The Obsidian Axe: Prelude to the Prophecy

by Patrick Sattler

  As the charged magma hit Draegos, his ax seemed to draw the energy into itself and then redirect it back towards the spell throwers, which caused them no harm but lots of confusion. He took advantage of the moment and hurled an ice spear towards one of the casters. It struck the center caster in the shoulder, and the retribution was swift as they threw spell after spell at him. He was unable to fend off such a flurry of magic.

  He was walloped by a magical force that sent him flying through the air and slamming into the wall above the secret passage, which was now open. He fell to the floor. Greffel ran to his aid and helped him up, the two staring at the Triad as they moved to destroy them. Draegos saw Glorýa move gracefully through the air towards the center of the chamber, her hair swirling around her head, and her emerald green eyes looked at him one last time as she held up the sphere of destruction.

  Take care of my brother Draegos, she said in his mind. She turned her face up, and as he grabbed the pack from Greffel's back, the tears were falling. Greffel began to run with him and tried hard to keep up with the agile dwarf. As they made it halfway down the hall, there was an explosion, and the wind passed them by on the way out. The two were screaming as they tried to run faster, the heat on their heels, as the flames began to catch up to them. Suddenly he felt two hands push him hard and he went flying through the air.

  He sat up, his head hurting something awful, and noticed it was dark. All was silent as he sat in the dark valley and as he looked around, he called out to Greffel. He used his hands to search the ground in front of him, and all he kept getting was rubble and debris. Panic filled his mind as he remembered the explosion and the collapse of the passage.

  He found his pack and tore through it to get out a light stone, his hand passing an object he didn't remember having, and he brought it out to inspect the area. He whispered the words to the rock, and it glowed to life. Draegos held it up over his head and took in the scene before him. In the rubble, he saw the hand and partial arm of Greffel, and his heart sank, and he fell to the ground weeping for the loss of his two friends.

  He cried into his palms for several hours, the light from the stone fading as the morning rays began to form. As the light grew in the sky, he began to see the real damage done. He gathered his pack, grabbed Greffel's bag, and headed up and over the small hillside to see the full impact of the battle. He crested the hill and saw the remnants of a bloody field of war. Body parts of all sorts were scattered about, and the crows were having a field day on the dead. But the Citadel was destroyed, in part, and all that stood were a few towers and the barbican.

  He sat down and took in the scene in its totality and context. His body ached, his feet hurt, and his soul wanted to cry, but something in him just reached into Greffel's pack and pulled out his pipe. He filled it with the exotic herbs and took a long drag from it, coughed, and sneezed. A sense of calmness flowed over him, and peace entered his being. On the tips of the wind, he heard her voice, soft and wispy, and she said a single phrase Vyl'ys'Spý,[21] which was Ar'Ko'Nýan for “go in peace.”

  He wiped his face with his bloody palm and ran his bloody hands through his hair as he wailed. He lay on the ground, determined not to move, and cried for several days. After that, he continued his determination by refusing to move, so he laid there for another three days, and on the seventh morning he was awoken by something. When he opened his eye, he saw an ice lynx kitten licking his beard.

  He sat upright quickly and looked around for the mother, but didn't see her. Then he turned his attention to the little creature jumping around on his lap, playfully tugging at his long beard. He picked it up and looked at it squarely, saying to it, "You’ve got the bluest eyes I have ever seen on a cat." Then he noticed the zigzag patterns of dark fur mixed in with the stark white pelt.

  He examined it closer and noticed it was a female, but that it was also freshly weaned, judging by the teeth. He placed it on the ground away from himself and shooed it away, not wanting to invite the ire of a mother ice lynx, waiting for her to wander off. But as she did so, she let out the most sad cry, howling into the air to no one in particular.

  She is mourning something, he thought.

  He followed the fragile creature as it made its way down the hillside and into a nearby wooded area, where it stopped just shy of a landslide. There in the rubble lay her mother, twisted in the broken trees and branches, days dead. The kitten howled the same cry again, and it tore at Draegos’ very soul to hear it, and he began to cry himself at his and her loss. As he sat down to weep, the tiny little lynx ran over to him and jumped into his lap.

  He looked at her and smiled softly, "I'll call you Vrós. It means ‘ice’ in ancient Ar'Ko'Nýan." He gently stroked her small body, and she nuzzled into his palm. After several moments of this, she crawled up his arm and lay on the back of his neck under his hair. Within moments she was asleep, purring until she fell into a deep slumber, and Draegos gently stood and began his long journey back to Nýa'Bín.

  As he climbed up the pass, leaving behind the ruins of Dor'Úátá, he turned to face it one last time. Softly he whispered, "Vyl'ys'Spý." The only reply was the soft breeze, which seemed to him like the pressing of a cheek, and as he returned to his journey, he let the tears flow. Step by step he descended into the mountains along a familiar road that would take him back to a tiny hamlet. For now, he had done what was needed, the danger was averted, and he was a tired dwarf who needed a long nap.

  Epilogue

  The scene before him was majestic and grand. The giant crevice that stretched out before him hosted a city in the cliffs and two magnificent waterfalls. The high plains ran from the east of the canyon while a lush, dense forest ran west towards the coast, and to his south ran the Cliffs of Spý. He watched as a group of wagons took the lift down into the city of UnderHolm. The wind blew across the land, to the east, and he felt a strong sense that something new was about to unfold.

  Time to get moving again, Draegos, he heard the fourth spirit say, there's a prophecy to fulfill.

  Then the scene spun around, and he found himself standing in front of a burning monastery. His soul reached out to the victims of the female monks lying about the grounds, and from a nearby bush, he saw a familiar light. It beat its red light like a heartbeat and alerted him to the presence of a small injured fey. He began to walk over to it, but the scene spun around again and kept turning.

  He bolted upright from his bed, and Vrós lifted her full-grown head to see what the problem was. She searched his face for signs of trouble, her deep icy blue eyes taking everything in, and she gingerly stepped closer to inspect the sleepy dwarf. Noting he was okay, she pressed her head into his heavily bearded chin and neck, nuzzling him with affection. Playfully she bit at his beard and awaited the morning pets he would administer. He gently stroked her full body and kissed her on the top of her head as he prepared to get out of his bed.

  He placed his sore feet on the rug and stretched his arms up and out, taking in several deep breaths, and then he rubbed the palms of his scarred hands. The memories of what had happened a year and a half ago flooded his mind, but the sadness was slowly ebbing away. He went to his small wood stove and threw a few logs in, sparked it to life using a minor spell, and went about cooking fresh eggs for himself. Then he stepped outside and instructed the ice lynx to go hunt. She did so without needing any coaxing.

  After he ate his eggs, he donned his thick cloak and saddled up his horse. He would go into town and see how things were before making a decision. He rounded the bend of the hill of his namesake in honor of saving the small hamlet and his courageous acts performed for the dwarfs, and he wondered if he would ever see it again. The gates drew open at his approach, and the guards called down to the hero, "Welcome, Draegos the Wanderer!" He waved to them and headed straight for the tavern.

  He entered the pub and took a seat in his usual spot, a corner by the large fireplace, and recollected the first days after he’d returned from the ruined citadel. As he reminisce
d, he ran his hands across the smooth surface of the table he’d sat at for several days after his return. The members of the community had gathered around him and taken care of the tired and sad dwarf. They’d brought him food, poured his ale, and held the dwarf through the long nights of anguish. They had become his family, and now he was being called to go somewhere else, to finish what had started so many decades ago.

  He ordered one last pint and paid for it in gems, leaving several large emeralds for the tavern master, and as he set about to leave, the proprietor, Darrig, asked how his day was.

  "Oh…it's…going." He replied and then followed up with, "I am headed to a new place today."

  "Do you want me to mind the home while you are going, keep the hearth burning for your return?"

  "I won't be coming back. Give it to someone who may need it, please." He said, donning the now-famous hat.

  "Will we see you again soon then, Draegos?" The tavern master asked, his eyes held sadness upon hearing the news.

  "Not likely, friend. The Primordials have once again called me to service." He said with sadness in his voice.

  "I'll not let you go without the proper amount of supplies." The tavern master replied to his dwarven friend.

  "I'll bring the wagon by just before I leave and you can load it with food stocks." The dwarf lied.

  Darrig sensed the lie and just nodded, saying, "Then Vyl'ys'Spý, hero dwarf, and may the Great Philosophers watch your back."

  Draegos nodded and left the tavern for the last time. He mounted his horse, whistled loudly for Ӻrós, and headed home to prepare for the journey. As he rode the short path back, he noted the beauty of the Shield Mountains, and how he would miss them. As he arrived at his home, he dismounted and walked into his house, packed up his vital supplies and wrote a note to the next tenant.

  To whoever lives here,

  This was a home built for a hero by the good folk of Nýa'Bín. Take good care of it, as it has me, and you will never be cold or without. Peace be with you.

  Signed,

  Draegos the Wanderer

  He left it on the oak table and walked over to the mantle of his fireplace and picked up the small wagon that had been the gnomes'. He hadn't used it since the last time they’d all congregated within, but he would use it now. He took one last glimpse of the place that had been more of a home to him over the past year than any other place had, and a single tear fell from his eye as he closed and locked the door. He set the small wagon on the ground, whispered the words of magic, and then stepped back as it grew into full form.

  He ducked inside the wagon. It still smelled of the exotic herbs Dýn and Greffel had smoked that last night, and he reached into his jerkin pocket and pulled out the pipe. He took a long draw from it and then tossed his pack onto the bed of furs, turned, and exited the wagon. He connected the horse to the rigging and placed the reins on the bench for when he would leave.

  He stood there looking at the house and the scenery. The memories flowed in like a river, and he wiped away the tears for the last time. Turning, he grabbed the side of the wagon and pulled himself up to the bench. He grabbed the reins and whipped the horse into motion. As he began to roll away, he heard the sorrowful calls from Vrós, and the dwarf remembered what he was forgetting.

  He pulled back on the reins, stopping the horse’s forward movement, and whistled for the ice lynx. She came running out of the forest and jumped onto the bench, sitting right next to the dwarf, and began licking her front right paw.

  He smirked and then asked, "Did you think I was going to leave you?"

  The Lynx looked up at the dwarf, and in response, she nodded her head yes.

  "That'll never happen, Vrós. They'll have to pry you away from my cold, dead hands, and that isn't an easy task! Just ask a horde of beast-men." He roared with laughter as he whipped the horse back into movement.

  As the unlikely pair rode towards the west to find the Long Road, the sun had barely peeked over the Shield Mountains, and at the tops of those mountains, two spirits watched as the hero dwarf continued the quest they’d all begun so long ago…

  The End

  About the Author

  Patrick Sattler attended The Evergreen State College receiving both a Bachelor of Arts, with an emphasis on Cultural Studies, and a Master’s in Public Administration. He currently lives in Washington State with his wife and two cats.

  * * *

  [1] Mýd'Rým - (Meed'Reem) An ancient Ar'Ko'Nýanwho traveled the lands.

  [2] Án'twere'dys'regeneratus - (Awn'twehreh'dis'reegehnehrahtus) Ancient words of magic: healing.

  [3] Vro’Sado- (VROW’sahdoh) An ice elemental that is the result of a curse. Those killed by one, raise as one. A form of Blood Magic.

  [4] Án'juyn'beouyn'dach - (Awn'juhihn'behohuhihn'dahch) Ancient words of magic: revelation.

  [5] Án'buweyn'draegos'anhyulyan - (Awn'buhwehihn'draegos'ahnhihuhlihan) Ancient words of magic: entrance.

  [6] Ar'Ko'Nýa - (Ahr'koh'neeah) Land of Life

  [7] Án'guýn'bwere'yllumynatus - (Awn'guheen'bwehreh'ihlluhmihnahtuhs) Ancient words of magic:light.

  [8] Án'huý'ӻon'lyaéchen - (Awn'huhee'vohn'lihahayechen) Ancient of words of magic:unlock.

  [9] Án'nuén'ećplosyous - (Awn'nuhayen'ehxplohsihohuhs) Ancient words of magic: explosion.

  [10] Án'neuýllya'destructyous'beyntous - (Awn'nehuheelliha'dehstruhctihohuhs'behihnyohuhs) Ancient words of magic: elemental blast.

  [11] Án'cwuyl'ná'veus - (Awn' cwuhihl'naw'vehuhs) Ancient words of magic: swift movement for beasts of burden.

  [12] Án'nythru - (Awn'nihthruh) Ancient words of magic: long sight.

  [13] Výl'Nymunytyre'de'boreanys - (Veel'Nihmuhnihtihreh'deh'bohrehahnihs) Magical invocation to shrink the wagon.

  [14] Dró'bwyn'nyth'ryll - (Droo'bwihn'nihth'rihll) Spell used to enlarge Draegos's staff.

  [15] Ӻál'sheyn'tor'rapyţytyon (Vawl'shehihn'tohr'rahpihdihsihohn) Ancient words of magic: fast actions.

  [16] Tél'Lya'Neydmar - (Tayel'Liha'Nehihdmahr) Blood Magic: a quartering spell.

  [17] Dýn'nathru'eveska - (Deen'nahthruh'ehvehskah) Calls down meteors.

  [18] Gálye - (Gawliheh) Mystic spell of disintegration.

  [19] Buý'dath'ny'verunym - (Buhee'dahth'nih'vehruhnihm) Magi spell, Great Speed.

  [20] Bué'Nath'Ećplosyous - (Buhee'Nahth'Explohsihohuhs) Magi spell: explode.

  [21] Vyl'ys'Spý – (Vihl’his’spee) Go in peace. .