by Jason Jones
“Dada, dada, what is that noise?” Alessandeir runs after me.
“Stay here son. Ranny, keep them all inside.” I give her eyes a stern stare, ignoring my sons’ pleas to follow, and stalk out my northern doors and circle around my keep. It has been seven years since my release, I am surprised it has taken them this long to find me.
“Uvirool tapeshti.” I whisper an arcane protection that turns my clothing as strong as steel. Five more steps.
“Caiferitus pron pilool.” I draw my blade as an ebony essence swirls below my feet that will allow me to shift between any and all shadows at will. My powers come back to memory faster and stronger than I could have hoped, the energies flow without effort. Around the east side, marching over the hill behind my home, I am ready for them. I drop the leather sheath.
“Involius trebori.” The wind rushes from behind me, I feel stronger, faster, more aware of everything around as arcane forces invoke within my body. My eyes sense for the demons, there are none. I reach again with my magicked sight, standing over where the noise should emerge from, by the eastern bluffs. Nothing enchanted or cursed, not the Soteth sorcerors of Altestan, in fact, I feel nothing in the realm of the arcane at all. Almost in view, I prepare to unleash the force of a thousand flames upon my enemies.
Let them come, they will find it more a challenge than they hope…
Line by line, rows of men emerge from the east. Men with gray and blond beards, shorter men, stockier men. I let my guard down and pick up my sheath, relax my powers of the arcane, and rest my sword. I hear my son running up behind me, obviously having escaped the housemaid and her family. I am less than surprised.
“Dada, what is it? Who are they?” He tugs at my robes of black and indigo, put his arms up for me to lift him, yet his eyes never leave the view of three thousand armored dwarves marching west in the early morning.
I look at the standards some of the soldiers carry. A pick, a hammer and moons design, gems and stars on another. Some of the soldiers have brown and blond beards all in braids, yet most are gray. The steps in steel plate, shields and hammers clanking closer, I have to raise my voice to speak to my son.
“Fazurand son, dwarves of Fazurand! Likely they are headed to Marlennak in the Misathi Mountains!” One of the dwarves breaks off from the formation with his hand raised toward me. I return the gesture, Ranny and her family now behind me as well as we gaze down into the valley with an army before us.
“Greetings there, ye’ be the Lord of Azarris then?”
The soldier speaks Agarian, and seems to know of me. I eye him, never having seen him before. Blond bushy eyebrows, and he has at least thirty golden braids of hair and beard that hang over his shining silver plates.
“I am.” I lie, by name I am I suppose, but the powers that be have placed me here after my release, it is not mine by blood or inheritance. Though no one will likely ever know, besides myself.
“Ye’ don’t look like him, unless ye’ be growin’ younger. And yer’ accent sure ain’t Shandorian neither, me lord.”
“He passed away, seven years ago actually, I was raised, north of here, shall we say.”
“Ah, sorry to hear of it. So ye’ be the new lord Azarris then?”
“Yes, Sodom, and my son here, is Alessandeir.”
“Well met my lord, little lord. I be captain Kamderr Joudeppe, royal guard of the Moon Hammer o’ Vundren. We o’ Fazurand had permissions then to pass through yer lands when we traveled to Marlennak. Willborne be not a land we care to march through, hostile and treacherous and all. Would ye’ keep the same permissions then?”
“What’s the Moon Hammer?” Alessandeir struggles down again, standing now next to this dwarven captain, his head comes up to the dwarfs waist at only three and a half years.
“Son, the captain is surely busy, come on---“
“No, no, my lord. Tis allright. The Moon Hammer is the voice of our God, Vundren, the God o’ the mountains and forges, God o’ the dwarves. Vundren lives in a place, a big old mountain in the heavens, called Mount Maonell. We protect the Moon Hammer, and he blesses the sons o’ our kings and High Hammers between the dwarven kingdoms.” Kamderr Joudeppe smiles and takes a knee next to Alessandeir, now nearly eye to eye with my boy.
“Can we go with Dada? Can we?” He looks up to me, then to Kamderr, then back to me as the entire honor guard for their high priest stops, all three thousand, at once.
I look to the dwarf and smile, he nods to me and puts his armored hand on my son.
“Sorry lordly lad, but this be official dwarven business, besides, the mountains are too darn hot here in harvest time. Ye wouldn’t have much fun marchin’ for a week or two straight. Here.” Kamderr digs in his pouch, finds something by the raise in his brow, and puts it into Alessandeir’s hands.
“What is it?” My son holds up a golden necklace, the warhammer flanked by two crescent moons on a pendant, all solid gold.
“Captain, that is not necessary, I appreciate the---“
“Tis fine, Lord Azarris. That, little lord, is the hammer and moons of Vundren. That was me brothers, he passed on a few years back in a war in the Zuran Mountains. I think you could have---“ Kamderr stands as Alessandeir runs back to the keep as fast as he can, pendant in hand.
“My apologies, he is not quite four years old. Thank you captain Joudeppe, tell your men they may pass and I shall honor whatever the previous lord had arranged.” I smile, amazed at the formation and discipline of the dwarves of Fazurand that have undoubtedly marched for two weeks or more in this fashion.
“Thank ye’, Lord Sodom, much obliged and all.”
“Do not mention it, what is the occasion, if you do not mind the pry?”
“King Rallik finally has a baby boy and he needs a blessin’, and King Therrak just had his third or fourth girl. To Marlennak we go, the Moon Hammer commands and such. Any news of the north, Shanador or otherwise?”
Captain Joudeppe takes a drink of something from a steel horn, something that smells of stale dark beer, and he smiles. He offers it to me, I refuse with a smile, so he takes another swig.
“The Shields of Shanador have been ordered by the council of knights and kings, and the Aldane. Fifty thousand to Kivanis. They mean to retake Rugeness from Altestani influence.” I hang my head, knowing that many will die there, and also that Ranny’s sons and grandsons will likely be ordered to fight. My mind will not fathom what sort of war a victory will wrath upon Agara, for Altestan has never forgotten the past.
“Ye’ would think with ten low kings, one high king, a hundred knights, and a hundred more lords and with the Shields o’ Shanador, that Shanador itself would come to their senses and stop sendin’ their men to die in every other country. Marlennak has two kings, and that is too much sometimes. We have just one in Fazurand, but eleven? Not adding to the wisdom much, far as I can see. No offense, my lord.”
“None taken, my vote was to the nay of sending our men. And, it is now thirteen districts, two more have been presented, and the church has sanctified it. But, democracy means everyone votes, and the fear of Altestani soldiers and royalty on Agarian soil, means panic. I hope only that the Agarian nations are ready for what will come, should victory come from this.”
“Aye, but panic means send a large force n’ kill everything with dark hair and dark eyes. Them northerners deserve it mind ye’, but surely a better plan coulda’ come from that conclave. What’s yer boy doin’ then?” The captain looks past me, toward the hill my son is running down, arms in relentless grip of a leather sack he is dragging.
I watch him struggle, the sack as big as he is, but his determination wins out as he sets it at the dwarven captains feet. He catches his breath and smiles.
“What be this then, young lord Alessandeir?”
“For you and the Moon Hammer. There is grapefruits, oranges, sausages, bread, and here.” My son hands the feathered cross of Alden, silver on a silver chain, to smiling Kamderr Joudeppe.
“I don’t like
the church, so if you have this, I can stay home with my Dada.” Clever indeed, Alessandeir smiles from under his sweaty curls, from ear to ear.
“Ha! Ye’ best get the okay from yer father though. Ha!”
“Tis fine.” How could I say no to my son after such an effort.
“Well then, well met Lord Sodom Azarris, little lord. My thanks and the thanks of Fazurand upon ye’.” Captain Kamderr Joudeppe waves his hand, picks up the sack of food, and puts the feathered cross in his pouch. “I shall tell Mithrik Fairshield, the Moon Hammer himself, of your generosity, young Alessandeir.”
“Bring word of Marlennak, whence you return, captain. I shall offer the same from Acelinne, and perhaps we could share a meal then, would time permit.” I give a bow as he makes to part ways.
“Agreed, gracious of ye’ even, I will see it done, Lord Azarris.”
He turns and bows to us, and marches ahead with the royal brigade to the west. We wave, Alessandeir more than I, and he even receives a few back here and there from the occasional curious dwarven soldier as they pass toward the Misathi.
“Dada?”
“Yes son?”
“Is that the first dwarves you have ever ever in your life ever met?”
“No, I know several, in truth.”
“Yeah, but not a Moon Hammer or a king.”
“Actually, I do. Do you remember Azenairk Thalanaxe?”
“He is a Moon Hammer?!” Alessandeir smiles, running back toward our keep, yet pausing to wait for me. I follow, listening to the faint sounds of the marching dwarves fade beyond the foothills.
“No, there is only one Moon Hammer. But, I should tell you about Zens’ family I suppose. For he is related to kings, did I tell you this already?” I remember right where I left off, nearly one year ago.
“Really? No, umm, maybe you did. Tell me anyway, dada.”
“Are you certain son? Tis a bit scary, this part.”
“Tell me, tell me, dada. Please, and let’s have some more juice.” Alessandeir runs back toward our home. I follow, still keeping my awareness about me, still feeling as though my past will catch up at any moment, from any shadow.
“Where did I leave off then? Yes, Evermont, in western Shanador, the other side of the country. James and Gwenneth were there, Saberrak and Shinayne, but this part of the tale, well, it is for Azenairk Thalanaxe, last of his line from Boraduum.”
“Do they have blond beards and gray too in Boraduum?”
“No son, they have black beards, black like the sky on a stormy night.”
“That’s not scary dada.”
“Very well. It was the dreams of home, his childhood, and the myths of his forefathers that had haunted his sleeping mind since he had left Boraduum. Down the Bori Mountains and into Chazzrynn he had gone. Then, with his newfound friends, Zen travelled across the Carisian Sea into Harlaheim. There on Soujan Mountain he told his tale to Shinayne, and they all pledged to one another to help him find his ruins in the west. Through Devonmir, Deadman’s Pass, and into Shanador they came. Azenairk did not know it then, but his grandfather always spoke of the mines of Kakisteele and their family of Thalanaxe somehow being tied to divine origins that---”
“Dada?”
“Yes son?”
“When does it get scary?”
“Soon son, soon. May I continue?”
“All right.”
We walk inside, eyes wanting questions and answers from me, eyes of Ranny and her family. Yet now, I need more than anything, to take my mind off of politics and looming wars.
“I told you about his promise to his father, yet it was long before that, where I should start, that is.”
“Is this about Saberrak the minotaur again? You told me this, dada.”
“No, this is about Azenairk Thalanaxe, son. May I?”
“All right, you may.” Alessandeir walks close to me, eyes up to mine, and he listens with eager curiosity. He sits on my lap as I take to the chair, the one that faces the window north, and my favorite tree.
“It began when Zen was very young, still working for study time at the Temple of Vundren in Boraduum. His grandfather was out as usual, and his mother and father were…well, son, dwarven life is a bit different…”
Heirs IV:I
Boraduum
Bori Mountains
294 AD
“Wisdom is not a virtue, it is a gift that all who pay attention to life around them shall be rewarded with in due time. The feeling of necessity to pass it on to each generation, now that is the blessing of Vundren.”---from the sermons and teachings of Mandrel Wikramm, eighteenth Moon Hammer of Fazurand.
Circa 1325 BC
“Aye! And they say that the blue eyes is for outside, got no luck for nothin’ in the mines or underground. Tis’ why you and your drunken father is nearly outta moneys it is!” She slammed her fist on the wooden table in the kitchen.
“Is that what they be sayin’ then? And who is they?!”
“They is most everyone, husband! Eyes o’ the sky, heads in the sky, so they say!”
“Oh aye? Well these blue eyes done fought in four wars for the king, and me father expanded the Thalanaxe mines after fightin’ in three others, Rhosda!” Kimmarik slammed his fist on the same table, wooden legs creaking with each blow.
“Aye Kimmarik! And the mines expanded into nothin’, brave husband, and he done drank what we did have to near less than that nothin’. Pentrik Thalanaxe is a known meadpounder now, his drinkin’ be all that be left o’ his legend.” Rhosda Thalanaxe tied her black hair back, not letting her fierce brown eyed stare leave her husbands. She would not relent to him, not this time. The hair tying meant a serious argument.
“Oh aye? Watch yer words with me father, woman! He done received this here hammer from the king himself back---“ Kimmarik was cut off.
“Aye! Previous king, wars done back o’er a century or more now! We got nothin’ Kimmarik, and no king givin’ us anything for all that fightin’, we barely had coin for the bread and to pay yer workers in those dead end mines this month.” She caught her breath and started to cough. Her chest had been aching for over a decade, the arguing had not helped it either.
Kimmarik rubbed her back, cooling his temper, looking around their new, smaller, home in the lower south side of Boraduum. Brown rough stone reflected the candlelight and the orange from the hearth. They had only three rooms for sleeping and one main room for cooking and sitting now. It had not always been so, and he hung his head knowing that his wife, mother of their three sons, was speaking nothing but the truth. Kimmarik just refused to accept it.
“I will see what I can do, love. Maybe bishop Dalurthain got some ideas, or hells, even prayers. Got lots on me mind now, battle comin’ n’ all that.” He stroked his graying black beard as he calmed down.
“Battle won’t be helpin, until after its won. Then, maybe enough for a bit. But I don’t like me husband and sons fightin’ fer pay, we is better than this Kimmarik. Ye’ need to---“
Kimmarik Thalanaxe pounded his fist again. “I know what I am, and who our boys are, and we ain’t filthy mercenaries!”
“I did not be sayin’ that, ye’ twist me words and---“
“Then quit makin’ me feel it, woman!”
Smack, smack!
“Watch yer tone with me, blue eyes, I done give birth to yer sons, three times! I had enough o’ yer yellin for one day!” Rhosda yelled in a rasp with her cough after two hard slaps to her husbands face.
“Then quit yellin’ back and smackin’ me beard and---“
“Father?”
“Aye me boy, me youngest, me pride. Don’t ye pay mind there Azenairk, yer mum and I just be discussin’, tis’ all.” Kimmarik looked at little Zen who was half hidden around the corner. He smiled at his boy who had just turned thirteen, then rubbed his wife on the back to help her cough.
“Aye, discussin, tis all.” Rhosda rolled her brown eyes, yet smiled to Azenairk.
“Allright mum.”
; “Right, discussin, like I done said.” Kimmarik rubbed a bit harder, and let out a growl from under his beard.
“Father, one o’ the Granvangs is at the door, he wants to talk to ye’.” Azenairk rubbed his stubble, hoping to have a big beard like his brothers and father someday, and the family warhammer they spoke of so much.
“Aye? Likely trouble down at the tavern again. Get the boys, Kimmarik.” Rhosda managed to sit, eke out a few words inbetween coughs, and then reached for some water in her copper cup.
“Aye. Come on me little Agrvund, me warpriest o’ the boldest small stature. Let’s get yer’ older brothers and see what the issue be then, shall we?”
Kimmarik had the hammer in one hand and Azenairk’s hand in the other. He could not afford to send Zen to the temple of Vundren for training, so his youngest, blessed as they all knew he was, had been helping out there in exchange for tutelage. He walked out the door to his stone home, a door of many in the southern wall of the poorer district, and stopped in front of his visitor.
“Erden.” Kimmarik nodded.
“Thalanaxe, yer’ father got a bit o’ tab that is unpaid as o’ now, care to settle it here?” Erden Granvang tapped his pouch, pulled his black braids of beard, and smiled showing his missing teeth in the front.
“How much?” Kimmarik kept walking, Azenairk with him, he knew where they were headed now.
“Be seven gold coins as of this mornin’, maybe more by the time we gets to the pub. Hope ye’ can cover it.”
His smile was as repulsive to Kimmarik as his fat belly and greasy hair and beard. But, debt was debt. This one, the owner of the Pub o’ the Smokin’ Anvil, liked to stretch it out on the meadpounders though. They had fought a few words over tabs before.
Kimmarik turned left, headed to the barracks on the south side of Boraduum. Erden stopped. “Where ye’ headed Thalanaxe?”
“I be getting’ me boys first, see what the trouble and hurry is all about then.”
“Yer’ boys is part o’ the trouble, they be there already.”
“Me boys and I be leavin’ tomorrow to fight for King Nalanobek in Tuscko, south in the Mountains. They just be celebratin’ a bit early is all, sure o’ that.”
