by Jason Jones
Exodus IV:VI
Cavern of the Golhiarden
Kakisteele Mines
Azenairk Thalanaxe kept his head low, eyes closed, praying for hours now in blessed silence. His hand no longer trembled, his tears did not fall, and his fears and failings of all his years had vanished. Outwardly, no one would know of it, but the tablet before him was healing him deep inside, as he healed it with his golden touch. The dwarven priest felt purpose, truth, and the words of Vundren, his God, right here and now.
The Golhiarden was the myth of the dwarven race, the truth and commands of their God to His people. It had been broken into four separate pieces, as the holy texts go, for protection from Altestan and their ruthless God. This one of the Forge, long lost and believed destroyed, now lay against the cavern wall in Kakisteele, whole. It was taller than Azenairk, taller than James behind him, nearly as tall as Saberrak now that it was revealed in its entirety. Over two feet thick, and as wide as two dwarves, the tablet had not once inch without ancient passages. Piece by piece, every small scripted word, had been slowly placed back and smoothed, by divine prayer.
Zen’s hand, with the power of his divine faith, had repaired and mended every crack, molding it back to perfection, and the words went into him without being read. The white stone was complete from its fractured form, and the script was glowing gold and bright, as a soft hum of deep choir tones whispered in the mines. A dwarven choir, from the gathered ghosts here, and ones unseen.
“It is done, by Vundren’s will, the holy tablet, Words o’ the Forge, they are healed.”
“Aksuvierre uth drasci uth figoor shemsi bashi, Thalanaxe…”
Hair stood on their arms, shivers danced their spines, and the far off whispers echoed with a woman’s dark voice, again. This time, it was closer.
“What did she say, horned one?” Zen stood, looking at the two ton tablet of stone from his faith, then glanced up to Saberrak.
“It matters not, you will never leave this place, Thalanaxe.” The gray minotaur repeated what she had said and stared down at the battered yet closed door that led deeper into the city of Kakisteele.
“We shall see bout’ that then.” He nodded to his friends, strapped on his shield, and picked up his warhammer.
Shinayne led next to Saberrak, the tunnels not as wide as they once were, then James and Gwenneth fell in behind their dwarven priest, keeping him well protected in the middle. The passage declined at a steep angle, yet the golden glow of divine lights flickered from a silvered pillar over another set of golden doors with black powdered crystalline engravings.
“Marnu ninar, means first born daughter.” Zen looked to the ring of keys as he read the inscriptions.
“Serpents wrapped around the twin moons, it is the sign of love, judgement, and the scales of justice. Vasentanessa is their only daughter, fifth born Carician, that one there.” Saberrak pointed to the key with her symbol.
“Ye’ sure? Not that ye’ been wrong thus far, but serpent Goddess keys in me holy mines and all, just askin’.” Zen reached his hand with the key to the lock.
“I am sure.” Saberrak huffed.
The key went in, the light flashed, and the key was back in his hand without feeling it as the doors opened just a crack, all on their own. One by one, they slipped in through the opening, seeing red glows flashing and flitting in the massive chamber ahead.
“Now that is a sight, by all the Gods and Goddesses of the white moon, look at that.” Shinayne smiled, feeling a tear touch her cheek as they reached another lofty stone balcony with stairs to each side.
Below were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of red, orange, and yellow glowing pillars of blessed divine light. They rose as high as fifty feet, all across a cavern that was as large as the ruins above, just here alone. Scaffolds of steel, ladders of bronze, and mining camps by the dozens lay across the lower caverns of Kakisteele. Wheelbarrows of mined white iron chunks, piles of sparkling quartz and rock, and tools of every dwarven sort were still organized and ready. It looked as though the operation was still in progress, would there have been anyone here to continue it.
“The unfinished mines, full of divine steel for divine forges, Vundren’s holy hammer, I do not believe me eyes.” He whispered, gazing across miles of spanning cavern far below him.
“Thousands o’ tons of it, everywhere, more than all the dwarven kingdoms combined, by God, look at it.” It was not gold, nor platinum, no precious stones or metals of wealth, yet it was a sign of his people, his past, and it hit home in his chest.
A pat on the shoulder from James brought him back from the breathtaking scene. “Let’s go down, together, this time.” James walked to the stairs.
“Aye, together then.” Zen smiled, eyes still engrossed with the deep delves of forgotten Kakisteele, and the work yet untaken.
“I see quartz, I see some steel, but that gold vein there….” Shinayne touched her hand across the shimmering gold. It was rough, hard, as she had thought. “…is not gold, Zen, it is false. Fools gold, as you call it.”
“I doubt this massive undertaking was begun on fools gold, Shinayne.” James added, eyes wandering the endless lights and camps set for digging and picking the caverns ahead.
“Aye, but the tablet spoke of sacred steel, within these here mountains, it did not speak of riches. Let’s have a look, further down.” Zen nodded.
The closer they drew, down countless stairs deep under the mountain range, they all saw movement erupt near a toppled statue. At first they all ran, knowing their dwarven priest would charge in. As they closed, they knew the shadows and ghosts for what they were. Memories.
The five walked amidst an ancient battle, one that they could not partake in, as it sprouted from every direction. Pale gray dwarves by the thousands battled a horde of shadowy men from Altestan. Flags and banners were raised, though black shade only, it was obvious who they were. A shattered statue of Vundren lay in the center of the cavern, and soon the silent war seemed all too real. They could almost hear the cries of bloodshed, the screams of long dead dwarves and soldiers of men, and the howl of demons that flooded the air over the lower mines. Yet, the memories of this place made no noise.
Apparitions ran through the companions, as if they were not there, while northern shadows whisked by them in their brutal charge. Dwarves already dead, died again. Demonic winged forms tore gray warriors to pieces, and spears and blades of black outnumbered the gray forces at least ten to one. Within half an hour of slow, agonizing walk to the center, it was all but over. The statue of Vundren was destroyed, the dwarves ran deeper, those that had survived anyway. And banners of foreign emperors were raised.
“It is not real, Zen. It is an illusion, a memory set to a horrid curse that wishes it reseen. Do not think that you can change it, it is the past.” Shinayne touched his shoulder.
“I know it, elf. I know, thank ye’. Let us see where they go then.”
The shadows carried on, through the passage further down and south, not a gray ghost of a dwarf left in view. Zen stopped at the statue, black banners that his hand passed through whipped in a furious breeze that was not here. He looked down, then ahead to where the soldiers of Altestan had run in their eternal hunt, and followed without a word. His hand touched the face of Vundren as he passed, the broken stone leaving only half the head among the rubble.
More stairs, deeper, the air was now getting heavy and thick. The lights were fewer, until Gwenneth shed her green light from the staff. Crystal chunks of green, blue, red, and black quartz emerged from the passage walls that now twisted and turned with rough edges and unfinished sandstone ceilings. Old bits of armor and weapons, mining gear and helms, and dwarven bones now littered the floor. Soon it was hard to walk without disturbing the ancient remains, both dwarven and Altestani alike. The tunnels and corridors were covered with the dead remnants of a war long over, as the memory of it could be seen in shadows, over and over again.
A grand plateau, over an endless black chasm, stretched
out of the myriad of tunnels and corridors that led down this deep. Green lights, nearly matching Gwenneth’s staff, shone from above a set of dwarven carved golden doors, twice the size of any previous entry. Their steps were quiet, cautious, yet forward they went across a path of stone with no rails, no bottom below, and no supports in sight. It held, and the five looked to the right of the doors, to a set of eight glistening red stones high in the air. The closer they came to the door with the hammer and moons of Vundren engraved upon them, the brighter the red lights became from their enshrouded height nearly fifty feet up above, set in the stone.
“Stop. Those lights, they see us.” Shinayne whispered as she drew her matching blades.
“Everything sees us here, it is just light, elf.” Saberrak snorted.
“No, she’s right, something moves in the shadows there, hidden.” Gwenneth began a quick chant to illuminate the light of day down here, as her green glow was somehow nullified by the green from the emerald inscriptions upon the massive door. Her fingers waved in a fanning motion.
“Hialus, deriande de uathes.”
“Whoa, what in the name of…what is that!?” James drew his griffon hilted blade and backed up as the light cancelled the unnatural shadow that had hidden a giant serpentine statue.
“It is just a statue, a carving, which key do we need, ah Vundren I see---“
Crash, crash, c-crash!
The lights grew larger, the red eyes that flashed open, two snake like eyes from each of the four smooth reptilian heads. Then, the necks moved, very unlike the stone they appeared to be made from. The stone trembled, rocks and stalacmites fell, and from the very wall it seemed built into, a hydra of sandstone coloring stepped forth on six legs with its thrashing tail behind it.
The color changed from yellow stone to dark green scales, the eyes went from red to a wicked purple, and black slivers of irises slowly centered as the creature awoke. Each step shook the earth, its fifty foot necks curled and slithered the air, and four heads came to life with the reptilian body of the titanic being. As its fanged jaws opened, and it looked for who dared awaken it, flames began to swirl from its nostrils and liquid fire dripped from its chins.
“Move, move, move!” Shinayne yelled, pushing and pulling her friends back on the palteau as the creature walked toward them. She looked up, no way to get a blade anywhere near its head, and only twenty or so more steps to the edge of an endless drop.
“She got six legs?!” Zen yelled over the stomping thunderous steps of the beast that was just a statue moments earlier.
“She does!” Saberrak lowered his horns and roared loud. The creature roared in return, and deafened out any other noise.
“Rooooaaarrrgghhhaaeeeessshhh!”
The four heads roared and ear piercing screech of hatred and fire into the cavernous air.
“By Vundren and all me dead kin, demon o’ ruin, ye’ will answer to the last Thalanaxe! It be time for justice!”
Zen charged in straight ahead, warhammer in hand, shield high.
He saw Saberrak beside him on a low horned charge, James flanking to the left, Shinayne sneaking to the right, and heard something crackling from Gwenneth’s hand behind. Zen roared a fearless challenge to match that of the monstrous hydra that defiled his mines before the very door to Vundren’s sacred forge.
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Her eyes fluttered open, just a bit, enough to see it was night outside and there were candles lit in the room. The bed was comfortable, she felt drunk, yet Queen Katrina of Willborne was alive.
“Hello?” She said to the darkness.
“Your majesty, yes, I am here. You are awake, that is good. Here.” The woman gave her more of the wine that Lord Waylen had instructed would ease her pain.
Katrina drank, the wine was good, refreshing in fact, albeit a bit ripe. Her eyes adjusted to the night, she was in a lavish room, the drapes were open to a magnificent view of rolling hills littered with fireflies. Lilac and lavender were both outside and in the castle, a castle she knew well.
“I am in Willborne Keep, how long?” Katrina sat up. She looked at her arms, then her legs, the injuries were gone and she felt no pain.
“Careful my queen, mind your balance, you have been sleeping many days and nights now. They found you north of Claumoore, five days past now.” The old woman nodded to the guards that peeked in the doors, letting them know all was well.
“And the dragon? Did they find Rynnth?” She stood, nearly fell over, but caught herself on the bed and held still a moment. Katrina was indeed a bit drunk.
“Not sure, I know nothing of dragons, your majesty. Save old stories and such. I heard one awakened, but they say it is but a rumor.”
“No rumor, maid, I hunted it from the western Misathi to our borders. It should be dead, I need to know.”
“But, your majesty, they say you are the dragon of Willborne. You are a bit into the wine, for the pain, lay back down now.”
The door creaked open, letting a harvest breeze flourish for a moment as the drapes and Katrina’s nightgown fluttered. Katrina tried to listen as a noble dressed man entered and whispered to the nursemaid. She could hear nothing, her eyes were heavy, and all her energy was on her balance.
“Your majesty, may we talk?” The man spoke soft, warm, and had a scroll in his hand.
“Is that the order for my execution?” She asked him, his figure was shadowy, she was seeing double.
“No, my queen. That was destroyed two days ago, during the revolt. Many have died since you arrived here, as many wished you dead.”
“A revolt? Who would dare wish to see me live for what I have done, especially here in the capital?” Katrina swooned, the maid helped her remain upright.
“The nobles fought, a bloody battle here indeed, all over you. But, Lord Valistor Waylen and the nobles that allied to him, they prevailed. This letter, is an offer of marriage, from Lord Waylen.”
“Ha! So he can be king? I have nothing to offer, besides a crown and the loyalty of my armies.” Katrina laughed.
“Lord Valistor has your armies, your majesty. They have sworn to him. He has saved your life, he wishes a new Willborne, with you and he on the thrones. Please, think of all you have fought for, all these years, has it not been for this?”
“He is handsome, my queen. Rich to boot, and the people suffer without a king and queen to see our kingdom to prosperity once more.” The maid’s words were soothing, almost like a song accompanied them, yet there was none.
“His sword cut down many, all the lords that came to see you dead in fact. They say Valistor is the sword, and you are the dragon, my queen. Together, Willborne could become the heart of Agara once more.” The messenger added.
Katrina smiled, she felt something, her mind was a pool of wine with visions of Valistor and the banners of Willborne. Things faded, she was sitting now, time had passed. She opened her eyes, and there was another glass of wine, in a different room. She was dressed in a gown now, still numb and drunk, yet she did not recall drinking anything.
“Where is the maid?”
“Nareene? She had to leave she said, not to worry, you are in my care.” Another young man, noble attire, sigils of a noble house across his shoulders and chest. She saw the golden dragon chevron with the crossed blades through it, he was indeed of house Waylen.
“What is this dress for, am I attending something formal so late in the night?” Katrina drank some of the wine, her head was beginning to throb a bit.
“Not tonight, tomorrow my queen.” The handsome young man brought another candle over to the vanity. His blonde hair was curled and elegant, and he began to clip it near the base of his head, very carefully.
She smiled up to him, then looked to the mirror. “How dreadful, look at my hair!”
She saw that patches were missing, she remembered the fire from the dragon, her eyebrows had but blonde stubble to match. She started to remember, and took more wine.
“We have ladi
es coming to help you with that, your majesty. It will regrow, do not worry. You will be beautiful for the wedding, for you will have my hair to cover those unfortunate injuries.” The young servant boy smiled, holding some of his long locks to the side of Queen Katraina’s face in the mirror.
“Who is getting married, sir?” She smiled at herself in the mirror, her green eyes still sparkled when they would open.
“You, my queen. The people think you a heroine of the kingdom, the dragon of Willborne reborn, they say. You do not remember?”
“Dragons must die, sir. All of them, if there are any left. Who is getting married again?” She reached for a brush, her hand passed through the candle flame. She felt nothing. Again, this time on purpose, she put her hand into the flame. It felt cool, and her mind swam with flashes of Rynnth in the mountains, and her eyes closed.
“You marry Valistor Waylen, my queen. You signed the offer, half a day past. Our people are celebrating, in every city, already.”
“King Valistor of house Waylen, and Queen Katrina of house Rendell, the king and queen of Willborne. It sounds nice, but I do not recall him courting me.” She giggled, her hand still in the fire. Not a mark as she looked, her flesh was fine in the fire as if it were not there. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another.
“He has been busy, my queen. He has allied with King Johnas Valhera of Chazzrynn, and King Phillip of Harlaheim. Caberra has threatened war upon us all, they say."
She looked to the mirror again, nothing surprising her out of her stupor. Her eyes went from green to a glowing red. Katrina of Willborne smiled to herself.
“War you say? I specialize in war, sir. Did you know I have been the deadliest mercenary this side of the Garalan River for nearly two decades, since my father was killed?”
“I do, your majesty. And now, you will rule Willborne, with King Valistor at your side. Rest now, tomorrow will be a long day for you.”
“Did you find the dragon, sir. The one I killed, did you find her?”
Katrina brushed her hair to no avail, her arms were slow moving and the wine that tasted so refreshing was taking more and more effect. Her eyes closed, everything went dark again, yet she heard.
