The dwarf chuckled and Opheilla smiled as well.
“I think you'll appreciate their choice, sir wizard. The sibling mages found a place in what used to be northern England; very defensible and hardly touched in the original dragon attack. It is big enough to house ten times the numbers of humans living there now, it has good fields for growing crops in season and half the year it is covered with snow, making it a place that the red dragons tend to avoid.”
Simon shook his head with a frown.
“What about wight attacks in the winter? That's what sent my friends south in the first place.”
“Oh, the wights won't be having much luck attacking this place, I assure you,” Shandon said with a bark of laughter.
“Why not?”
“Because, my friend,” the cleric interjected. “It is a castle. Ancient, built strong from the bones of the Earth. It sits atop a hill with walls forty feet high. There is only one route into or out of it and, thanks to some tutelage from our own magic-users, your mage friends have warded it from top to bottom. There is nowhere else in the world that could be more secure.”
“A castle?”
Simon stared at them in amazement and the two dwarves both chuckled at his expression.
“Yes, we thought that a wizard who lives in a tower would appreciate that,” Shandon said with a toothy grin. “And, in memory of their lost town, the people have agreed to call it Nottinghill Castle. Rather fitting, don't you think?”
“That's just...wow, that's amazing. A castle,” he said to himself, trying to picture it. “So how many people are living there now?”
Opheilla glanced at Shandon, who motioned for her to answer.
“To be honest, we're not quite sure. There were about twenty from the destroyed town and a dozen from London.”
“Plus a couple of dozen from Australia, correct?” Shandon asked her.
“Yes, that sounds about right. So, close to sixty, I'd say.”
“Sixty. Whoa. So my friends have tripled their population. That's terrific.”
“And better still, the group now includes four mages and a cleric, so magical defenses are available in case of attack.”
“Don't forget those two warriors, Malcolm and Aiden,” Shandon added. “I've rarely known two such skilled fighters. They are training others and doing a fine job. Plus the paladin, Liliana. A formidable woman.”
Simon nodded and ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, pushing it off of his forehead. Then he caught himself and tugged at his hair with both hands.
“Hey, my hair grew back!” he exclaimed, absurdly pleased for some reason.
Opheilla smiled at his delight, while Shandon chortled.
“Well, just because you were unconscious for six months, it didn't stop your body from doing its business,” she told him. “I don't wish to sound immodest, but we dwarven clerics have perfected methods of keeping our patients fed and fit even in deep coma. You are actually physically stronger now than you were before you were struck down.”
“Yeah, I noticed that I'm not as skinny as I was before I ended up,” Simon waved at the room, “here. Um, I don't want to sound vain, but do you happen to have a mirror? I'd like to take a look at myself; curiosity and all that.”
The dwarves exchanged a quick glance and, after a moment's hesitation, the cleric nodded once at Shandon, who turned and left the room.
“That was a rather ominous expression you had there. Am I so ugly now?'
Simon had asked the question jokingly and was met with a solemn look by the cleric.
“I have no way to judge the attractiveness of humans, sir wizard. Would you say that you were handsome before,” she tapped the scars on his arm, “this?”
“Handsome?”
Simon thought about it a moment.
“Well, I know I was better looking than I had been before I Changed. Part of that was just being young, I suppose. I guess the mismatched eyes were at least interesting.” He shrugged. “I've never been too caught up with looks. Personally, I've always been attracted to people by their personalities rather than their physical beauty.”
“A healthy attitude,” Opheilla said. “I approve. But even so, I must warn you that the young man you were used to seeing in a mirror has been altered significantly. You should prepare yourself for a bit of a shock.”
He nodded and then swallowed nervously. If a dwarf who had no point of reference thought that he was ugly, just how bad was it?
Shandon returned with a hand mirror. It was made of silver and gold, intricately formed and gleaming in the torchlight. He hesitated and then offered it to Simon.
The wizard took a deep breath, closed his eyes tightly and then raised the mirror and looked into it.
A shudder shook his entire body. The face looking back at him was virtually that of a stranger. His blue and brown eyes were the same, but that was about it.
He tried to be clinical as he examined himself. He guessed that the fire that had engulfed him had basically burned his face off, or most of it. He was actually surprised that he still had his sight.
“We had to rebuild your features as we healed you,” Opheilla told him carefully. “Your friends Virginia and Malcolm gave me their opinions as the work progressed, but since I had never met you, I could only use their advice in a general way. I pray the results are acceptable.”
Simon had been prepared for some hideous visage, scarred and twisted like a monster. But what he saw was nothing of the sort. Instead, he saw a young man with his own wide eyes, but with some things just a bit off. His nose was smaller and narrower. His lips with thinner, his forehead higher. There were several thick scars like ropes criss-crossing his face, across his nose, and one that ran diagonally from above his right eye, over his lips and down to the left side of his chin, but he barely noticed them.
He smiled at the stranger in the mirror and the reflection smiled back. And that was when he really saw the difference from his old face. The scarring twisted his grin into a snarl, a leer of such rage that he gasped and stared at himself with wide eyes.
When the smile disappeared, he was looking at an innocent face again. It was beyond creepy.
“So what do you think, laddie?” Shandon asked him diffidently. “How did we do?”
“How did I do, you mean,” the cleric said firmly. “Any errors are mine, Simon.”
“I...I don't know what to say,” the wizard replied, watching himself as he spoke. He was relieved to see that his snarl didn't appear as he was speaking, only when he smiled.
Well, I'll just have to smile less, I suppose, he told himself.
“It's different, I have to admit. Um, why do I look so angry when I smile?”
Opheilla squeezed his arm gently.
“It is the scarring, I'm afraid. The damage was quite severe. I managed to save your eyes and regrow your skin, but some things are beyond even the powers of the gods. Or perhaps they simply chose not to erase the scars. Forgive me, but this is the best that I could do.”
Simon hastened to reassure her.
“Please don't apologize. You've given me back my life.” He moved his legs under the quilt. “I can walk, talk, see. It is more than I could have hoped for and you have my eternal gratitude. Really.”
Shandon, who had been glowering a bit as the cleric apologized, now smiled widely.
“Now that is the wizard that I remember,” he exclaimed. “Think of the positives, lad, and get on with it, I say. And who doesn't like to show off a few battle scars, hmm? Why, I've got this lovely one that I show off to the ladies on my...”
“That will do, Shandon,” Opheilla interrupted him primly. “We don't need any of your intimate war stories, thank you.”
Simon grinned in spite of himself and the dwarf winked at him over the cleric's shoulder. Apparently neither of them was bothered in the least by his twisted smile and that cheered him up a bit.
“Now, do you feel strong enough to walk a short distance today?” the cleric asked him. “I know that yo
u just woke up, but we've been turning you to avoid bedsores for a long time now, and it would do you a world of good to get up and stretch your muscles.”
“Absolutely,” Simon said gamely. “I'd actually like to look around. I've never toured a dwarven city before.”
Shandon laughed and crossed the room to a pair of stone doors that were built into the wall. He opened them and Simon could see many colorful clothes hanging in there. The dwarf stood looking at them and stroking his beard.
“What's your favorite color, lad?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Um, blue?”
“Ah. In that case, I have just the robe for you.”
Shandon reached into the closet and pulled out a long robe the color of an early morning sky. He carried it back and laid in at the end of the bed.
“We've had some light shoes made to your size along with the clothing,” Opheilla told him and looked at Shandon.
He grumbled a bit but returned to the closet and fished out a pair of leather shoes.
In the meantime, Simon carefully pulled back the quilt and twisted around until he sat on the edge of the bed. The cleric stood up and moved back to give him some room.
“Don't rush it, young wizard,” she cautioned. “If you feel any dizziness when you stand up, take a moment and let it pass.”
“Yes ma'am,” Simon said with a grin and Opheilla laughed lightly.
As the dwarves watched him closely, the wizard pushed himself slowly to his feet. His legs felt a bit rubbery but his head was clear and he stood still for a few seconds to get used to his own weight.
His body looked even more shocking now that he was standing in the light. His network of scars was intricate, almost an artist's rendering of a web that covered his skin. Simon touched his face and looked at the cleric.
“Will the scars ever fade?”
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him. Then she nodded slowly.
“I would say yes. Time is the great modifier, young man. All scars fade in time, some more than others. The marks on your body are quite fine and will probably remain unchanged, for the most part. But the thicker scars on your face will smooth out in the months to come.”
When Simon smiled a bit, she held up a hand quickly.
“Do not expect too much though. Hope for the best but try to accept that the way you look now may well be permanent. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot predict how much they will fade.”
“I understand. Thank you, Opheilla. I much prefer it when people don't sugarcoat bad news.”
He carefully turned and picked up the robe. After pulling it on over his head, Simon smoothed it out, slipped on the shoes and sighed in relief.
“Well, so far so good,” he told the dwarves. “Now what?”
“Now, lad, I think we'll take you for a short walk,” Shandon said jovially. “Not too far or our revered cleric will have my head. But let's give you a quick tour of the area, shall we?”
“Yes please,” Simon replied eagerly. “I'm really curious about this place.”
“Since we dwarves love to show off our accomplishments,” Opheilla told him with a laugh, “then we will happily show you as much as we can. But at the first sign of weakness, we'll bring you back here. Walking before running, young wizard.”
Simon nodded meekly and then followed her slowly out of the room. Shandon walked behind him and the wizard had a feeling that the dwarf was just waiting for him to collapse so that he could catch him.
No damned way, he thought stubbornly. I'm not a child, even if I look like one to these people.
The hallway outside of the bedroom was very dark and narrow. The walls were brown stone and towered up over Simon's head, but the hall was only about six feet wide. Torches flickered and spluttered in brackets every twenty feet or so, making it hard to see the floor.
The cleric turned to the right and began to lead the way, walking steadily but not too quickly so that her patient could keep up.
“This part of the city is mostly residential,” Opheilla told Simon over her shoulder. “However, this corridor is reserved for those who are recuperating from battle wounds or accidents, as well as warriors and others who simply need some quiet, contemplative time.”
Simon nodded as they passed several closed doors. It certainly was quiet, he thought. Something else occurred to him.
“Battle wounds? Are you people at war?”
She only snorted in response and Shandon spoke up from behind him.
“Our dear cleric is unimpressed with battle, my friend,” he said jovially. The iron soles of his boots rang against the stone floor and echoed down the hallway. They mixed with the clatter of the cleric's shoes and the result was almost musical.
“She feels that wounds caused by fighting are totally avoidable if only we hard-headed warriors would simply not engage in battle. An odd perspective for a dwarf, I must say.”
“Shandon,” the cleric growled as she walked ahead. “I exist to heal and to give comfort. It is insulting to the gods I serve to be wounded for no better reason than to prove how strong and aggressive you are.”
“What did I tell you?” the dwarf said to Simon and winked as the wizard glanced back at him.
“But even if you don't approve of fighting, Opheilla, you must admit that our recent battles have been necessary.”
She snorted again and kept walking.
“Who are you fighting?” Simon asked as he focused on keeping up with the cleric. Even as slow as they were walking, his legs were already beginning to tire and he gritted his teeth, determined to get some much-needed exercise.
“Many of our old enemies have returned,” Shandon told him. “I suppose that it was only a matter of time, what with magic being back in the world and all. A few months ago, our most distant patrols started getting ambushed for the first time in millennia. We took some casualties before we adjusted our strategies. Now patrols are larger and better armed and we have squads of hunters out searching remote galleries and ancient dens for the creatures.”
“But who or what is attacking you?”
Shandon held up a heavy hand and ticked off his fingers.
“Trolls, ogres, goblins, dark faeries, are some of them. Oh and the blasted red dragons keep clawing their way down to our tunnels, trying to reach this city. Not that they have even gotten close,” he added proudly.
Simon's mind was roiling. Trolls? Ogres? He felt like he had suddenly been transported into some sort of bizarre fairy tale.
“Are there a lot of them?” he asked curiously.
“More of them all the time,” Shandon answered seriously. “We bring down one and seemingly two more take its place. It's those damned gods of Chaos that are doing it, of course.”
“No argument there,” Opheilla said from up ahead. “They want all mortal races dead, including our people.”
They emerged from the hallway into a large cavern and Simon gasped. What met his eyes brought him to a stumbling halt and he just stared as the two dwarves stood nearby and watched with mutual amusement.
Chapter 3
They were standing in a very large square. The walls stretched up into darkness far above their heads and the cavern itself was at least a hundred feet across. Dwarves. Hundreds and hundreds of dwarves were moving throughout the area.
The first thing Simon noticed was the uniform height of all of the people that he could see. Males, females, it didn't matter. All were about four feet tall. The women were as bulky and muscular as the men and many were wearing armor.
The male dwarves were bearded. Some facial hair was elaborately braided and beaded like Shandon', while others were simply neatly combed and hanging freely. Hair color was as varied as it was for humans; black, brown, red and blond and every shade in between.
Not all of the dwarves were wearing armor, but the majority seemed to be. The metalwork was beautiful; most of it intricately formed and some very elaborate. There were even some dwarves wearing epaulets shape
d like the heads of fantastic beasts, including dragons and other monsters. Most armor seemed to be made of steel, some of which was inlaid with gold or other precious metals, but Simon saw dwarves that he guessed were quite high ranking who were wearing armor made of silver, some with golden chest plates. It was very impressive.
There were others in the constantly moving crowd wearing regular clothing, mostly cloth dyed in bright, cheerful colors. Some wore leather aprons and, when Simon asked, Shandon told him that these were tradespeople.
“Some are smiths or weavers,” the dwarf told him in a low voice. “A few are brewers; quite a respectable trade among my people.”
“Aye, the boys do love their beer,” Opheilla said in a disapproving tone.
Shandon gaped at her.
“Gods, cleric, don't let anyone else hear you speak of beer like that! It is what has kept our civilization together all these years.”
Opheilla narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard look and then turned away.
Shandon grinned at Simon and began pointing out several shops that were built into the walls of the large cavern.
“That there is a tailor's shop,” he began and indicated the sign chiseled in the stone over the entrance.
“Beside it is a market. We grow all of our own food, of course, but we were happy to trade with your old friends in Nottinghill because, to be honest, mushrooms and other plants that we can grow without sunlight do become a bit boring after a while. Greens from the surface were a nice change. We do grow fruits using magical lanterns that imitate sunlight, but only a few varieties. The lanterns were created ages ago and we don't have that many of them. Unfortunately, the secret to their construction was lost. We're hoping that the new settlement will produce enough crops to begin trading with us again.”
Simon nodded as he listened in fascination.
“What's that one?” he asked and pointed at a cheerful sign that was painted red, blue and yellow.
“A book store. A place in which you will never find our friend here,” Opheilla answered and looked significantly at Shandon, who barked out his harsh laugh.
“Aye, that's true enough. What I need to learn from books, I already know,” he said with a shrug.
Tales from the New Earth: Volume Two Page 3