“What is this place?” Mara said in wonder as she looked around.
“The Great Hall of Mul Krün,” Dolanas answered, lighting the last of the torches.
“The Meeting Hall of the Ages,” Marian stated in awe. “I have heard tales of this place that go back farther than…well, farther than the age of any traveler I have met.”
“This was place of gathering for the peoples of this land many years ago,” said Joseph, also knowing the tale. “It is said that the steadfastness and perseverance of the dwarves helped to forge peace between even the most hard-hearted of enemies. And it was done for the most part in this hall of meeting where all races were honored and all but the dwarves were on level ground. And they even gave themselves no prominence, that they might be an example to those whom they mediated.”
“It is truly a lost nobility in this world,” Marian commented.
“What is the meaning of these walls?” Mara asked.
Dolanas looked at her.
“It’s the history of Sylrin as the dwarves remember it,” he replied. He then looked to Gash. “Ready?”
Gash nodded.
“Joseph, if you and the rest need food or fresh air, the door to the west will lead outside. Take the stairs up to reach the mountaintop and an outside plateau. There should be some mountain goats up there. Down the stairs will lead you to the plains below after a day or two. Wait here for us. We’ll return.”
Gash moved to go but halted at the feeling of Mara’s small grip on his arm.
“Gash,” she said quietly, “I do not like you going alone. I do not doubt your skill with the blade, but you must remember we are in his homeland. If something were to happen…”
Gash stared at her and then looked to the orcs whose eyes held a similar look of worry and distrust. Turning back to Mara, he gently wrenched her hand from his arm.
“We have no choice,” he replied in the same hushed tones. “As you say, it is his land.”
He then looked to the orcs and returned to his normal tone of voice. “All of you stay. I will return.”
“And if you do not?” challenged H’ruk. “What then?”
“Then you go and stop orcs,” Gash replied, “any way you can. But first wait here. Something will come.”
He then placed a hand briefly on Mara’s shoulder and then turned to follow Dolanas. Dola led him to the rear of the chamber to a place on the mural directly in line with the center chair of the dwarven side of the table. There seemed to be nothing special about this particular spot, no markers or certain figures or features were more prominently displayed and no cracks were seen. Placing his hand upon the wall, Dolanas the dwarf leaned in close and quietly whispered, “Mola.”
Immediately, two doors swung silently inward. The two stepped inside and the doors closed in behind them.
************
The two walked through a dark cavern, the edges of which were somewhere beyond the light shed by the torch held in Dolanas’ hand. Such seemed the openness of the place that Gash expected to feel some sort of wind, yet the air was still, as if it had lain dormant for many years, yet lacking staleness, untouched by the ages. Gash followed Dolanas down a narrow, winding bridge to a landing where they were met by seven archways cut into the solid rock wall. Dolanas stopped in the middle of the landing and turned to face Gash.
The dwarf, stone-faced and unreadable as ever, regarded carefully the half-orc that stood strong and tall before him. The firelight danced upon his stone face and upon Gash’s scowling brow. Based on the orcs’ reactions when the dwarves were first mentioned and on Marian’s avoidance of certain subjects, Gash had guessed there was bad blood between the orcs and the dwarves that must have reached back generations and even transcended the orcs’ normal disdain for un-orcs. Even without knowledge of dwarves and their ways, Gash knew he was treading on forbidden ground. Dola had trusted him to bring him this far. He would not defile that trust by speaking or stepping out of turn so long as he was in dwarven lands. And so he remained silent, staring back at Dolanas, waiting for his instruction, and his sanction to proceed.
But Dolanas did not speak. After long moments, he again turned back toward the archways.
“This way,” he said and headed for the one just to the right of center. Gash followed in silence.
Dola lead him up a steep, winding path. The cavern twisted and turned. Gash noted there would be plenty of places from which one could place an ambush and he remained on guard, just in case. After some distance, the passageway opened up to another large chamber just as empty as the first. Dolanas led the half-orc across another narrow bridge, this one straight and flat. They passed a wide stairwell leading down into the darkness, and another on the other side leading upwards. They came to a third, much narrower stairwell leading up. Onto this one they turned, climbing long to yet another bridge leading to the left and the right. They turned right and headed into another tunnel hewn out of the rock wall. After some winding they came again to another bridge in what Gash was convinced was the same chamber, though the bridge might have been different. They walked a little ways and took the first stairwell they came to which led them down.
Gash surmised these paths must have been constructed that intruders might not find their way to the Dwarvenhome, or worse, be lost forever. One being lost here would have no reckoning of night or day, no source of food or water, and could easily lose their sanity, the darkness that surrounded them beckoning them more and more until despair and hopelessness overtook them, they gave themselves willingly over to death, and leapt out into the darkness, never to be seen again. It was a horrible fate, one that Gash would not wish even upon Gurak, though it would be his just deservings.
“Gash.”
Gash came back to himself and looked again to the dwarf that stood some steps down the stairway looking back at him. The torchlight danced upon his aged face and reflected off his polished helm.
“Keep your eyes on me, boy,” Dolanas told him. “Stay close and don’t look at the darkness or you’ll be lost to it. Don’t worry. I won’t let you slip into it.”
At Dola’s words, Gash proceeded down the steps, following as closely to the dwarf as he could without stepping on him. He did as he was instructed and kept his eyes locked on the stocky frame and the dancing torchlight. It was not for fear that he obeyed, but for understanding, for this darkness that surrounded them, he found to resemble all too closely the darkness that existed in his mind and heart whilst he dwelt tortured in the Cursed Land. It reminded him as well of that darkest of mornings before he was met by Lilliandra. And as he followed, though his eyes stayed locked and his step close, his mind strayed to her, her words, her legend and, most especially, her god whom he had so tentatively made his own.
They traveled like that for what seemed like days, passing down corridors, ascending and descending stairwells, moving in and out of deep darkness. They stopped every now and again to rest and eat. When Gash became weary, they would stop and Dolanas would instruct him to sleep while he sat and kept him. Though he was somewhat discomforted by their surroundings, he had little option but to comply. Still, his sleep came brief and full of heaviness. At one point he felt as if a deep evil was reaching out for him, attempting to take hold of his mind and keep him from restful sleep. So taxing was the heaviness that Gash wearied even of sleep itself and opted instead to drudge along in the darkness behind Dolanas rather than be tortured by unrestful sleep. Still, he was able to get some rest and so continue on their journey whenever he woke.
At long last, the two came out of a tunnel into another large chamber. But to Gash’s relief, two shafts of light shone down from openings high above their heads. The beams of light shone upon two massive statues carved out of the opposite rock wall which stood a distance away from them. Dwarves, they were, stout, armored and standing proud, facing Dolanas and Gash with their axes held pointing towards each other’s feet. Dolanas stopped and stared at the sight. Gash stepped up next to him and did the same.
<
br /> “This is it,” said Dolanas, a breath of joyful relief in his tone. “The gates of Drün Mosch, my ancestral home and that of my father and forefathers. It’s been too many years since I last looked upon these pillars. Now I’m returned and who should I bring with me but-“
Dola halted his words as his eyes met that of the half-orc’s staring back at him. He turned back to look in front of him and sighed.
“Y’know, Gash,” he said, “a lot of people have said a lot of things about you, myself included. Some say you’re a man, honorable and knightly. Others say you’re just an orc and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Dola looked at him then.
“But I’ve seen you fight. I’ve heard you speak. And I have seen the honor with which you treat those around you. And I’ve come to know the real truth about you.”
The dwarf then leaned in a little.
“I say, you’re more dwarf than anything.”
Dola then gave a hearty laugh and slapped the back of Gash’s leg as he moved past the bewildered half-orc. Gash followed in silence, pondering his guide’s words. The two walked down the narrow staircase and across the bridge. They found their path to be blocked, however, by the stone axe heads of the dwarf statues. The monoliths stood great and foreboding on either side of them, staring back at the entrance from which they had come and forbidding further travel by the might of their weapons. The axe heads were enormous, spanning at least three stories from edge to haft with a twice as long blade length. Gash waited for Dola to again speak a word in his native tongue and further open the passage to his home. But instead, Dolanas handed Gash the torch and his halberd and then moved to the base of the axe heads. Squatting down, Dola slipped his fingers under the small crack below them, braced himself, and began to lift.
Gashed watched in awe, though his scowl remain unchanged, as, with the deafening sound of stone grinding against stone, Dola lifted the axe heads, the stone weapons rising and turning and the hands of the statues turning at the wrist as he did so. A sudden wind was felt as air rushed past them toward the opening passageway. As Dola reached his full height, his arms extended, he gave a final shove. The axe heads continued to move and shift beyond his grip. With a final, echoing thunder, the weapons came to rest. Their hafts now stood straight, held in presentation rather than forbidding. A shorter staircase stood before them, leading up into another passageway carved into the rock. Dwarven words were carved into a plaque above the doorway. Dola, exercising his arm, translated them in pleasant recall.
“Welcome, all ye sons and daughters of the earth,” he said, smiling.
He then took the torch and halberd and led Gash up the steps and into the cavern.
Gash was forced to lean over in order to squeeze in but was delighted in the fact that he had plenty of room for his girth. They came to a modestly-sized chamber in which Gash was able to stand upright. On the opposite end of the chamber, the tunnel continued. The chamber was much like those they had traveled through along the dwarven roads and Dola immediately placed the torch in a holder and took a seat on a wall bench.
“We’ll wait here,” he told Gash as he removed his helm and placed it next to him. “My brethren will be waking soon. When they see there is no one there to greet them, they will come to investigate. They won’t be too keen on a perceived orc standing within the gates of their city. So when I instruct you, I want you to retreat back into the tunnel. Stay there until I call you forth.”
Gash nodded in reply. Dolanas then pulled out a piece of wood and knife and began to whittle.
**********
The two waited in silence for some time. It was not long, however, before the silence and lack of movement began to overtake Gash and he grew fatigued. His eyelids drooped and his head began to nod as sleep began to overtake him.
“Joseph mentioned to me back in Galantria how you bargained for your kinsmen to keep their weapons.”
Gash started awake at Dola’s words. He was thankful for the conversation and sat down across from him as he continued.
“I’m curious why that is.”
Gash thought for a moment, recalling the memory.
“An orc’s weapon is his strength,” he replied.
“So if you were to let their weapons be taken away, it would be the same as giving away the essence of who they are.”
“No.”
Dola looked up at him. “Oh?”
Gash thought for a moment, trying to find the words in the common tongue.
“They are…too close to beasts,” he said slowly, staring at the stone floor. “Their weapons are crude next to others’, but they still take skill to make and to master.”
Dola’s eyes glanced to the head of Gash’s weapon peaking out from above his right shoulder.
“They think,” Gash continued, “having them makes them less like beasts and more like humans. To them, giving them away is like giving away their reason. They feel all that is left to them is savagery.
“All an orc can do is fight. Their strength is as beasts if they do not have a weapon in their hand. An orc without a weapon is just a beast. At best, he is weak and worthy of death. At worst, he is un-orc.”
“But you don’t hold to that?”
“I know it to be false,” Gash replied, looking at the dwarf. Dola could see a fire in his eyes as he continued. “My axe belonged to the leader of my clan. He was evil. After my test, I took it from him by force and slew him with it, as was my right.
“I had gained great strength but had never held a weapon. I took his strength from him and delivered him to death with his own blade. My strength does not reside in it. It does not live in my body or my mind. My strength is not my own. It is from the god of Marian. So it has been told to me and so I have seen it to be true. None can tell me different. I know it would be false.”
Gash’s passion died and he again looked at the floor.
“If I could teach that, teach all the falseness and truth that I have learned to the others…but I fear they will not listen.”
They sat there in silence for some time, Gash’s words sinking deeper into Dolanas’ soul than he would have ever expected. He could not deny the truth within them; a depth of truth of which, he believed, not even Gash was aware.
At last, he regained his composure and returned to his whittling. That always helped him think.
“Your kin must have a great hatred for who they are,” he commented.
Gash looked at him and then nodded as he thought about the matter.
“You’re much more intelligent than you lead on, Gash,” Dola continued, but then stopped and looked towards the tunnel that led towards his home. Gash noticed his behavior and stood.
“Go,” Dolanas ordered him.
Gash was in the passageway in an instant. He watched as Dola put away his knife and wood piece, picked up his halberd, replaced his helm, and stood, facing the entrance to his home. A few moments passed without a sound. But slowly there came into Gash’s hearing the steady thump of several feet marching in unison. The steps were quick, either by shortness of leg or by rush of speed. Soon after, there emerged from the cavern a small troop of about twenty dwarf. Their weapons were drawn. They were ready for battle, but upon seeing Dolanas standing there, they halted their pace. The head dwarf, one younger than Dolanas with a beard of fiery red, stared amazed at the former Knight of the Realm. His weapon lowering, he let slip past his lips Dolanas’ name in a tone of wonderment.
To Gash’s astonishment, Dola stepped forward and embraced the dwarf with a hearty laugh of joy.
“Hallo, Merd!” he said gripping the dwarf’s shoulders and shaking him.
“Ugh! You smell like orc!” said Merd, waving his hand between them. “What did you do, slay them then take nap on their corpses?”
“Not exactly. But fought them I have, little brother. Fought them I have.”
“You look like you’ve aged at least a hundred years. How long have we slept?”
At this Dola stepped bac
k, regaining his composure.
“I don’t know how long they lived before they died,” he began. “but I’m sure you’ve noticed six others of our number gone.”
“We have,” replied Merd. “but you have come back to awaken us. I would assume that the world of men has need of us once again. Yet you have not ignited the brum above our city, nor were you there to greet us when we awoke. And why this armor that so resembles our enemies? And why this common tongue? Are we not all brethren here? Tell us, Dolanas, what these things mean. Do we wake in vain? Are we needed or no?”
“We are needed,” Dolanas replied finally. “However, I greet you under strange circumstances. You have slept for over two-thousand years according to the age of the earth.”
At this, the group of dwarves began muttering amongst themselves. Dola continued.
“The world, I’m afraid has changed little. But it is a recent change to which I am witness, that I have awakened you. The orcs of the Northlands have united.”
At this, any muttering and movement ceased and all eyes went to Dolanas.
“All…all of them?” came a voice from the rear.
Dolanas nodded.
“All of them,” he replied.
“Impossible,” said another.
“This is what I thought as well,” said Dola. “But it is true. I have seen them. I have fought them along with an army of six-thousand men. All but thirty-two have perished. You should know, brother, as you all should, that these that I fought with were of the Knights of the Realm.”
Half-Orc Redemption Page 22
