Orwutt slapped his knees laughing, and Zurwott glared at Ahiram as if the Silent had slapped him in the face.
“A challenging challenge and a challenge most challenging you have directly directed to a dwarf of the southern realm, and directed most directly to the dwarfish nation. Be ready in the utmost readiness and in a readiness ready to be discomfited in the greatest of discomfiture.”
“Do your best.” Ahiram smiled and opened both palms as if he were a mendicant waiting for someone to drop him a coin.
With his left hand, Zurwott slapped Ahiram’s right hand who turned it over to let the dwarf slap the back. Ahiram raised his left hand and Zurwott slapped it with his left hand twice. On they went slapping one another’s hands in a rapidly increasing complexity and speed until their arms became a blur that moved instinctively to their appointed position. Orwutt’s jaw dropped with a bit of cheese hanging from his lower lip. When the sequence ended, he jumped to his feet, threw Ahiram over his shoulder and twirled a half dozen times before setting him down.
“Xarix alik nark, narik alik xark, kora stirix ark, arik stirix kor. Starx avrix silark, salirk avrix starx.”
“Orwutt, I don’t speak dwarfish,” said Ahiram. “But listening to you, I have a better appreciation for the repetition of the language. It sounds melodious.”
“Yes indeed,” said a puffed-up Zurwott. “Dwarfish is elegantly nimble, whereas the common tongue is a slow, slithering speech.”
“Amazing act of amazement, amazement action amazing, intensely beautiful intensity, intensity most beautifully intense,” translated Orwutt. “This is as close as I can be to speaking in the common tongue. Now how did you do that?”
Ahiram laughed just as Master Xurgon walked in and immediately started directing his ire toward the twins.
“The council does not consider its deliberation a laughing matter, or for that matter, a matter to be laughed about. You have annoyed the council with your slapping slaps. You are a bear to bear, but the council has asked for your ear. Walk inside and try to reflect most appropriately the brilliance of your paternal uncle.”
The brothers bowed courteously and left Ahiram to himself. The Silent waited patiently for the consultation to end. He unwrapped his sword and examined it closely. He could not make sense of the elaborate carvings on the pommel, nor the meaning behind the two stars adorning the dragon wings of the cross-guard. The sword was not his preferred weapon, but like every Silent, he was an accomplished swordsman and recognized a well-crafted blade when he saw one, “This sword is amazing,” muttered Ahiram. Hearing footsteps, he wrapped the sword back just as Zurwott dashed into the room and stopped before him.
“The counseling council would like your ear.”
Ahiram did not know why he was being ushered into the council, but he followed the dwarf into the adjacent room. About a dozen dwarfs sat around a large, circular stone table. He bowed respectfully and waited.
“Young manly man,” said one of the dwarfs, “we are consciously conscious and conscious most consciously of your desired desire to save the breath of the slaving slave who is to be offered as a sacrificial sacrifice to the Xarg-Ulum. We are also pleasingly pleased by your sagacious sagacity and your sagacity so sagacious. You boldly planned a bold plan to constructively construct a trap for the xarg-ulum. You planned to restrain her thus until you could recover, with assured recoverability and recoverability most assured, the slave from the handy hands of the tribe of tribulations. But how do you purposefully purport to do so?”
“A pit is dug for the beast to fall into,” replied Ahiram. “She will not be able to make it out in time for the sacrifice. I suspect the slave will be tied up as in any sacrifice. The tribesmen expect the beast to come and take the slave. Instead of the beast, I show up, rescue the slave, and bring him back with me.”
Most of the dwarfs winced, for Ahiram’s manner of speech was too short and direct to their taste.
“Very good plan,” replied Xurgon, who seemed to speak on their behalf, “but if these tribesmen find out that it is you and not their godly god who has come to take the slave, they will surely hack you to pieces; a rather unpleasant possibility. These people are strong, and courageous.”
“If I am accompanied by two or three strong dwarfs, they may be able to loosen enough rocks to cause a small avalanche and block the entrance to the cave after the slave and I have made our exit.”
“An avalanche is a worthy and good idea. True and trusted by many dwarfs, an avalanche is a friendly friend that will not disappoint,” said another dwarf. “He can be strong enough to force a conclusive outcome to our advantage.” Ahiram smiled seeing that his idea pleased the council. He hoped this would be the end of the questioning. “But with all due respect for your courageous courage, zeal, and training, you will not be able to face them alone. You will need help. I say we send a company of twelve dwarfs with you.”
“Great,” exclaimed Ahiram who was relieved to see the dwarfs take part in this action.
“You will make it in the most dire and difficult conditions,” said Xurgon. “The unexpectedly unexpected is a dependably fiendish foe. He never fails to rendezvous with you when you least count on him.”
“Who?” asked Ahiram, confused.
The dwarf sighed. “The unexpected, of course.”
“That was quite unexpected,” retorted Ahiram with a smirk.
The dwarf sighed again. “This is the best we can offer you.”
“When can we leave?” asked Ahiram.
“In five days hence. We must complete our trap before we can venture into the béghôm’s lair.”
Five days is all I need. Ahiram felt a tinge of excitement.
“As soon as the company is ready and declares it to be so, Zurwott will guide you with what needs to be accomplished. Are you in possession of a weapon worthy of this endeavor?”
“I am,” answered Ahiram nonchalantly.
“Good,” replied Xurgon relieved, “we are ill-equipped for the forging of weaponry in this local locality.”
“I thank you, Master Xurgon, and I thank the entire council. Dwarfs are known for their courage and boldness, and you certainly live up to this reputation.” Ahiram bowed and left the council.
The next three days went by quickly and Ahiram fell into a routine. He inspected the daily progress of the dwarfs as they dug the trap for the beast, and he was amazed at the speed with which dwarfs were able to dig a hole that deep and wide. They used various shovels to move dirt quickly, and then hauled it to a separate cave that Ahiram had visited with Orwutt. It was a brightly lit work area where an odd-looking contraption churned continuously. It would swallow the dirt and mix it with steaming water and strange, black pellets that turned the mixture into a thick, brown clay. The clay was then pushed onto a rotating iron mesh where other dwarfs used a powerful press to cut the set clay into blocks. The blocks were then fed into a brick oven that spat them out from the other end as solid bricks. The whole thing gave Ahiram the impression of a giant dragon plagued by an incurable hiccup that forced him to repeatedly spit out a molar. The bricks were then carted to a giant pile at the back of the work area where they were hoisted into horse-led wagons. The wagons crossed a wide, stone bridge, went up a winding path to an exit point from which the bricks traveled down southward to the port of Tyra-Min, and were finally shipped all over the world.
“Tanniin’s bricks are famously famous in many kingly kingdoms,” explained a dwarf. “Cheaply cheaper than paying mining miners for goodly gold and profitably profitable for our bottomless bottom line.”
“What’s a bottomless bottom lining line?” asked Ahiram. “A cave?”
“No, no, no,” replied the dwarf. “This is one of the few metaphors we dwarfs use.” He spoke in the common tongue for Ahiram’s sake. “It means our pockets, see? They’re supposed to be bottomless because what goes in, is not supposed to come back out.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, we like to make a profit and hate
spending money, see?”
“Oh …” said Ahiram prudently. Even though he did not understand what the dwarf meant, he did not wish to embarrass himself again.
After he inspected the digging, Ahiram returned to his training area. He continued to work with his artifacts. As long as the tile was not on him, he could catch the sword and float up and down with the wings with good control—provided he did not attempt any acrobatics. But whenever the tile was on him, his speed multiplied tenfold.
I need to master the basics of flying first, before I can include the tile.
He spent hours honing the use of his sword. He was missing quite a few darts, and wished he could replenish his stash. On the fourth day, Ahiram saw that the trap was completed. The hole was at least thirty-two feet deep and thirty feet wide. It reached from wall to wall, and as he stepped to the edge to take a closer look, he nearly fell in when the béghôm pounded the wall from behind the walls.
“She is painfully close and close in the most painful manner,” whispered Zurwott.
Ahiram watched as one group of dwarfs pulled on a metal chain to drag a lid of steel-reinforced wood over the hole, while a second group busily piled up rocks by the entrance of the room where the floor had now been turned into a gaping hole.
“When the beastly beast unfailingly falls into our trapping trap, we will drop this trustingly trusty lid and let this piling pile of rocky rocks roll over her to shut the trap.”
Ahiram stood confident, hands on hips, and nodded his head, satisfied. The trap was ready.
“The béghôm is a mighty foe of the dwarfs. She knows the ways of the rock and the abysmal elements of the earth. She loves the deep shadows of silent caves, and treads in passages never seen by man. Unlike the dwarfs, the creature requires no tools to forge a passage through stone. The caves are her natural habitation.”
–Philology of the Dwarfs, Anonymous.
The next day, Ahiram walked into the main hall where ten dwarfs, all members of the rescue company, were breakfasting. He bowed before the oldest dwarf, as per their custom and sat down to eat with them.
His desire to be free was as strong as ever, even though it had temporarily receded to the background. To free another slave from a cruel end made him happy. Any Silent would do the same, regardless of the victim’s status, but Ahiram knew how slaves felt. Even though Tanios treated him like a son and the Silent had adopted him, everyone else in the castle treated him as a slave. Besides, he had spent six years in the slaves’ quarters of Taniir-the-Strong Castle. He had seen how slaves lived. Their sense of dignity gone, they lived in fearful submission to the one who treated them like cattle: to be bought, sold, and slaughtered at their owner’s whim.
“You betook the appearance of a dwarfish warrior,” exclaimed Orwutt as he walked in, “dressed as you are in the likeness and mannerly manners of our people.”
“When you’re with the dwarfs, do as they do,” retorted Ahiram.
“A wise saying and a saying most wise,” approved Zurwott who came in on his brother’s heels. “Is it from the Book of Siril?”
“No, from the book of Ahiram,” replied the Silent.
Orwutt slapped him on the back amid a profusion of throat clearing and coughing.
“Let us be on to our warring ways,” ordered Zurwott after they finished breakfast. “To the armory for arming armors.”
They filed inside a nearby storeroom where the dwarf in charge equipped them with weapons, shields, breastplates, helmets, and anything else they needed for their mission.
Ahiram looked at his reflection in a tall bronze mirror and smiled. He had been outfitted with a steel breastplate laced in leather and a round helmet—one that fit him—adorned with two small horns, so characteristic of the northern dwarfs. He had taken a liking to the sandals he had been wearing for the past five days. They were sturdy with a comfortable thick sole and good traction. Dressed for battle, he felt out of his element without his dart belt. The Book of Siril 9:2 came to mind. “If your might is only in mighty weapons, great are your victories and greater your defeats.”
The day to free the slave has come at last, Ahiram thought.
They left the armory and crossed several caves until they reached a narrow passage where they waited. This was Ahiram’s fifth day with the dwarfs, and according to Master Xurgon, the sacrifice was planned for the next morning. The trap for the béghôm was ready; the dwarfs now weakened the wall the beast had been pounding.
As soon as the beast falls into the trap, we’re good to go, thought Ahiram.
They waited an hour for the beast to attack, but to no avail. Unable to sit any longer, Ahiram went to check on the trap. He found a group of nervous dwarfs standing quietly by a chain held to a lever.
“No sign of the beast yet?” he whispered.
The dwarfs shook their heads. Ahiram backed out and sat in an adjoining cave where he leaned his sword against the wall. Zurwott and Orwutt joined him. Time passed and the torches on the walls were changed twice, which told Ahiram that two hours had come and gone since he sat there. The béghôm’s pounding, faint and far, reached them intermittently. It looks like the beast will not pay us a visit today. The Silent wondered if they would have to postpone or cancel their mission. The mission will not succeed unless we trap the beast. Another hour went by, during which time he concocted alternative plans to save the slave, but none of them were viable.
There’s no use trying to come up with alternative plans. Unless the béghôm is restrained long enough for us to go and come back safely, the plan will not succeed. I can’t risk the lives of twelve dwarfs for one slave. I don’t know how to fly swiftly, and besides, I wouldn’t know where to go.
The four Silent held prisoners by the desert people tensed when the stone moved. A tall woman walked in and ushered them out. Three tall men, including their leader Xendorac, escorted them to a clearing facing the main cave, which Jedarc had spotted during his scouting operation. Their captors had cleaned it out and chained a hooded victim to the pole.
“Is it her?” whispered Jedarc.
“It’s her,” replied Sondra. “Follow the outline of the arms and legs—that’s a young woman.”
“Could be a skinny man,” objected Jedarc.
“No,” asserted Sondra. “You should have paid more attention during anatomy, Tinantel. That is a woman.”
Hearing Xendorac grunt, Banimelek told them to sit down. Two men sat on either side of Sheheluth to restrain her in case she felt the urge to run and throw herself into the arms of the beast as a preferred offering. The young girl sighed and closed her eyes.
Even if we reach the cave’s mouth, the warriors guarding it will stop us, thought Sheheluth. They are strong and fast. We cannot defeat them. She felt her heart constrict in her chest. It’ll take a miracle to save Hiyam.
Ahiram yawned. By now, all twelve dwarfs from his party had joined them. Two more hours had trickled by in complete silence. I’m hungry. I wonder what’s for lunch. He yawned again.
“By the mighty Xirik!”
Ahiram bolted to his feet, half-expecting to face the béghôm. Instead, he saw Zurwott, who had been seated next to him, standing up, transfixed. He was holding Layaleen and gazed at the sword in awe.
Ahiram managed to control himself—just barely. “Put it down,” he said, a slight quiver in his voice. “That is my sword.”
“My deepest deep apologetic apologies,” replied Zurwott, crestfallen. “I did not meaningfully mean to rudely intrude.”
“But you did,” snapped Ahiram as he took the sword and wrapped it quickly back in the shirt, “and I wish that you had not.” Ahiram thought Zurwott was about to cry; he had one of the saddest looks on his face. “Your apologies are accepted, but next time, please do not touch this sword or anything else of mine without asking me.”
“Keil kzang kazang?” asked another dwarf. Ahiram recognized him as the shoemaker, “Ekal shterm keal?”
“He does not speak the common tongue,” expl
ained Orwutt quietly. “He said …” the dwarf struggled to find his words, “… well kzang is very difficult to translate. He said ‘What a swording sword’ and asked if he may look at it.”
Reluctantly, Ahiram placed his sword into the old dwarf’s hands. The shoemaker held it the way one holds a priceless treasure. The remaining dwarfs congregated around him like children who beheld a treasure. As the older dwarf moved his fingers ever so slowly along the blade, a brilliant blueish streak followed his movements, as if an evanescent light hidden within the sword had been called to the surface.
“This is Korx Terix Tal,” whispered Orwutt. “He belongs to the tribe of Karak-Keim, Thunder Cloud. His forefather of ages bygone, the great Thein Terek Al, or Thein, Dragon Eye, lit the great forges of Andaxil and fashioned Layaleen, El-Windiir’s sword; Terragold, the sword of Muhaijar, King of the Marada; and Utal, the swift sword of Salfaran the Fair, ruler of the desert legions. The Karangalatad said he forged these swords from dragon scales mixed with meyroon.”
Korx Terix Tal whispered softly and Orwutt translated. “What a glad tiding you have brought us, friend.” Korx Terix Tal’s voice quivered. “This sword was made by the hands by my ancestor. It is very old. The lore has been lost and we no longer know how to forge steel in this fashion. Indeed, great, great tidings this is. Look, this sword has been dipped in liquefied meyroon, from the handle’s pommel to the point of the blade. Who would have said that I would live long enough for my eyes to set on such a wonder?”
The old dwarf bid Ahiram to come a little closer. “Do you see how these waves of radiant colors appear as soon as I place the blade under the light?” Orwutt continued to translate. “This is the sign of liquefied meyroon.” The old dwarf looked at Ahiram once more. “You could search all sixty-two kingdoms under the sun and you will not find a sword mightier than this. I thank you for letting me look at it. I am so glad.”
Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2) Page 12