A Quick Sun Rises

by Thomas Rath

  “A dragon indeed,” Helgar hissed, pulling his axe from its resting place on his back. “Prepare yerselves lads,” he continued. “We be huntin’ serpent.”

  “To the square!” Rangor commanded the guard as they snapped to formation around Helgar.

  The new king made to protest but backed down quickly, realizing he would have to fight them all to get his way. He was the king. And though he hated the idea of being left out of a fight, he knew it was no use in trying to change their minds. These lads had been trained since they were nigh off their mother’s breast to protect the king with their lives—whether the king liked it or not. He knew they would follow Rangor’s orders over his own and there was no time to argue with their captain right now.

  The entranceway opened up into a large circular cave-like area that was rough cut all around, making the need for a barred entrance seem ludicrous. Nothing appeared grand or out of the ordinary except for the twenty offshoot tunnels that left the area going in all directions. The dwarfs didn’t even pause to determine which entrance they should pursue but instead moved quickly, with axes ready toward the seventh one on the right. All the other tunnels lead their followers through a myriad of pathways that eventually led to nowhere keeping the dwarf stronghold a secret from any outsiders who stumble upon the entrance.

  The corridor quickly closed in, only allowing passage in a single file line. Two of the dwarf guards took the lead allowing Helgar the third place in line. He knew Rangor would not be happy about it, especially since he was forced almost to the rear, but Helgar had elbowed out the dwarf just behind him for the spot and he knew no one would argue now that they were inside and on high alert.

  Through multiple twists and turns they pressed on until greeted by five more options. Again, without hesitation they moved to the tunnel just to the left and continued on as the floor gradually sloped downward. Five more small foyers offering multiple tunnel options were passed before they finally reached a large set of thick oak doors that had also been blown out from the inside. Though heavily damaged, the doors still hung precariously to at least one of the hinges though threatening to breakaway from the sheer weight at any moment. Passing through the entrance the dwarfs spread out into their protective square, each peering into the semi darkness in all directions, as they entered Thornen Dar.

  “And what be this?” Rangor spoke softly while running a hand over the interior side of one of the doors. “It be wet and the wood turned sodden.”

  Helgar inspected the door for himself. “The whole of the area be damp,” Bardolf said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Even the air be dank and pressin’ in, almost like that that be infestin’ the Underwoods.”

  “Aye,” Helgar nodded, trying to dry his hand on his damp shirt. “It be stinkin’ of a foul evil.”

  The dwarfs spread out quickly as they entered the great city, their axes at the ready should anything still remain to attack. The air was fouled from the great number of dead that lay scattered about leaving the impression that the city had been caught by surprise. Men, women and children were mixed in the gruesome fray that pulled at the hearts of even these battled hardened dwarfs.

  Helgar squatted down by a woman still holding her young daughter. With a hand covering his nose he inspected the bodies. “Look at their skin,” he breathed. They were waxen looking but with large pieces of skin peeling away from the muscle. And they were wet. No one spoke for long moments, each looking at the bodies closest to where they stood, trying to understand what had happened to their kin. Rangor finally commanded the guard to search for survivors while he and Bardolf remained with Helgar.

  The once beautiful city that puffed up the dwarf people with pride lay in shattered ruins in all directions. Ornately carved buildings that had once awed the passerby with their artistry and grandeur were now cracked or ruptured into rubble, leaving piles of stone and mortar. The beautiful trees and garden spots that had made the inner cave of Thornen Dar the rival of any aboveground park were torn up or withered while the falls that fed the city was no longer running. And yet, the air was uncommonly hot and wet causing the dwarf’s clothes to dampen and stick uncomfortably to their skin.

  Their search was superficial, sticking to the main thoroughfare that led up to the king’s palace. With such small numbers they couldn’t venture far or risk being separated should they face an assault. If it was, in fact, a dragon that attacked their beloved city, as appeared evident from the damage, they needed to stay together to have even the slightest chance.

  “Remember lads,” Helgar offered as they inched toward his father’s home, “dragons may be harder than diamonds at their scales but we know that they be soft underneath and bleed just like anything else.” He was referring to their encounter on the journey to Calandra when he was almost taken away in the clutches of a dragon’s talons that had caught him up. It bled well enough then when he’d gotten his axe blade under its scales at the leg. Another of their companions had not been so lucky.

  Helgar was anxious to reach the palace and search out his father, but Rangor reined him in, not willing to risk caution for speed. They had to be deliberate and thorough. Though the report was that the king had fallen, Helgar still held on to a sliver of hope that his father and king had somehow escaped the attack. The guard that remained should have been sufficient to at least get him back away from the battle.

  After an hour of slinking about from one pile of rubble to another, they finally approached what had once been the pride of the city—Thornen Dar’s grand palace. Though it had faired better than many of the buildings in the city, there were still plenty of marks of battle and damage to the outside. Helgar, Bardolf and Rangor stopped just at the entrance waiting for the rest of the guard to return. Helgar was anxious to get inside and search but Rangor was able to hold him off, at least for the moment.

  “Let the guard be regrouping first,” Rangor insisted. “Then we be at an advantage to more quickly be findin’ yer father.”

  Helgar huffed but recognized the intelligence of Rangor’s plan. It would just slow them down to go about unorganized and risk researching rooms already looked at or miss others thought to have been searched. Still, it made him want to crawl out of his own skin with anxiety to have to wait. At this point, he would have welcomed a dragon attack just because it would have given him something on which to vent his anger and frustrations.

  “I’ve found somethin’” a voice called out to their right.

  Everybody quickly converged on the spot. Not far from the steps leading to the palace, next to an overturned cart, one of the dwarf guards was on his knees peering through a small gap created by a large piece of rubble supporting a back corner. “Help me,” shouted Bardolf as he gripped a side and prepared to turn the cart back over. Three others assisted, easily lifting it onto its side. A tiny form instantly scurried back away from the group trying to find escape but quickly found he was surrounded. Pressing his back against the cart he looked like he might try to claw his way over it. “Easy their, laddie,” Bardolf called out, shouldering his weapon and offering opened hands of peace. “Ain’t none of us here goin’ to be hurtin’ ya now. Ye be safe.”

  It was a young dwarf boy, his bright red hair, not quite long enough yet to be braided, was knotted and dirty. His clothes were torn and ragged, and it looked like his left arm had been burned. His deep blue eyes darted about for a moment as if he still might try to run before finally settling them on Bardolf who slowly inched forward.

  “We have to be hidin’,” the boy suddenly hissed. “It cannot be killed” The boy’s eyes seemed to go out of focus and widened as if he were looking through Bardolf to something terrifying. “It comes with the burning fog. No weapon can harm it.”

  All were silent for a brief moment, the boy going quiet save for slight mumblings that were barely audible but nonsensical. “Where be the others?” Bardolf asked, drawing the boy’s attention and focus back to him.

  “Deep,” he whispered. “Deep as ca
n be gotten, those that got out. But they will be diein’ jist as soon as it be findin’ ‘em. There be no place it not be findin’ with its burning fog.”

  “And what of the king, boy,” Helgar interjected. The boy’s eyes shot about as if suddenly seeing the others for the first time, his body tensing. “Answer me, boy,” Helgar insisted.

  The boy’s eyes glazed slightly. “The king be livin’ in the palace, of course,” he whispered, “with all his guard about him.”

  Helgar’s face flashed a glimmer of joy and hope that was quickly overrun by doubt. “In the palace, ye say?”

  The boy looked at him blankly and then slowly came to his feet. “I’ll lead ye there.” No one moved, all looking to Helgar who regarded the boy as if trying to decide the truthfulness of his claim. Finally, nodding his head, he motioned to the guard to let the boy pass. He wanted to believe that there was truth in the boy’s statement but what he saw around him told him otherwise. The boy paused for a moment as a corridor was open between the rough, weapon clad guards. Looking at Helgar, he smiled slightly, a devious glint in his eyes as he finally moved forward. Helgar watched him pass. Pausing just beyond Helgar’s reach, the boy looked back at him his eyes suddenly filled will wild terror.

  “Run or die!” the boy suddenly shouted and bolted, just slipping past Helgar’s grip as he reached out to halt the boy’s escape. The guard instantly took up the chase but Helgar called them back.

  “Let’im be,” he said with a sigh. “None be knowin’ the horror that boy been seein’. Let ‘im be off.” All eyes turned and regarded the prince, waiting for his instructions. “I be knowin’ as good as any where me Da would be in the palace.”

  Bardolf approached his friend and stopped briefly at his side. “Then let’s be to it,” he said softly only able to guess at what his prince, and probably his new king, was thinking and feeling under his rough exterior. Though tough as the mountains that bred them, dwarfs were also big hearted, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for those they loved or respected.

  The palace was almost unrecognizable inside. The once pinnacle of dwarf craftsmanship and ingenuity had been reduced, in many areas, to piles of rubble and dust. Dead guards and house staff left a gruesome trail of blood and gore laid out in such a manner as to direct any who entered toward the location where it must have all begun. Helgar’s heart sank and the light of hope he’d kept shelter suddenly waned to near extinction as the pathway of carnage led the group toward the great hall where sat the ancestral throne. The once great and ominous room looked small now with the mounds of rock and statuary strewn about in a pattern of chaos. The air was thick with moisture and difficult to breath.

  Though the guard remained ever ready and vigilant, as was their duty, Helgar walked almost aimlessly toward the throne where, against hope, he knew he would find his father. Climbing over one of the great troll statues that once lent ominous trepidation to the hall, Helgar finally caught site of his father seated on the throne. For a brief moment his breath caught as his father’s posture seemed to suggest relaxed repose but almost as instantly, the pile of dead guards that surrounded him and the cracked look of his skin were indefatigable proofs of his father’s end. The skin on all the dead around the throne mimicked that of those they had seen in the city. It was like the fissures left in an empty lake bed that had been flogged by an unrelenting sun until it fractured the surface into a spider web of caked ridges.

  Helgar made to approach the thrown, and his father, but a firm hand suddenly caught his arm holding him in place. He turned a scathing look on the one who dared disrupt his thoughts and motion only to be met by the moistened eyes of his elite guard’s leader. “Let us be turnin’ our backs on this place of dread,” pleaded Rangor, “and not be rememberin’ our king in such a state.”

  Helgar’s fierce, rage-filled eyes held Rangor’s for a brief moment before he turned back to his father, yanking his arm free as he did so, intent on approaching the throne to pay proper respect.

  “Please,” Rangor whispered, the emotion escaping through his voice.

  Helgar stopped short. Whether it was the word itself or the emotion that coated it, he could not tell, but something touched him as he looked about at the guard who had been charged to protect his father and who would now protect him. He could see the sense of loss in their eyes at having been absent when their king had needed them most. He could see the desire they held in their hearts to be among the many dead surrounding the throne instead of among the living who were mere witnesses of the unthinkable. It was his father, Helgar told himself. He had the right to mourn as he would. But the darkness that seemed to enshroud the guard and the obvious pain they felt at seeing their charge dead softened the battle hardened dwarf to the point of heartbreak.

  Taking a deep breath, he forced one last look at his father before turning back to Rangor. “We must be findin’ all that yet be alive who can be holdin’ an axe. We be goin’ to war.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tam let the warmth of family wash over her as she sat by the fire wrapped in her mother’s arms. It had almost been too overwhelming for her when they came upon her father out on patrol earlier that day. Since then it had been a storm of activity as word spread quickly that she and Dor had returned. Questions about where they had been and how they survived had pressed upon them from all sides as family after family had come to their hut to see for themselves if the rumors were true. Finally, BekSagn, her father, had to close off their home to anymore visitors, except Dor and his family, until they’d gotten the answers they had yet to receive and understand about their children’s sudden disappearance. All had given them up for captured and killed by the trolls that infested the mountains and who had so often raided their village and killed their people. Bek had been on one of the very patrols that were sent out to protect against such attacks when he’d found her.

  Tam gave her mother a squeeze with her arm letting the stress and pain of the past months wash away in the comfort of her embrace. Now that she was home, it was almost as if the trials she had faced hadn’t even happened. It all seemed to melt away in the warmth of home. The only thing that stood as a reminder of where she’d been and what she’d faced was the story Dor was telling their parents at that moment. They had agreed that until they could talk to DaxSagn and get his arrow that it would be best to stick to a story that didn’t involve invasions or HuMans. They needed that arrow and couldn’t risk the repercussions that would likely follow should they tell the whole truth at once.

  Dor glanced at her as he laid out the narrative they had agreed upon, some of which was actually true. He even made up that they used his hair to start fires to keep warm to explain how short it was. That had caused no small stir of hero worship by Tam’s family and beaming pride from his own. Had they really known why it had been cut the hero worship quite possibly would have moved up to god status.

  “But if you were trapped in that cave for so long, how is it you were able to survive without starving?” All stared at QalSagn, Dor’s mother, who had voiced the question that all had wondered but which none were willing, or desirous, to ask. One could only imagine the horror of the situation. Luckily, of sorts, Tam still had not completely regained all her weight back from her addiction to dranlok lending credence to their claim of being lost and trapped in the mountains this whole time. It also gave cover to the fact that Dor had put on a little extra weight.

  Dor fidgeted for a moment as if uncomfortable with the question. Tam watched him knowing that his discomfort was not a show to go along with his answer but because they had not thought to discuss that part. She knew he was squirming because he was trying to come up with a plausible answer. She held her breath. They needed for them to believe their story. If their families had doubts then surely others would not believe either. Though she wanted to shout out to everyone the dangers they were facing, they had to stick to the plan or risk losing their opportunity to make a difference. Dor glanced at Tam and she caught the brief
glint that flashed in his eyes. He had something.

  “I…I’d rather not talk about it,” he stammered, “if you don’t mind. Let’s just say that we did what we had to.”

  Tam’s head suddenly felt light and she realized that she was still holding her breath. But she didn’t let it out until their parents all joined in with only words of encouragement and sympathy. “We understand,” her father said. “Of course,” Dor’s father, TaqSagn, offered. “You poor children,” his mother gushed, while PanChao, Tam’s’ mother gasped and just squeezed her tighter. Tam smiled back at Dor who masked his own mischievous look behind a down-turned mouth and a shake of his head in acceptance of their pity.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Pan finally added, the emotion breaking into her voice. “What is of most import is that you have returned, never to leave again.”

  Tam stiffened at the announcement, her eyes quickly filling with tears as her mother’s words slapped her across the face. Never to leave again. She sighed, fighting back the emotion that luckily everyone took as happy acceptance and joy at being back in her family’s hut. Dor looked at her knowingly wanting to reach out and embrace her but holding back since no one was yet aware of their growing relationship. The joy of the evening was suddenly gone and both young Chufa were left feeling empty.

  All remained silent for long moments deep within the recesses of their own thoughts when loud laughter outside broke through the rigid walls. “That’s right!” Qal exclaimed. “Tonight is the FasiUm.” All eyes suddenly fell on Dor and Tam whose faces both flushed. Once a year, at the end of the spring moon, the Chufa all gathered together at a great celebration where those males who were of age were put on display for the females of age to choose, if they so desired, who would be their life mate. It was generally encompassed in a great feast and dancing and no real ceremony was involved save for the simple act of an eligible girl taking who she desired for her mate by the hand. If the young man accepted the match he need merely keep hold, if not, then he could release his grip at any time and the girl was free to pick another. Should the couple agree to the match then each was then considered espoused with a ceremony finalizing the union during the first spring moon the following year.