Ardu, for I would have you bear a message to your King. Stock up with enough provisions for yourself and the steeds for a swift journey to Kachar. Weapons, too, bear weapons, for ’tis not known what you may encounter. Go now, and return to me when you are ready, for I will have a letter for you to carry.”

  As Ardu raced away, Elyn turned to Mala. “Let us find pen and parchment, and compose a missive to my sire, couching it in terms true, yet terms that will cause the least distress.”

  Sire: Two days apast, Black Kalgalath descended upon Jordkeep. The gate is broken and the main tower fallen, whelmed by Dragon might. Twenty-six people were slain, by flame and falling rock, and forty-three horses were destroyed by fire; and Sleeth’s trove is gone, borne off by the great black Drake.

  Mala and I are well, and we are repairing the damage: A force has been dispatched to Reachwood to cut timbers for a new gate, though the iron cladding will now have to be replaced by the hands of smithies different from those who first installed it, with whom we presently war. Too, experienced masons are being called upon to begin rebuilding the tower. Though this work will go slowly, chafe not about our shelter, for the remainder of Jordkeep is in good repair, but for a stable or two lost to the Dragonfire.

  Father, the prime reason for this message is to warn you of Black Kalgalath’s words: the Drake has sworn to seek you out and extract vengeance for that which Elgo did—the slaying of Sleeth. Take care, Father, and let not this Dragon find you unprepared.

  We would welcome news of the progress of the War.

  Your loving daughter, Elyn, Regent

  Letter in hand, Elyn stood at the sundered gate and watched as Ardu led two horses toward her: one bridled and saddled, bearing a bow and arrows and a saber, as well as a light bedroll and waterskins for rider and steeds alike—though clear streams were to be found all along the route to Kaagor Pass—and saddlebags bulging with grain for the horses as well as waybread for the rider; the other a remount upon a long tether behind, this horse bearing nought. Ardu would ride swiftly, changing mounts every hour or so, one laded with his lithe frame and the supplies, the other running behind unburdened.

  As the lad came to her, Elyn handed the wax-sealed letter to him, and Ardu slipped it into a leather message pouch securely fastened beneath his jerkin. “You will be able to exchange horses when you reach the drovers watching o’er the cattle herd this side of the Grimwall, this side of Kaagor Pass,” said Elyn. “Ride swiftly, but do not founder the steeds. Heed me! Take care to not dwell upon our troubles here when you speak with the King, for he will have enough to burden his mind without adding more. And bring to us word of the War.”

  Ardu mounted up, and with a rakish grin, spurred forth, the horses running at a canter, the first of the varying paces of a Jordreich long-ride. And as the lad hammered out upon the plains, long did Elyn watch, her spirit racing across the prairie with the youth.

  Over the next eight days Elyn steadily healed, the soreness soaked from her bruises by hot baths laced with herbs and mineral salts. Gradually, the purple blotching turned to a yellowish green and slowly faded from her Dragon-battered frame. And during those days, Elyn and Mala began to see to the repair of the keep, assigning work crews to clear the rubble, speaking with eld masons as to the rebuilding of the tower. The old Men and youths made good progress, though the Princess did wonder how swiftly the work would have gone had the hale and hearty Men who had ridden off to War been here to do the labor instead. And as to the eld masons, many were glad to be at work upon a great endeavor once again, for in their declining years they had puttered only at small tasks, the greater ones being accomplished by those who were younger, stronger; and the faded eyes of these old Men gleamed at the thought of rebuilding the central tower.

  On the fifth day a waggon train bearing heavy timbers returned from Reachwood, and eld carpenters set to, making a mighty wooden-beamed gate to set in the west wall, a gate to take the place of the portal sundered by Kalgalath.

  It was on the evening of the eighth day that horns sounded the arrival of a messenger: Ardu had returned from Kachar.

  Elyn received the yellow-haired youth in the hall where in days past she and Mala had first begun to keep track of the logistics needed to supply the Host afield, a chamber not in the main tower of the keep, hence one that had escaped destruction; now it was the chamber where nearly all the business of the Kingdom was conducted. And here it was that Ardu came to make his report.

  When the youth stepped in, Elyn noted that his face was drawn and weary; yet it was not only the fatigue of a long-ride she saw, for something else lurked within his eyes, a doom that she could not at first fathom; but when he came nigh, she could see that it was despair filling his being, hagridden torment.

  Stepping before the Princess, Ardu saluted, striking a clenched fist to his heart.
“My Lady”—his words poured out as he reached into his jerkin, pulling forth his message pouch—“I have failed you: your missive remains undelivered, for Black Kalgalath has descended upon the King’s Legion, driving them into Kachar.” And hammered by emotions he but little understood, the lad burst into tears.

  The next day, Elyn called an unprecedented meeting: she not only gathered together her Counsellors, she also asked that any who had knowledge, knew tales, or even heard rumor of the ways of Dragons to attend as well; and if any had even the faintest knowledge of Black Kalgalath, then they were doubly welcome. Some sixty or so came to the assembly, a meeting held in the mess hall of the Castleward, for it was the only chamber still standing that was large enough to hold that many. The tables had been arranged in an open square, Elyn at the head board, Mala to her right, Ardu upon her left, with the Counsellors arrayed to either side. All others were bidden to sit where they would. When all had taken a place, she bade Ardu to repeat his tale in full, and the youth, now rested, stood and delivered the story in a clear voice that all could hear:

  “Nine days past, I rode forth from Jordkeep with a message from Princess Elyn to be delivered to my Lord Aranor. I was to change mounts this side of Kaagor Pass when I reached the drovers keeping the herd nigh the Grimwall, the cattle needed to feed the Legion.

  “The horses ran well, and water was aplenty, and so I made good time. But on the third day, I came upon the remains of a waggon train, burnt, all Men slain by fire, steeds too.”

  A low rumble of voices sounded about the tables, but quickly subsided when Elyn rapped upon the board. When quietness fell, she signed Ardu to continue, and the lad spoke on: