The young man looked at her sourly.
“You're awfully cheerful, dear sister. Aren't you usually the one who looks on the dark side of things?”
She sighed and looked back up at the castle.
“That old place was our home, Bastian,” Tamara said, her voice thin with fatigue. “It was just starting to feel comfortable, you know? Am I angry? You're damned right I am. But what the hell good would it do me to moan about it now? We are lucky to be alive and very fortunate that the dwarves have offered us a safe haven for our people.”
She looked around at the final group that was waiting to leave. Except for herself and her brother, all of the castle's other leaders were already underground, along with most of the inhabitants. She gestured up at Nottinghill Castle and an expression of brooding hatred darkened her features.
“I intend to take it back from that monster one day, I swear it. He will die screaming, wishing that he had never crossed the paths of Tamara and Sebastian Forsythe.”
“I suppose we should be happy that a necromancer's undead troops can't operate in daylight,” Sebastian said bitterly. “And that so many of our people got out during the attack.”
He glared up at the castle walls, his expression mirroring his sister's.
“Can you feel him watching us from some shadowed corner up there? I can. He's laughing at us, Tammy. Laughing at us as we run away like frightened children.”
Tamara turned away from the castle, stepped up to Sebastian and grabbed his shoulders. She gave him a hard shake and stared into his eyes.
“Not children, Bastian. Leaders. Responsible leaders. Dracoliches are coming; Miriam has felt their distant approach. And unlike the other undead, those monsters are not daunted by sunlight. We have to flee, if only to save our people.”
She looked back one last time.
“We will return one day soon though and take our revenge, I swear we will.”
She gave her brother's shoulders an affectionate squeeze and nodded at the small group watching them.
“We have to go. Our new home awaits.”
Sebastian tore his eyes from the castle and smiled sheepishly at his sister.
“I'm starting to sound as blood-thirsty as you normally do,” he told her.
She chuckled and nodded in agreement.
“Depending on the circumstances, that's not always a bad thing. But stay kind, brother mine. Your soft heart balances out my cold one.”
He raised a silent eyebrow but wisely didn't reply.
“Now, let's get the hell out of here before I storm back in there myself. Garold! We're ready.”
“About time, m'lady. Night approaches and I daresay so do those accursed bone dragons.”
Tamara approached the dwarf, frowning, and he merely returned her dark look with a smile.
“Why do you speak like someone from the middle ages?” she growled at him.
Garold laughed and waved the others, who had followed the mage to the transport, into the machine.
“I took a fancy to the accent when I first heard it on a recording.”
Tamara's scowl was replaced by a look of confusion.
“Wait. What? How did you hear a recording of an ancient human language?”
“My people may have been living deep underground since the days when the old gods withdrew from the world, but we have always kept an eye on your race. Some of our tech may be magic-based, but much of it is machinery powered by electricity. We've had a network of cables and sensors relaying information from the surface for centuries.”
He grinned broadly.
“I was going through our library one day when I was a young dwarf and came across this fellow giving a speech. I believe the recording was made about four hundred years ago. At any rate, I found his accent delightful and have used it ever since.”
“Really? Hmm. Well, it seems to come and go a fair bit,” she said sourly as she walked by him and stepped into the digger.
“Aye, so it does,” Garold agreed cheerfully.
He followed her in and pulled the hatch closed.
“Pray, take a seat and strap yourself in, dear lady. The trip is bound to be a little bouncy and we wouldn't want your delicate skin to suffer any bruising.”
“Keep talking like that and I won't be the one who ends up with the bruises,” Tamara told him ominously.
She walked away and Garold watched her with amusement as she climbed down the ladder to the passenger area.
“Promises, promises,” he muttered to himself with a sigh. “Ah well, off we go. Next stop, home sweet home.”
The capital city of the dwarves, known simply as Kingstone, was a massive place and unbelievably old. It had been dug out of the very bones of the world, close enough to the planet's core to always be warm, but not so close that the temperature was uncomfortable. And except for a few old sages whose duty it was to keep records , no one really knew how big it truly was. Vast sections were quiet and still, deserted in ages past as the dwarven race dwindled.
Into this venerable but still strong city came the remnants of the human race. An entire neighborhood, long empty, had been allocated to the refugees by Shandon Ironhand, the ruler of the dwarves. His people had willingly swept through the area, cleaning, painting and making the stone buildings as welcoming as possible.
Tamara, Sebastian and the rest of the inhabitants from Nottinghill Castle were delivered safely to their new, albeit temporary, home and welcomed by the king himself.
Shandon wasn't one to stand on ceremony and, when he wasn't holding court, wandered among his subjects wearing plain armor and without fanfare. Unfortunately he couldn't go anywhere without his bodyguards; the council had insisted on it after the last king had been assassinated. But they were the only clue that Shandon was anything other than a regular warrior and when the humans were guided to their assigned neighborhood, they weren't quite sure who he was.
“Welcome, my friends. Welcome,” the king said heartily.
He was standing in the center of a square, in front of a small fountain that tinkled cheerfully. Its splashing water trickled down over several tiers and the sounds it made were the only noises that broke the silence of the place.
Shandon was grinning broadly, hands on armored hips, as Tamara led her group into the square. Everyone was looking around wide-eyed and unsure of themselves and the cheerful greeting helped allay their fears somewhat.
The mage and her brother moved ahead of the others and approached the king. His guards stood several paces behind him and watched the newcomers closely. There were six of them, three males and three females, all wearing black armor and armed with swords and shields. Each one looked equally formidable.
“Thank you,” Tamara replied stiffly. “Are you the representative of the city council?”
One of the guards growled deep in her throat and Sebastian jumped.
Shandon just laughed at the question and shook his head.
“Forgive my bodyguard. They are all a little more impressed by my position than I am. Allow me to introduce myself; Shandon Ironhand, at your service. Welcome to Kingstone.”
Tamara's eyes widened and her brother gasped.
“You're the king?” she asked faintly.
“Aye. But please, call me Shandon, at least when we aren't at court. Our mutual friend Simon O'Toole always did.”
At the mention of that name, the air seemed to become cooler and the buildings appeared less welcoming than they had a moment before.
“Did he? I'm happy to hear that. My name is Tamara and this is my brother, Sebastian. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
The king forced a smile as he pushed aside old memories.
“The pleasure is all mine, lady mage. Oh yes, I know you. I've had a full report on all of the leaders of your group. I doubt that that will come as a surprise to you.”
“It doesn't. It's a wise precaution and something that I would do myself if I was in your shoes. Have any of the others arrived yet?”
The dwarf nodded, his thick black beard rising and falling. It flowed down and over his belt buckle and the silver clasp glinted as he moved.
“The crew and passengers from the Defiant have been here for several days. They were living in temporary quarters while my people prepared this area for all of you, and are happily settling into their new homes now. I'll take you to them when you are ready.”
“And the rest?” Sebastian asked with obvious concern.
Shandon's expression became somber and he looked at the siblings compassionately.
“We found very few survivors at the locations your people relayed to us. I suppose that they are lucky that you managed to discover them at all, using your scrying spells, but we weren't the only ones hunting them.”
“Magic Mirror spells, actually,” Tamara corrected him absently. “You mean they were found by...”
“Necromancers, yes. Those damned casters have been taught some means of sniffing out the living, probably by their accursed Chaotic masters. Undead dragons and risen troops are scouring the planet, sniffing out what remains of your species.”
There was a muttered comment from behind Shandon and he cocked his head to listen to it. He growled a replay in dwarvish.
“I agree with my bodyguard,” he said to the siblings. “The next targets, after the hunt for surviving humans is completed, will be my people. We are already strengthening our defenses, both here in the capitol and in our other cities as well.”
“Good to know. How many other survivors have you found?” Sebastian asked anxiously.
The mage's obvious concern for his people seemed to touch the king and he stepped forward and pounded on his armored chest with his fist.
“I promise you that we will not stop looking, though it jeopardizes our own safety, until all of your people are found, sir mage. As to how many we have rescued so far?”
He turned and gestured to one of the guards. She reached into a pouch on her belt, pulled out a tightly rolled scroll and moved forward to hand it to the king.
Shandon unrolled the parchment and peered down at it.
“So, a hundred and thirty from Nottinghill Castle, fifty-two off of the Defiant, twenty...”
His muttering switched to the dwarven tongue and Tamara and Sebastian exchanged amused glances.
“Ah yes, here we are,” the dwarf declared. “Counting all of the small settlements and groups that we have tracked down so far, the total as of right now is four hundred and seventy-eight. For the moment. I'm quite sure that a few more will trickle in before we're done.”
Sebastian gaped at him while his sister gasped.
“So many?” Tamara exclaimed, a rare smile of delight crossing her face.
Shandon's answering smile was gentle.
“No, dear lady. So few.”
Her face fell and she nodded.
“True enough. But these days we count our numbers by the dozens, not the millions. And I haven't seen more than the population of Nottinghill in one place since the world was Changed by the return of the old gods.”
“Of course, lady mage. I understand. Now,” Shandon clapped his hands together loudly and several of the people behind the mages yelped.
“Now let us go. Your people are tired, I am sure, and want to begin settling into their new accommodations. Follow me, please.”
The king turned and led the way, his guards circling him loosely. Tamara and Sebastian waved their people forward and the entire group slowly moved to follow the dwarves. For over a hundred souls, they walked with very little sound and any talking was conducted in whispers.
“Why do I feel like I'm walking into a church?” Sebastian murmured to his sister.
Tamara nodded and looked around at the solid stone buildings glowering down at them.
“Probably because of the setting. I mean, how many of us have ever been underground? I'm not being ungrateful to Shandon and his people, but I think we'll miss the sky and the open air pretty quickly down here.”
“They may surprise you,” her brother said as he looked back at the large group of nervous people. “As a species, we're pretty adaptable. And it is an amazing city. Maybe it's just the brooding age of the place that's intimidating.”
“Maybe. All I want right now is for everyone to find a place to stay and settle in, especially the parents and kids. They're our hope for the future. When they are safe and sound, I'll rest easier.”
Sebastian gave her a teasing grin.
“So much for that 'screw you' attitude I remember so well, dear sister.”
She glared back and then chuckled reluctantly.
“Touché.”
The walk to the area that the dwarves had set aside for the former inhabitants of Nottinghill Castle only took a few minutes. Shandon strode ahead and, when they entered another, smaller square, stopped and spun around. He waited until everyone had bunched up in front of him, beamed at them and spread out his arms.
“Look around you, my friends. This is your new home.”
Everyone stared at him in surprise, the abrupt statement catching them off-guard. Then they did as they were told and began turning around and examining their surroundings.
The square where they were gathered was smaller than the one where they'd met the king, but it too had a fountain bubbling merrily in the center of it. This fount had a statue of a tall woman wearing a simple robe hanging off of one shoulder standing in it, water pouring from a jug she held under an arm.
“Who is that?” Tamara asked Shandon and nodded at the fountain. “She doesn't look dwarvish.”
The king looked at the statue and smiled.
“She isn't. Nor is she human or elvish. That is the Earth Mother. My people are not religious, lady mage, but we believe that our race was created by one of the old gods. We call her the Mother of the Earth, Gaellestra in our tongue. She is greatly revered here.”
“Gaellestra,” Tamara repeated slowly as she walked up to the fountain and stared at the delicate, unearthly visage of the statue.
“I like it.”
“I am sure that she is relieved to hear you say that,” Shandon said gravely.
He winked when Tamara looked back at him and she laughed. Sebastian did as well but he was more interested in looking around at the buildings that bordered the square.
They were multi-leveled, like low apartments, with balconies that jutted out from each floor. For dark stone structures, they looked reassuringly homey to the humans.
“All of the buildings that you can see,” Shandon told the group loudly as he spun in a slow circle, “are empty. They have been repaired and cleaned for you. Each one is furnished, but once you all claim the ones you want, my people will take requests for specific pieces of furniture. So off you go now and choose which ones you wish to call home.”
The group stayed huddled together for a few moments. People were clearly waiting for someone to make the first move. Finally, one of the women with a young child holding on to her skirt stepped away from the rest. She reached down and took her son's hand.
“Come along, Chris. Let's go and find our new home!”
The little boy looked up at her quizzically and then pointed toward the nearest building.
“There, Momma?” he asked brightly.
“Excellent choice. Lead the way, little man,” she told him with a proud smile.
The child hooted joyfully and took off across the square. His mother looked back at the group and two other women, one with a daughter about the same age as the boy, hurried to join her.
“We can't let you and Chris have all the fun, Julia,” one said with an eager grin. “Come on, let's go house hunting.”
As the trio hurried off after the little boy, the rest of the refugees from Nottinghill finally pushed aside their indecisiveness and spread out, trying to decide which building they'd like to explore.
“It's good to see them with some enthusiasm again,” Sebastian said as he watched his people. “Leaving yet another home was a har
d blow for them.”
“It was a blow to all of us,” a deep voice rumbled from his left.
The mage turned and saw Malcolm and Aiden, the two warriors who had commanded the castle's guardsmen, walking toward him.
Tamara put her hands on her hips and looked up at the big man.
“I didn't think anything could bother you,” she teased.
Malcolm was the tallest man in the entire group and was heavily muscled. Aiden, his partner, was also big but not quite as heavy-set. Both men were good-natured and pleasant, which was fortunate because their Change had given them amazing skills in weaponry and warfare. They had been infected by a werewolf attack a few years earlier, which they controlled by wearing magical amulets. But the side-effect was that they healed very quickly and were immune to poison and disease.
Yes, Tamara thought as she watched the pair. Thank God they are so kind and even-tempered, for all our sakes.
“Losing our home bothers me, and him,” Malcolm growled as he poked a thumb at Aiden. “We were happy at Nottinghill Castle. Hell, we were happy in the old town of Nottinghill. What are we going to call this place? Nottinghill 3.0?”
She snorted but had to agree.
“I didn't live in either of the original towns,” she said as the two warriors stood close by and looked around at the brooding buildings. “But I'm sure that they were a little less...intimidating than this place.”
She lowered her voice so that the king wouldn't hear her and be insulted. Tamara was beyond grateful to the dwarves for their aid and had no wish to offend them.
Aiden seemed to pick up on her thought and glanced at Shandon, who was speaking with one of his guards, before answering.
“They were,” he said quietly. “But this is only a temporary situation. With any luck, we'll return to the castle one day soon and get back to our old lives.”
“Really? You actually believe that?” Tamara scoffed. “The world above is inundated with undead monsters and dragons. How the hell are a handful of us, even if our numbers reach five hundred, supposed to fight back against that?”
Sebastian's eyes widened and he nodded at something over his sister's shoulder. She turned quickly and saw that Shandon had approached quietly and was looking up at her with a defiant glint in his eyes.
Tales from the New Earth: Volume Two Page 82