Ren of Atikala: The Empire of Dust

by David Adams

  “Our enemies attacked us,” I said. “And they will pay for this transgression in time.”

  He nodded understandingly. “These soldiers and I are here to die in the coming battle.”

  “Hopefully,” I said, “it will not come to that.”

  Derodohr seemed amused by it all, inhaling a whip of smoke through his nostrils. “Your plan to have a bloodless war seems to have started poorly. Typical of the plans of mortals, shortsighted, idealistic, and ineffective.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about taking suggestions from a demonic creature, much less one who had only been in my city for a matter of moments. “Perhaps you could assist with this?” I asked, more snappishly than I intended. “The human spellcaster who brought this calamity to us escaped. If you could hunt him down, we might be able to interrogate him and discover valuable information about his origins.”

  “I will look for him,” said Vaarden, and without waiting for my approval, stormed off. Valen bowed low, and with a knowing glance, set out to follow him.

  Derodohr glared at me contemptuously. “The coals of that tower are cold. If this mage was able was able to teleport here, he is long gone by now, or he is more foolish than any spellcaster I have known.” He pursed his large lips, glancing the way Vaarden had left. “Although he could have been a sorcerer. So much more stupid than wizards.”

  I would not be insulted in my own city. “Derodohr of the Thunderhelm Dwarves, you will be wise to hold your tongue while inside Ssarsdale, lest I send word to your queen and mistress that the Thunderhelm dwarves failed to respectfully uphold their agreement only moments after stepping foot in Ssarsdale.”

  He glared at me. I glared right back, keeping my back straight. Not that it mattered. He was over three times my height. Still, it was the principle of the matter.

  “As you wish,” said Derodohr, inclining his giant head. “I forgot myself.”

  “See to it that your memory improves,” I said, curling back my upper lip.

  “Of course.” Derodohr’s words were demure, but his posture suggested that I had wounded him greatly. The hurt feelings of demonic eidolons were not exactly a high priority to me.

  “Dorydd,” I said, “follow Valen. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. And keep an eye on Vaarden; I might need him in the future.”

  “Vaarden?” Dorydd grimaced. “Must I?”

  The elf was offensive to all five senses, and more, but he had brought me to Irondarrow and back. He was powerful. Dangerous, even.

  “We should,” I said. “And the human wizard attacked Ssarsdale. He must pay for that.”

  “But Vaarden?”

  “Vaarden…well. Having a wizard in your debt is a good thing, as you well know.”

  “I’m sure he’ll love that suggestion,” said Dorydd. She rubbed her side tenderly as she walked off.

  Pergru approached, wringing his hands nervously. “Supreme Leader?”

  “What?” I snapped. I was in no mood for his petty simpering.

  “The central spire will have to be demolished. We can proceed with this when you are ready.”

  “Matters of domestic infrastructure are yours alone,” I said, feeling aggravated that I had to remind him of things he and I both knew. “Bring it down when you are ready. In the meantime, find accomodations for our dwarven allies.”

  “Of course,” said Pergru, his nose twitching. “But Supreme Leader, we have no quarters suitable to size dwarves, let alone—” his eyes flicked to the eidolon. “That.”

  “Where has Dorydd been sleeping this whole time?” I asked.

  “I enlarged one sleeping chamber, but it will take time to enlarge hundreds of quarters.”

  “Three hundred,” I said.

  “That will take time.” Pergru’s voice had an annoying whine to it. “My workers will have to toil all night…”

  “Then have them toil all night,” I said. The answer was obvious. “These dwarves are our honoured guests.”

  “And the demon?” asked Pergru.

  I put my fingers to my temple. “Knock down some of the internal walls, join several chambers together. Make sure they are structurally sound.”

  “But what about—“

  I held up my hand to silence him. “Just make it happen,” I said, grinding my teeth together. “And find somewhere suitable to host a council meeting.”

  To my infinite relief, Pergru bowed his head and moved away, muttering darkly to himself.

  My army grew.

  CHAPTER XV

  DERODOHR HAD HIS DWARVES SET up a pavilion in the middle of town, twenty feet square. It hung from stalagmite from stalagmite, making a ceiling, with extra cloth sheets draping down to form walls. I’d never seen so much fabric in one place at once before.

  A flap at the front served as a door. I had never seen such a thing before. The idea of a portable, cloth structure fascinated me. I could see the tactical advantage when moving an army.

  Inside, from the same bag-portal that had held the dwarves, he pulled papers, which he and his assistants spread everywhere. The cloth used in the tent was impressive, but the paper used for everything—scrolls, maps, even simple notes—was the most impressive thing by far. Paper was so rare and valuable in the underworld. To use so much of it…

  I realised Derodohr was looking at me.

  “Is it so obvious?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

  “Regretfully,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m not here to judge you. Only to administrate the queen’s soldiers.”

  For some reason that made me feel better.

  Derodohr spread some of the junk off the large wooden table that was centred in the makeshift room. “Do you have any maps of the local area?”

  “No,” I said, clambering up onto the table. It felt strange to do so wearing my armour, but it felt weightless to me. “We rely on local knowledge.”

  “Fortunately I have one with me,” said Derodohr, unrolling a giant sized parchment with his huge hands. “It lacks some of the details, as Irondarrow dwarves rarely travel this far north, but perhaps you can help with that.”

  The map was lacking detail, but it was shockingly accurate. I could see no brush strokes or pen marks; the ink had stained the page from above, soaked in pre-determined lines. Magic had done this.

  “Ssarsdale is here,” said Derodohr, pointing to the city labelled with a red dot, tucked away in the southeast corner of the Worldcrown. He drew a line northwest. “Northaven is here. Contremulus is not known for his subtlety—he will march his armies on the most direct route. I suggest intercepting him on the way.”

  “We have trappers and spellcasters,” I said. “And warriors aplenty, ready to die for the cause.”

  “It would be more helpful to have his soldiers die instead,” said Derodohr, his demonic face a somber mask. “Nobody has ever won a war by dying.”

  This was true. I resolved to keep this attitude in mind.

  Derodohr drew in breath. “The issues will be the strength of his armies, advanced scouts, experience, and possibly other elements you will not expect. Your strengths will be our knowledge of the terrain, and the chronic underestimation Contremulus has of you. You are a stronger spellcaster than he believes and a better warrior; your display in the queen’s throne room showed me that.”

  “You seem to know a lot of what he believes,” I said.

  “His mind is easy to divine from his actions.” Derodohr pointed to the cloth-flap door. “He struck you in the heart of your empire, right at the doorstep to your home. He sent many of his warriors and a wizard. A bold action, and not the one of a man who expects to lose. Such resources are not squandered mindlessly even for one as apathetic towards life as he. Warriors are tools. Spellcasters are tools. They should be reused, not consumed. One does not win an even fight by taking profound risks for equally profound reward; they are won by careful, measured strokes, wearing your opponent down piece by piece.”

  I thought on this. “Contremulus has made
strikes,” I said. “He sent out his undead mages to assassinate me on the surface. His patrols killed one of ours, and were subsequently killed. His moves have been increasing in strength and determination, but…” I clenched my fist. “He is foolish. Arrogant. Dragonkind are, it is in their nature, their blood.”

  “And that same blood,” said Berodur, “flows through you.”

  A good point.

  I took a moment to think. “So what do you suggest we do?”

  Derodohr withdrew a slender dagger from his hip, black and etched with dark writing. “Attack Contremulus first.” He stabbed it into the map, right over Northaven.

  So much fabric. An impossible amount of wealth, not to mention the map itself. Someone spent weeks enchanting it, and now it had a gash. Ruined.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked, horrified.

  “We’re going to invade,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Everything’s going to change. The maps will have to be redrawn anyway.”

  “You mean to take Northaven?”

  Derodohr smiled toothily. “Specifically me, yes. You see, the queen wants your deep iron, that is no secret. But land and territory that faces sky is just as valuable—if not more. Here is our deal, little kobold. Anything you take alone is yours. The surface territories we take together are Irondarrow’s, and the underworld territories yours. Two worlds, above and below, split fairly.”

  I had designs on the surface, that much was true, but I also needed Derodohr, and for now, his deal sounded appropriate. “As you wish,” I said. “Pass word to your queen that I accept, conditional upon consulting with my council.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What voice does your council have in this matter? Are you not their leader?”

  “I am,” I said, keeping my tone firm. “But I should consult them.”

  “A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep.”

  “What’s a lion?“

  “It’s a very big cat that eats you.”

  “What’s a cat?”

  “It’s a very small animal that doesn’t eat you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “None of us are eating anyone.”

  “Then,” said Derodohr, “do as you will, and make your commands. Lead.”

  I should do that. “I accept,” I said. “On behalf of Ssarsdale and all who live in it.”

  “Good.” Derodohr traced his finger along the map. “We should lure Contremulus’s armies into the underworld. That is your favoured territory, and for the dwarves, as well. Send out some scouting parties to harry his forces and draw them in. Their deaths will serve to fuel our enemy’s soldiers’ bloodlust, and they will become overconfident.”

  I was not pleased about sending my warriors to die, but I remembered the humans I had fought in the tunnels. The patrollers. How drunk they seemed on their courage, so confident were they, right before I slaughtered them.

  “I will do this,” I said. “I’ll send five hundred warriors in groups of ten.”

  “Five hundred?” Derodohr narrowed his left eye. “That sounds like rakkat.”

  I had no idea what he meant. I had never heard that word before; it was in the dwarven tongue. “What do you mean?”

  The eidolon seemed confused. “Overkill”, he tried in Draconic, combining two words clumsily.

  “Over…kill?”

  “Yes. Overkill. A concept in dwarven. Too much killing. Excessive force.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Using a hammer to squash a bug.”

  “We might call that excessive, yes, but efficient. If you have the means for complete success at your fingertips, you might as well use it.”

  He laughed. “Of course. Dragons and their ilk have no concept of overkill. Typical.” He smiled at me in a way I found unsettling. “Send thirty. That should be sufficient to draw his soldiers in, if their discipline is weak.”

  “What if it’s strong?”

  “Then that will be insufficient. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  I grimaced. “I would prefer my legacy not be a failed gamble.”

  “In the end,” said Derodohr, “all we are is dust and memories. Try to make those memories good ones.”

  We? He was immortal. “Poetic talk for a demon.”

  “Mortals underestimate me. They think that my size, my strength, that these are my greatest assets. Instead it is my mind, my patience, my skill with words.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and I turned to the map. “I can add more detail here, if you like.”

  “Please,” he said, handing me a brush that was tiny in his oversized hands.

  I worked for a time, adding whatever detail I could from my time on the surface. I made sure to scribble in the massive hole in the ground where once Atikala stood. This hurt me, acknowledging it on the map made it feel more real to me than seeing it destroyed for myself.

  Sometimes I wanted to imagine all of this was some dream or test or vision of some sort, and that I would wake up warm on the stone floor of Atikala, surrounded by friends. Tzala. Khavi.

  Where was Tzala, anyway? I hadn’t seen her since our argument.

  I was mostly done with adding what I knew when the tent door parted, and the figure of Valen entered, silhouetted against the cloth door.

  “Come in,” I said, unable to keep my smile away.

  Quiet as a ghost, Valen slid into the tent room and closed the door. “You asked to see me, Supreme Leader Ren Humansbane?” His eyes flicked to the large eidolon. “In private?”

  Derodohr excused himself with a quiet murmur, and the two of us were alone.

  “Yes,” I said to him, brimming with pride. “I swear, you’ve grown half a foot since I last saw you.”

  “Less than an inch,” admitted Valen, a wide smile breaking his formal posture. “But I am working on it. You, too, appear taller, and I have seen your helm in Kresselack’s workshop. It is mighty indeed, and picturing it on your head gives you a powerful bearing that will, I imagine, be useful in leading us to even greater victories.”

  It was unlikely that my helm had endeared myself to the dwarves of Irondarrow. But there would be more opportunities to prove my diplomatic worth. “I haven’t led us to many victories yet,” I said, shaking my head. “But I will.”

  Valen nodded politely. “You defeated the intruders at the spire. That is a victory. Granted, the damage was done, but none of the council were harmed. There’s a victory in that.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Supreme Leader, may I ask why I’ve been summoned?”

  How quickly he could switch between Valen the Darkguard and the Valen I knew. “A whisper reached me,” I said. “That you have been officially selected for Darkguard training. I wanted to personally congratulate you on your new assignment.”

  “I am an adult now,” he said, returning my smile. “I have come of age forged in flame and war. Your mighty friend Khavi, his blood flows through my veins. I hope to honour his legacy with everything I do.”

  “You do,” I said, sincerely. Was it dusty in here or had my eyes just suddenly watered for no reason? “You do.”

  I wanted to speak more to him, but instead, Kresselack appeared, bowing his head low. “I bring word from the lower tunnels to the east.”

  “What news is that?” I took a breath to calm my rising temper. “I am busy.”

  “The deep miners have found something interesting,” he said. “I know nothing else save that they asked for you by name.”

  A distraction I could ill afford, but such was the life of a leader. “Who is the foreman there?” I asked.

  “Miner Braxa,” said Kresselack.

  I would have to commend this Braxa on her ability to delegate effectively. “I’ll be back,” I said to Valen, and then I made my way east, towards the lower levels.

  A train of kobolds were carrying the newly dead into the grave site where my people were buried. I could not stomach seeing them again; the names of the dead would take too long to memorise…fortunately
there were no shortages of entrances. Ssarsdale had dug outward, tunnels twice as high as a kobold with supporting beams and ventilation shafts scattered all around. There were hundreds of entrances at every corner of the city, and I took one I had not previously explored.

  The tunnel narrowed as it went on, closing down on my head. It felt claustrophobic after months in the top of the spire and the open air of the dwarven city.

  I pushed on regardless. I could not let my acquired pleasantries make me soft.

  The air grew warmer as I descended, flowing gently in my face, a comforting feeling that reminded me of Khavi as we journeyed through the Underworld after the destruction of Atikala. Where did this tunnel lead exactly?

  As many bad memories there were of those times, there were good times, too. These days I tried to focus on them and put the negative ones out of my mind, with limited success. I felt vaguely guilty about losing my temper back in the city, and I almost reversed my path and went back, asking Ilothika what she had meant when she approached me.

  But I didn’t.

  Before I could think on this some more, a figure emerged from the darkness at the end of the tunnel. Tyermumtican in kobold form.

  “Well, well, well,” I said, putting my hand on my hip, unable to fight a wide smile that spread over my face, the stress of recent events slowly slipping out of my body. “Miner Braxa was right. There is something interesting down here.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, sliding up to me and placing his hands over mine. “Although many terrible things can also be interesting.”

  “Like me?” I asked, smiling and bumping my nose to his. “Miner Braxa should, however, probably be more specific about what she reports.”

  Tyermumtican waved his tail dismissively. “No, no. I implanted the suggestion into her head. She didn’t know what she was seeing— her eyes saw me, but her brain saw something else entirely.”

  I frowned. “You can do that?”

  “I can do many things.”

  Sometimes I had strange urges when I was with Tyermumtican. Like when I had kissed him. Many times. “Have…you ever done this to me?”