by Ryan Cahill
It did not take long before they found themselves in front of a large stone building, with a domed roof, set into a sweeping rock face. The building itself stood over fifty feet tall, nearly two hundred feet across, and was cut from smooth grey stone. Two giant square doors, that looked as though they were cast in solid gold, were set into the front of the building. Halfway up the building, on either side of the doors, were a multitude of alcoves. Each housed beautifully carved statues of dwarven men and women in the same dress as the rulers that stood beside Calen.
“The Chamber of the Council,” Kira announced matter-of-factly as they entered the enormous building and made their way to a large circular room. In the centre of the room stood a raised, semi-circular dais with four thrones. Behind each of the thrones hung a massive banner, each bearing the colours and sigils of one of the four kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold.
Six evenly spaced alcoves were set into the wall behind the dais, in a matching semi-circle. In each of the alcoves stood a statue. Each one was at least ten feet tall by Calen’s measure. He recognised them all immediately. Statues of the gods.
Their placing was interesting. In all depictions of the gods that Calen knew, Varyn and Heraya, the Mother and the Father, always stood beside each other. But here, it was Heraya and Hafaesir, the Smith, who stood side by side, set into the alcoves directly behind the dais. Achyron and Elyara, the Warrior and the Maiden, stood on either side of them. Varyn and Neron, the Sailor, were set into alcoves at the end.
Calen couldn’t help but think that the room was designed in such a way as to intimidate whoever had been granted an audience with the council. As much as he tried to fight it, it was working. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in over his head. Over the past few days, the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but think that he was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be passed back and forth between powerful rulers.
That’s all he seemed to be to everyone. Arthur, despite his outward friendliness, only wanted him to help convince the dwarves to come to Belduar’s aid if the empire attacked. Despite what Therin had said, the elves were only using him to grow their honour. Aeson had manipulated him from the start, steering him to Belduar at every turn. Calen did not know what the dwarves wanted from him, but he was sure they wanted something. Only Dann, Erik, and Rist had not asked anything of him. He had allowed one of them to be taken, and the other two he left in Belduar.
“Now,” Elenya said, her fiery hair rippling in the odd light from the lanterns that hung in the chamber. “First, Arthur, King of Belduar. You have come here to ask something of us. Please, what is it you require?”
Arthur stepped forward from the group, his bravado never faltering. Somehow, even as he stood below the raised dais, the four dwarven rulers looking down over him, he seemed in control. “As you all know, the Lorian Empire has set a blockade less than three days’ march from Belduar. This has not happened in over fifty years, and even then, the force was a quarter the size of the current blockade. My scouts report that, in the past few weeks, their numbers have swollen with local levies from Illyanara and now count over twenty thousand strong, with many mages among their number. I believe they are planning to lay siege to the city.”
Pulroan and Hoffnar both stifled a gasp. Neither Kira nor Elenya allowed any reaction to touch their faces.
“All I ask,” Arthur continued, “is that, should my fears be true, the dwarves of the Freehold aid in the defence of Belduar.”
“All that you ask?” Kira remarked in an openly mocking tone. “You know as well as any, Arthur, that no dwarf of the Freehold has left the shelter of these mountains since the fall of The Order. Nearly four hundred years. Why do you think that is?”
“I have my ideas,” Aeson muttered.
Kira did not await Arthur’s reply. “It is so the empire would not hunt us down and torch our race from these lands, like they did to the giants.”
For the first time since they met, Calen saw anger in Asius’s eyes.
Kira caught it too. “No offence was meant, Asius, my friend. I am simply trying to be honest.”
As quickly as the anger had appeared on Asius’s face, it was gone. “None is taken, Kira.”
Kira gave a thankful nod. “If we march our armies from these mountains, we open ourselves to the empire’s eyes. I am sorry, Arthur, but Durakdur’s answer is no. Your city has survived without our soldiers until now. It will continue to do so.”
Calen saw a brief flash of anger on Arthur’s face, quickly concealed by a furtive grin. His voice raised, not by much but noticeably enough to make the other rulers sit straighter in their thrones. “The empire already knows that you are here, oh, Queen of Durakdur.”
Calen couldn’t help but wince at the mocking tone in Arthur’s voice. He did not know the queen like Arthur did, but from what he did know, she was not the kind of woman he wanted to see angry.
“They do not believe that it was the craftsmen of Belduar who constructed those Bolt Throwers or built the great walls of the city, nor do they forget the past. If Belduar falls, the kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold will be next.” That drew some angry gasps, even from the guards around the outer rim of the chamber.
“I will remind you where you stand, King of Belduar.” Elenya’s face was fury as the tips of her fingers stroked the head of her axe. Then the fury gave way to a face of calm. “Though, I am inclined to agree. They do not forget our existence, nor do our tunnels and mountain walls protect us. We must simply look to the dwarves of Kolmir to see that is true. May Hafaesir guide them.”
“May Hafaesir guide them,” the other dwarves chorused.
“Well, what is it you suggest, Elenya? Please, do tell.” Kira’s taut voice suggested that she and the queen of Ozryn did not see eye-to-eye.
Elenya sat forward in her seat. “Let the Draleid speak.”
Calen froze.
Kira stroked her chin absently for a moment, then turned to Calen. “Yes. What do you say, Draleid?”
Calen’s throat was suddenly devoid of moisture. He glanced at Aeson, whose face was a twisted grimace. He was not going to get help there. There was an expectancy in Arthur’s eyes, as though he knew that this is what it was always going to come down to. Calen should have known it too, but he had been naïve. They planned this. Anger bubbled over in his belly. If looks could kill, Arthur would be dead where he stood, and judging by the king’s face, he understood that.
Calen stepped forward to address the dwarven rulers. He was glad when Valerys moved up beside him, a low rumble emanating from his throat. That put the dwarves off-kilter. “What is it that you want me to say? Your mind is already made up.”
“So, you will say nothing?” Kira’s eyes narrowed. She shifted in her throne.
“That is not what I—”
“Is this what you hoped for?” Kira interrupted, turning to the other dwarven rulers. “A child with a dragon that is only the size of a goat?”
“What are you—” Calen felt rage swell inside him as Kira cut him off once more.
“How is he to face the Dragonguard, never mind lead our armies? He would flee at the sight of a fully grown dragon. He is but a spoiled brat pretending to be a hero. Look at him now. Look at the petulance.”
Calen bit his lip. He could feel the Spark. Touch it. The warmth of it pulled at the back of his mind, urging him.
Something touched his shoulder. It was Asius’s hand. Calen looked up at the giant, who simply shook his head, a knowing look in his eye. Calen let the Spark fade away, but the anger remained.
“Did you just call me here to insult me?” he roared. He felt the anger burning off Valerys; it fed his own. The dragon’s lips pulled back in a snarl, baring his razor-sharp teeth. The frills on the back of his neck had grown longer in recent weeks and now stood on end. “Is this the honour of dwarves?”
“Now, now!” shouted Pulroan. It was the first time she had spoken. “You overstep.”
A sly smirk spread
across Kira’s face.
“The both of you,” Pulroan sniped. She no longer seemed placid. She looked as though she could shatter stone with a word. “You are both children, and you have much to learn.” She turned her glare to Kira, emphasising the point.
“Draleid, understand me. There is a lot that rests on your shoulders. A lot that you do not yet understand. These men that brought you here, they did so with the hope that simply your existence would inspire the dwarven kingdoms to return to the surface and aid them in the war they have yearned for since the fall of The Order. It is not that simple. There is no prophecy. Your coming was not foretold, and we will no longer blindly follow those who wield the power you will one day possess.
“It was men and women like you, humans and elves, who brought our civilisation to its knees and drove us from the sun. It was Draleid who turned on their brothers and sisters. It was Draleid who stood behind Fane Mortem. Drove the elves from their cities. Hunted the giants to near extinction. We need to know the depth of your character. We need to know who you are. Although, some among us reveal enough about themselves in the methods they use.”
The elder dwarf sat back in her throne, her chest rising and falling heavily. She sighed and pulled a small cloth from her pocket, wiping the sweat from her time-furrowed brow.
There was silence in the hall. All eyes rested on Calen. He took a deep breath. He remembered what his mother once told him. You will only know your true friends once they know you truly.
“I am sorry,” he said, and he was. “I am sorry for what was done by those who came before me. For what happened to your people.” Calen turned to Asius. “And to yours.”
The giant gave a slight bow of his head.
“The empire took my family as well. They killed my mother, my father, my sister. They took one of my closest friends. The first time I killed a man, I felt sick to my stomach. I counted every life I took. I have stopped counting now, but I haven’t forgotten. Until now, all I wanted was revenge. I wanted the men who took my family from me… I wanted them dead. In honesty, I still do, but now, I want more.
“Still in Belduar, there are five elves who pledged an oath to protect me, without even knowing who I truly was. I want to become a man they are proud to protect. I want their oath to mean something. I want to earn their trust, as I want to earn yours. I might be a child to you, but I promise you one thing: I will bleed for you. I will not stop fighting until my lungs give way, and neither will Valerys.” Calen hadn’t noticed his voice rising as he spoke, but he couldn’t help it. His heart pounded in his chest, and his blood rushed like fire through his veins. The rumble in Valerys’s throat reverberated through the hall, a deep growl. “I will stand on the walls of Belduar if the empire attacks. I will be there. I didn’t want this. I certainly didn’t ask for it, but it is what fate has given me, and I will not walk away.” Calen paused for a moment, considering. “You want to know my character, show me yours!”
CHAPTER 31
All Things Lost
Dann had wandered the streets of the outer circle for what seemed like hours before he happened upon the Old Man’s Cellar. It was exactly the type of inn he was looking for; dark, comfy and full of wine.
The packed common room was filled with chatter, and dimly lit by candles of white and red wax that were scattered about so haphazardly that it could only have been done on purpose. The only pieces of furniture were large, red leather chairs arranged around small wooden tables in sets of twos and threes. Dann couldn’t help but feel as though he were getting drunk in some lord’s lounging area. He didn’t mind though; that was his sole intention anyway – to get drunk.
He had managed to nab himself a comfortable chair beside one of the two hearths that sat at either end of the room. The fire never seemed to go past a smoulder, which gave off little light but provided that extra bit of heat he had been looking for, and incensed the room with the familiar scent of burning wood.
Dann leaned back into the softened leather chair, swirling his wine around in his cup. He’d never tasted wine until he got to Belduar, which he quickly decided was time lost. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a mouthful of the deep red liquid. He sighed out his nose in satisfaction as the fruity flavours coated his tongue and drifted into his nostrils. Lord Arnell had given him a purse full of coin and told him to enjoy the city, and that was fully what he intended on doing.
“Mind if I join you?” Dann looked up from his wine to find Dahlen looking down at him. Droplets of water dripped onto the floor from the ends of his coat, and his hair was matted to his face.
“Sure.” Dann pushed himself up into a seated position. He caught the attention of the serving girl who had brought him the wine earlier. Elaiya was the name she had given him; he had made sure to ask – people always remembered you when you asked for their names. He gestured for her to bring a second cup. “Wine?”
“Please,” Dahlen said. He draped his sopping wet cloak over a cast iron rail near the fire and dropped down into the chair opposite Dann. “You got left behind too?”
“Thank you,” Dann said as he took the second cup off Elaiya and proceeded to fill it with wine from his jug. It wasn’t his coin, and it would be a long time before the purse was empty. Why not share? Though, Dahlen’s question left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Left behind?” he replied with a raised eyebrow. He handed Dahlen the overflowing cup of wine. Dahlen nodded his appreciation, sipping from the top of the cup immediately to stop it spilling over.
“Sorry.” Dahlen placed the cup down on the table and ran his hands through his saturated hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just—”
“It’s okay,” Dann interrupted. He sank back into his chair and took another mouthful of his wine. “It might be the wine talking, but you’re right. I would rather be down there with him.”
“You two are close.”
“Like brothers. Until we get Rist back, he’s all I have out here.”
Dahlen flinched at the mention of Rist’s name. Dann didn’t blame him like Calen did. But it was clear that Dahlen blamed himself.
Dann refilled the wine in his cup and gestured for Elaiya to bring a new jug. “Keep it,” he said when she tried to give him his change. Four silver marks. He would have run naked through the streets for that kind of money in The Glade. It wasn’t his, anyway. It was better she had it.
“Sir, I can’t possibly. This is far too—”
“I’m no sir. Please, keep it.”
Elaiya’s smile spread from ear to ear as she thanked him profusely. At the very least, Dann was sure that he would be getting the best wine at the inn for the rest of the night. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the fresh jug and gestured towards Dahlen before realising that his first cup was still full.
“That was kind,” Dahlen said. He lifted his cup to his mouth, emptying it in one go, and extended it towards Dann to refill, a smirk on his face.
I knew there was a reason I liked him.
Dann realised that the last time he had sat down and had a drink with Dahlen was in the Traveller’s Rest back in Camylin – the night they lost Rist. They hadn’t stopped looking over their shoulders since then. The thought made him even more appreciative of the wine in his cup and the coin in his purse, but it set a sense of longing in him for his friend. “Where is your brother? Does he not enjoying drinking away his sorrows as well?”
Dahlen laughed as he pushed himself back into his red leather chair. “Erik enjoys getting drunk as much as the rest of us. But no, not tonight. We deal with frustration in different ways. I drink, he practices.”
“I think I’ll stick with drinking.”
“I will drink to that,” Dahlen said, laughing. He raised his cup and tipped it off Dann’s. They both emptied their cups. “I’m sorry about Rist.”
A silence followed Dahlen’s words. Dann was sure that he had been chewing on those words since he sat down. Dann leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He took
a long draught of his wine and let out a sigh. “It was not your fault. I don’t fool myself thinking that it would have been any different if I had been there.”
Dahlen gave a weak nod and refilled both of their cups. A silence held the air for a moment. The din of conversation around them faded into the background.
“I’m sorry about Calen. He can be—”
“Arrogant? Self-centred?”
Dann put his cup down on the table and held Dahlen’s gaze. He stilled the anger in his stomach. He came here to get drunk, not to argue. “I was going to say passionate.”
I was going to say stubborn, but I’m not giving you that.
Dahlen smiled awkwardly and called over Elaiya. “Can we have two hits of Wyrm Blood, please?”
Dann shivered involuntarily. He had only drunk Wyrm Blood once before. It wasn’t actually the blood of a wyrm. It was a concoction created from a mix of pure grape spirit and botanicals that had a vivid green colouring. Lasch had imported some for The Gilded Dragon from Valtara two summers back, and Dann distinctly remembered struggling to use his legs afterwards.
Dahlen passed a small cup of the sharp green liquid to Dann. “Thank you for sharing your wine with me. To friends and family.”
“To friends and family.” Dann winced as the spirit burned its way down his throat.
Dahlen slammed his small cup down on the table, his face contorted in pain from the spirit. “Shall we get drunk?”
“That had been my only intention for tonight,” Dann laughed, as he called Elaiya over again. She was quite beautiful. I wonder if she would join us for a drink.
“Have I ever told you about the time that I saw a horse with a horn growing from its head?”