With the last statement the three priests replaced their hoods in unison and floated backward out of the temple. Maelich was ready to explode. His mind was a battlefield of emotion, each fighting to take control of him. Very slowly, he relaxed. Everything that had happened between his hut in the forest and standing before the god of all creation played through his mind like an endless wheel. The one thing he could not come to grips with was Kallum speaking to him. He finally had evidence of his importance in this world. The Lord, Kallum had spoken to him. The book, Kallum’s word, only records two other human beings ever having direct contact with Kallum. ‘Why me?’ he thought. ‘What makes me different than any other?’ He still didn’t have any real answers, but he felt closer than ever. Ymitoth began to stir.
Maelich rushed over and roused him. “Father. Father, are you alright?” he asked as he shook his father a little less than gently.
Ymitoth mumbled a bit, but none of the sounds coming out of him could be considered words. His eyes chased around the room. Then he coughed a bit and rubbed at his throat. The dead-eyed men were strong. Maelich could attest to that, and one of them had given Ymitoth a good squeeze of his throat. Maelich helped the old soldier to sit upright against the wall.
“Maelich!” Ymitoth cried out.
“I’m here, father,” Maelich replied softly in Ymitoth’s ear.
“Are we dead?” he whispered.
“No, father. The priests have gone. Kallum spoke to me. He said you are a brave man and you stand tall in his sight,” Maelich’s tone was reassuring. Ymitoth would be crushed at the thought of falling from Kallum’s grace. He was a man of strong faith who had devoted his life to the service of his god.
“Aye, lad, I heard him speak.” Ymitoth thought for a moment and then continued, “He called me a scrod. I wept before me lord.” Tears welled, threatening to pour over his eyelids.
“No, father,” Maelich shook his head. “You were merely in the way of his purpose. You distracted him, nothing more, and that brought his angry tongue upon you.”
“Maelich, ye be like the lord now. I always been believing the myths and been believing ye to be the one they be speaking of, but now there be proof. Ye be me lord now. I be unfit for your presence.” His eyes quickly dropped away from Maelich’s.
“No, father…” Maelich began.
“Don’t be calling me that no more. Ye be me lord now,” Ymitoth’s words came amid sobs that had taken him. “Ye be the father now. I be fleeing from your sight. I be unworthy of your company.”
“But father…” Maelich stopped. Ymitoth was asleep. The encounter with the priests—and finally being forced to face Maelich’s purpose—was too much. Maelich held him close and eventually drifted off to sleep himself amid thoughts of all that had been and all that was yet to come.
Chapter 5
A Bit About Dwarves
Doentaat examined himself in a full-length mirror as he fastened a decorative red bow to the bottom of the last of three perfect braids in his thick, healthy beard. Bindaar, his housemate, would undoubtedly give him grief for getting all gussied up to head off for a long, hard day toiling away deep in the mines below Maomnosett, but Doentaat didn’t care. He remained one of very few Dwarves who held tightly to the grandeur of dwarf history. Why strive to be only as good as men or giants expect you to be? After all, dwarves graced the sweet face of Ouloos long before men or giants began haunting her lands, using up her resources, and erecting massive stone towers to ruin her landscape. That should count for something.
After finishing up with the last bow, Doentaat gave his burgundy tunic a quick smoothing with his hands. He paused briefly to fret over a small, gray stain, moistening his finger and rubbing roughly at it. All his effort only managed to lengthen and darken the spot. He wet his finger again and groaned as he worked at the spot more with greater vigor. It didn’t help.
“Damn,” he sighed and glanced around the tiny room. At roughly ten-feet by ten-feet, it housed and represented all Doentaat had to his name. The small room also represented the extent of the hut he shared with Bindaar at the edge of the city of Maomnosett. Sadly, the mirror before him, which was probably a fake rather than the shiny prang it mimicked, was the nicest item in the lot. A small hearth with a crumbling chimney occupied most of the wall to his right. A heavy, black kettle hung from a hook above the meager fire burning within. Immediately behind him was a small wooden table, faded, chipping, and probably a summer from being good for nothing but cutting up and stacking in the hearth. Immediately behind that, two bunks stacked on top of each other took up most of the back wall. A rusty, old wash basin beneath a small cupboard occupied the final wall. That was it, and he had to share it all with that pathetic, waste of a dwarf, Bindaar.
As if on cue, Bindaar farted, rolled over, and mumbled incoherently.
“Get up, ye thin, stinky dwarf!” Doentaat hollered in a hoarse whisper as he walked around the table and shook his housemate.
Bindaar didn’t move. He was a waif of dwarf, much too thin. His hair was light and scraggly, and the scrub brush on his chin could hardly be called a beard. Not one to worry about hygiene, he oftentimes smelled like a lavatrina—a pit in the ground where dwarves relieve themselves. The pathetic waste might just be the laziest dwarf to ever live.
“Come on,” Doentaat continued. “They’ll string ye up this time for sure, ye lazy oaf!”
Bindaar grumbled, and rolled closer to the wall.
Doentaat didn’t give up. Playing wakey, wakey games with Bindaar had been a part of his normal morning routine for better than ten summers. None of his friends could understand why he wasted time on the useless scrub, counseling him regularly on giving up the effort. Truly, he couldn’t say why he wasted his time on Bindaar, probably because nobody else would. The scruffy oaf always seemed to be in a scrape. If not for Doentaat’s efforts, Bindaar would have been wiped from the face of Ouloos long ago.
Perhaps it was frustration from the stain, but Doentaat’s fuse was much shorter than most mornings. He grabbed a pot from the cupboard and went out to the well to draw some water. Then, with a nice big splash in hand, he stormed back into his shack and doused his housemate. Both Bindaar and his cot were drenched and dripping. Doentaat’s first smile of the day crawled across his face. The water from the well was downright icy. Watching Bindaar sprawl out of his cot onto the dirt floor of the shack was quite satisfying.
“What in dragon’s fire are ye doing, ye stupid bastard?” Bindaar howled as he flopped about on the floor as if he were being burned alive.
“Saving your worthless hide, ye scruffy-faced burden,” Doentaat replied with just a hint of a chuckle in his strong, serious voice. “Get your lazy carcass off of that floor.”
“Aw piss on ye. Pretty princess, with your fancy braids and your yes sir, yes sir, beat me again sir. Leave me to be. Let those weak bastards who want to be serving that overgrown maggot string me up on that tree. Dying on that tree would be better than breaking our backs to make him richer,” Bindaar had all but lost his voice by the end of his rant.
“Where does all this come from?” shock twisted up Doentaat’s normally measured tone, causing his voice to crack slightly. Bindaar was a whiny waste most mornings, but he rarely fired such sharp barbs.
“I be tired of doing all of what he wants and none of what I want. I ain’t the only one, they all just be scared to say it,” Bindaar continued to rant. “Ye’d be singing the same song if ye weren’t pressing your lips to his big, giant behind. Have ye forgotten Alhouim? Have ye forgotten what great a city we had before Ahm settled his giant arse on our throne and called us Maomnosett? Has he ever bruised a knuckle hammering away in them mines? Ha! Protecting us from the men of Havenstahl who would take advantage of us dim-witted dwarves, is that what he does? Do ye believe that? Ye’re a fool if ye do. Them men may have gotten the better end of many a bargain with us, but they ain’t never treated us so cruel as the wicked thing we be calling our king.”
Doen
taat raised his index finger as his lips sneered to fire off a curse-laden response, but it didn’t come. Instead, he paused. Bindaar, though lazy, foul-smelling, and near as irritating as an ant trapped in your trousers, wasn’t an idiot. When Ahm came to Alhouim—generations before Doentaat or Bindaar had come into being—he brought promises of protection and fair trade with men. According to stories—none that anyone had written down, that kind of blasphemy against the king would get a dwarf strung up on the Great Pine—Ahm’s protection quickly turned into a boot firmly placed on the backs of dwarves, and Alhouim became Maomnosett. Most dwarves weren’t so vocal about their discontent. However, it would be a difficult task to find one who didn’t feel similarly to Bindaar about the topic.
“What?” Bindaar goaded. “I know ye’ve got more to say. Ye’ve always got more to say.” He paused briefly before adding, “Could it be, wise Doentaat with his opinion on everything be at a loss for words?”
“Ye know, Bindaar,” Doentaat just about growled. Whether he agreed with the scruffy pain or not, his housemate had finally pushed him too far, “For the past ten years I been sticking up for ye and looking out for ye and watching after ye, but no more. I be done with ye. Ye can piss on a dragon’s lip and get your wee wanker bit off for all I care, ye ungrateful bastard.”
Doentaat was still shaking as he stormed out of the shack, mumbling. He didn’t pause to glance back at the hut once as he stalked down the trail toward the entrance to the mine he’d be working that day. Whether or not Bindaar managed to get himself there was no longer his concern. In the mood Doentaat was in, he didn’t even care if the oaf got himself strung up on the Great Pine. He was done sticking his neck out for that buffoon. Bindaar could look after himself from now on.
Back in the hut, Bindaar stared at the door, fully expecting it to fly open with Doentaat close behind shouting and pointing and shaking. He never came. Aside from some relatively constant creaking—the old boards of the hut complained loudly about the stiff morning wind—the place was completely silent. After a few minutes, Bindaar finally pulled himself up off of the floor. He made some foul gestures toward the door of the shack. They were meant for Doentaat, but he would never see them. Bindaar stretched, scratched his scruff of a beard, then his behind, and then he dried himself off. Once he was dry and changed into some equally soiled clothes, he ate first his meal and then Doentaat’s. No sense in letting it spoil.
Once Bindaar was full and satisfied, he tromped on out of the shack. He paused long enough for a glance down the trail toward the mine. He could go that way. He could show up late and possibly convince the foreman to keep his tardiness a secret, but he had no intention of doing that. Instead, he walked south and continued on out of the city. He strolled right past the sacred pine and down into the fairy weed field.
Fairy weed was one of the few pleasures left to dwarves. The weeds grew wild in the field and, according to dwarf myth, forest fairies fly up the mountain every night and dance among the weeds. The magic dust from their wings falls all about them. That dust has quite an odd effect on the mind of a dwarf, quite odd and quite pleasant. Of course, no dwarf has ever seen a fairy, and no one knows if they really exist. It is a distinct possibility they may have only existed in the imagination of some happy dwarf enjoying some fine fairy weed. That didn’t matter a lick to Bindaar. He didn’t care why the weeds were enchanted, he was just happy they were.
He flopped himself down in the high weeds and plucked some beautiful buds to pack into his pipe. He had a nice long smoke and then laid back and watched the clouds make fantastical shapes for him in the sky. ‘This be what life be about’, he thought. As the day drifted slowly away, Bindaar drifted with it, floating like the clouds above him. Doentaat, the mines, Ahm, none of them were among the thoughts he was lost in. There was nothing to worry about except the clouds, the big, fluffy, wonderful clouds. Ahh.
Miles away from the fairy fields, and deep beneath the streets of Maomnosett, Doentaat toiled away with his pick. His thoughts weren’t so happy and peaceful. All the things he hadn’t said to Bindaar that morning played over and over in his head. He’d love to beat the little runt, whip him like a naughty child. That’s basically what he was, an overgrown child. Still, Doentaat loved the oaf like a brother or even a son. Bindaar’s words that morning had cut deep. After everything he had done for that ungrateful mouse, Bindaar was constantly spitting on his efforts and stomping all over his good deeds. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wouldn’t. How could he ever have a life of his own if he were constantly looking after that imbecile? Would he never have a wife and be stuck with an ugly scrap of a dwarf for the rest of his days? No, he was finished with Bindaar for good. If the solidas didn’t find Bindaar and string him up, he’d send him away.
Rock and dust flew about as Doentaat’s pick hammered the mine wall, freeing precious pord. Lost in his laments, he hadn’t noticed what a productive day he was having. The evidence lay strewn about his feet, but he didn’t notice. His mind was focused solely on Bindaar and the battle he’d have with the runt when he returned home for the evening.
Back in the fairy weed field, Bindaar was deep in a waking dream, toiling away in his own right. Of course, his toiling didn’t require physical effort like Doentaat’s. Bindaar’s toiling was all about convincing a shy fairy to waste the afternoon away with him.
“Oh go on,” Bindaar giggled. It didn’t matter that he was alone in the field. He was deep in conversation. “Oh no ye don’t…really?…Oh stop it…Well, I try to keep in shape, ye know…Who cares what they be thinking about a fairy and a dwarf…”
“Quit your giggling, ye idiot,” a deep voice boomed from further up the hill. “There be nobody here but ye.”
Bindaar recognized the voice immediately and decided just as quickly to ignore the command. The burly bellow roaring across the field belonged to Laarvel, one of Maomnosett’s solidas. Of course, he wouldn’t be alone. There was no doubt that Aarvin would be right there along with him. Bindaar wasn’t interested in the lecture they’d have for him, and he wasn’t about to abandon the fine, young fairy he was chatting up. She was a joy, giggling and flirting. Why would he trade that for the scowls of two rough dwarves?
“What an imbecile,” Aarvin whispered, confirming what Bindaar had suspected. Laarvel and Aarvin were as inseparable as they were insufferable.
The sun had just passed its highest point when Bindaar’s attractive, imaginary friend convinced him to accompany her to the fairy forest. A bit impaired from all the fairy weed, Bindaar struggled to get to his feet. He nearly fell on his face on the way up. Barely managing to pull it together, his journey was cut painfully short. Before he could take a step toward the forest, Aarvin’s big body dropped him back to the ground.
“What on Ouloos are ye doing, ye big oaf?” Bindaar groaned around a mouthful of dirt with all the wind he had left.
“Relax or I’ll snap your neck like a twig, ye scrawny runt,” Aarvin growled in his ear.
“What in Kallum’s name are ye doing out here in the fields when ye’re supposed to be in the mines earning your keep?” Laarvel asked emotionlessly.
“Well I’d been doing quite well with a fine fairy maiden until you oafs showed up and frightened her off. Haven’t ye any respect for a dwarf’s love life?” despite the mouthful of dirt he was chewing on, Bindaar’s reply was quite matter-of-fact.
“Idiot,” Aarvin continued in his ear. “There ain’t nobody here but yeself. Ye’re a sad, sorry excuse for a dwarf, scrawny waste of space.”
“Let him up,” Laarvel sighed.
Before Bindaar could complain any more, or even blink, Aarvin’s weight was off of him and his biggest toe was barely touching the ground as it dangled beneath him. Aarvin was strong, even by dwarf standards. He could lift an ass and carry it around on his shoulders without aid. Bindaar had seen the feet several times. However, what the mountain of a dwarf boasted in muscle, he lacked in wit. Obviously pleased with himself, Aarvin glanced back at Laarve
l with a smirk and a shrug. That was just enough time for Bindaar to stomp on his foot and stumble off down the hill.
The solidas were on him immediately. Laarvel almost got a hand on him right out of the gate, but Bindaar stumbled over a rock and managed to trip him on the way down. A quick dash to his left as soon as he regained his feet was just enough to avoid Aarvin’s charge. If only he were a hair faster, he might have made the crest of the hill and found a place to hide among the pines. Unfortunately, his sprint toward freedom was painfully short. The slow jog it became was only fast enough to get him caught. He zigged and zagged a few more times, avoiding and embarrassing his pursuers, but it wouldn’t last. He managed to avoid one more charge from Aarvin—even got his foot out quick enough to kick the big dwarf in the behind—before Laarvel hammered into his back and drove him into to the ground
A few shots to the back of his head from Laarvel were sufficient to scare him off of trying to escape again. A solid kick the to the head from Aarvin as the big dwarf walked by shook away the cobwebs enough that he began regretting his shenanigans. Solidas were soldiers, warriors, and they were a proud bunch. Most dwarves thought them traitors on account of their loyalty to Ahm, but they weren’t a group to be trifled with. Only the strongest of dwarves were invited to serve, and those who did spent their time training, learning to fight and kill rather than wasting away in the mines. As Bindaar began to realize the weight of the situation, he thought it might be even heavier than Aarvin had been while laying across his back.
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 6