by Damon Alan
The Underking looked horrified. “Is he going to pa—”
The world went black.
Chapter 2 - Makalu
October 8, 1938
Oberstleutnant Ernst Haufmann pulled his parka tighter around himself. Fifty-eight hundred meters up the face of a wretched mountain in the northeastern edge of Nepal, he was cold and just continuing to breathe was the biggest chore he’d ever had.
Wind blew past, carrying snow directly sideways and trying to hurl him onto the rock spires below. Snow shouldn’t move horizontally. It should drop peacefully from the sky to settle on Bavarian pines.
Someone grabbed his arm.
It was that skinny self-righteous bastard Gustaf Meckler. Religious idiot. Ernst considered, for a moment, throwing Meckler off the side of the mountain. In the end, it was his own exhaustion that saved Meckler’s life. Plus he wasn’t sure he could take down the Heereshilfpfarrer in his current state.
“Oberstleutnant,” Meckler yelled after lowering his mask. “We are almost there. Concentrate on the mission.”
“Yah,” Ernst sighed. Even talking drained him. “You are in good shape for a Chaplain.”
Meckler grinned.
For the next quarter mile Ernst concentrated on the ice covered rock trail cut into the mountain face. No more than a meter wide at any point, leaving the trail would almost certainly be instant death. The edge wasn’t exactly a precipice, but the slope was enough that anyone going over would keep falling for a kilometer or more.
“There!” Meckler yelled.
An audible gasp of relief collectively escaped the lips of the two dozen Gebirgsjäger troops slogging along behind him. Not normally one to feel sympathy for another, Ernst actually savored his twinge of sympathy for his men. To Ernst, it was proof of his humanity. Despite the fact that they each carried a twenty kilo load of supplies and weapons, while Ernst carried nothing but his parka, his binoculars, and his Luger pistol.
Meckler raced ahead, although how he did it was beyond comprehension. Even the native guides weren’t spending energy so stupidly.
A semi-circle of buildings somehow adhered to a cliff face, seeming to defy gravity as they jutted out over the precipice. The trail continued past the buildings, but to take it one had to go through the midst of the buildings themselves. By all but the most recent standards, this was an unassailable fort.
Fortunately times change, and Ernst had machine guns and explosives to assist him should they be needed.
As the German party approached the gate that barred the path, a monk in bright orange robes stood on the other side. Resting his hand on the grip of his pistol, Ernst walked up to the iron bars of the gate. From the looks of it, the barrier only opened from the inside.
“Ask him if we can come in,” Ernst ordered his native translator.
Before the translator could speak, the monk responded in German as perfect as if he were a Berlin native.
“Oberstleutnant, Cloud Master Lahkpa is eager to meet you,” the man said. “Of course you may come in.”
Ernst pushed his scarf back up over the skin of his face, wondering how it could be the monk wasn’t a frozen corpse. As he did so, the monk cranked away on a lever that winched up the gate into the stone wall above it.
Meckler nearly knocked a Sherpa over the edge as he rushed past to go inside.
Idiot.
“Inside, men,” Ernst ordered and gestured his men past him. “Ready your MP-40s, just in case,” he told two of them as they passed. Both did as commanded.
If it was a trap, let Meckler pay the price for his eagerness. And the guns were now between any potential enemy and Ernst, as they should be.
“That is not necessary,” the monk said. “We have been expecting you, and you are welcome here. Come inside, and let the warmth of the Mother warm you. We have food, drink, and places to rest.”
“Your hospitality is most kind,” Ernst replied. “But we must be sure.”
“Of course.”
Once everyone was inside, Ernst followed. The monastery looked like even more of a fort inside the small courtyard. The buildings were impressive, but the structure also extended back into the mountainside.
“In the womb of the Mother is the key you have come for,” the monk informed Ernst. “Follow me.”
Despite the blowing snow, the orange robe was easy to follow. Iron bound wooden doors sealed the mountain from the outside, and Ernst was shocked to see two swastikas centered on each door. Each made of iron, and each a half meter across.
Meckler practically danced with anticipation. “Do you see?” the idiot asked, pointing at the swastikas. “We are here as part of a bigger plan.”
“You two,” Ernst said to the machine gunners. “Take the front. Do not fire your weapons unless we are threatened.”
“Is that really necessary?” Meckler asked. “They clearly welcome our arrival.”
“Heereshilfpfarrer Meckler, I have hardly the breath to stand, let alone answer your stupid questions. Do not vex me.”
The fool shut his face, and if Ernst cared about religion or believed in a deity, he’d call that a blessing.
The doors opened, and a long hallway disappeared into the distance. It was dimly lit every hundred meters or so by torches guttering in their sconces.
“Behind me,” Ernst ordered Meckler just to annoy the man.
Following the monk and his two soldiers, the rest of the team walked into the corridor. The unending rock stretched for a kilometer into the mountainside. Every centimeter was carved with symbology, and many times water from the Earth itself ran into the corridor on one side, and out of the other side through channels the water had cut into the rock. This tunnel was old, at least a few centuries if not more. It was all the more remarkable that Ernst saw the occasional swastika carved into the stone. If this was real, someone long dead saw the Germans coming. The carvings ended about twenty meters before the tunnel opened up into a natural cavern.
An old woman in dark brown robes stood at the start of a path into the cavern. The cave was large, something Ernst knew only because of the reflections glinting off stone in the distance. The only light was coming from a host of torches arrayed around a pillar. Outside the circle of torches half a dozen buildings stood, possibly living spaces for the guardians of whatever the monks kept here.
“I am Lahkpa,” the old woman said, also in perfect German.
“I am Oberstleutnant Ernst Haufmann,” he replied. “How is it you speak my tongue?”
“We have seen your coming,” she replied. “There is no reason to delay. You came for a key, and a key you will have.”
The cooperative attitude of the monks was a relief. While he had no qualms about using force to secure relics for the Reich, he liked it best when those relics were simply handed over. In this case, whatever made these people realize the Germans would come for their key was a gift that avoided bloodshed.
“You already have the Intepna Hojarr?” Lahkpa asked.
Ernst almost stopped walking, the question shocked him so much. That was another relic that he’d simply walked in and taken. In northern Finland. A small stone church built for pagan religions ages ago had housed the Intepna, and the Samu herders who guarded it had simply waved the Germans in and walked off. Not a word was exchanged as Ernst’s team walked away with the prize.
“How did you know of that?” he asked the woman.
“Eyes are not just for seeing what is here,” she answered. “They are also for seeing what is there.”
What did that mean? Cryptic nonsense.
“As you say,” Ernst replied, not wishing to discourage her cooperative stance.
She gestured toward the only lit area in the cave. “The Inshu Key is housed in the pillar we are walking to. Once we get there, you may simply take it if you like. I would appreciate if you allowed us to bless it one more time before you go, however.”
“I could use the rest, as could my men,” Ernst said. “We have come a long way in
terrain we are not used to traveling.”
“I know,” she said. “But you must take the key and go after the blessing. The sooner you get it to the Intepna Hojarr, the better.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because the prophecies say so,” she replied. “It is how it is supposed to be done.”
He smiled to mask his irritation.
“Here we are,” she said as they entered the flickering circle of light.
A dozen monks walked from the buildings, momentarily alarming his two men on guard. The monks carried long curved blades, thin, tarnished with age, and clearly meant to kill if turned to such ends.
The guards raised their submachine guns, ready to fire on Ernst’s command.
“Hold,” Ernst ordered. “There will be a ritual. I think their weapons are part of that.”
Two dozen Germans, a dozen Sherpas and a baker’s dozen of the monks gathered within the circle of torches surrounding the pillar. Ernst followed Lahkpa around to the far side of the ten meter high obelisk.
A small cubby contained a felt pillow. On it was a disk with a diamond shaped projection on one side. Two candles burned next to the pillow.
As Ernst stared inside the receptacle at his prize, the monks began to chant. The other Germans, less on edge since the monks didn’t seem hostile, took off their packs, sat down and waited.
Above the cubby two overlapping circles began to glow a dim blue, and a similar shape glowed on the disk key itself. Ernst laughed inside at the petty magician tricks the monks used to bolster their own faith.
The chanting raised in tone, and the Sherpas that guided the Germans up the mountain suddenly cried out in alarm. They grabbed their satchels and prepared to leave.
The two machine gunners stood, prepared to answer any order that Ernst might give.
“They can’t leave, how will we get down the mountain!” Meckler barked.
That sealed Ernst’s decision. “Let them go, if they are cowards,” he ordered. “There are no branches on the trail down the mountain. We will secure new guides in the valley.”
Meckler looked properly annoyed, which pleased Ernst.
Ten minutes later the Sherpas were all gone.
“What alarmed them?” Ernst asked Lahkpa.
“Lack of religious vision,” the old woman answered. “And now I give you the key.”
She reached into the cubby, picked up the mushroom shaped artifact, and turned toward Ernst. “Do not be alarmed by my fate.”
Two monks moved in behind her as she dropped the item into Ernst’s hand. They rapidly pulled knives from their robes and then drove the blades into the back of the old woman.
Lahkpa smiled as blood poured from her mouth before dropping to her knees then collapsing.
Ernst stared at the two monks ahead of him, stunned as they raised their knives once again. The other monks in the circle did the same. He started to give the order to gun them down, but it was too late for that. The monks did the job for him. They each turned their knives point up and drove the tip into their heads from under the jaw.
Thirteen orange robed figures dropped to the ground, dead.
The blue circles on the pillar and the key flared brightly for a moment, then winked out. Only the torchlight remained.
Ernst laughed as he tucked the Inshu Key into a small wooden box he’d brought to contain it.
“Pick up your things,” he ordered. “We have a long trip home.”
Chapter 3 - The Truce of Hagirr
Irsu stood near the front of his platoon.
The gate was about a ten minute march away, or at least would be if the way was clear. A horde of soldiers stretched between him and the lost world. Everyone nearby was restless, but this was the day foretold in the Eradna-Hagirr. A day that could not be rushed. The day of Bonding, when Aerth and Earth once more become as one world.
A dragon circled overhead, a black with beautiful outstretched wings catching thermals from the valley floor. Normally Irsu would set his dwarves ready to receive the fury of such a beast, but today, as for the last year or so, an uncomfortable truce existed.
More dragons floated in the eastern sky, morning sun glinted off their metallic scales. Lower, elven air raiders circled their griffins and pegasi around gnomish airships.
“If not for the Truce of Hagirr, today would be the bloodiest day Aerth has ever seen,” Irsu’s assistant platoon leader, Coragg said.
“A sharp axe will be a necessity in the coming days regardless of what we see now,” Irsu assured him. “Once we cross over, I’d bet my beard the truce will not hold. My beard isn’t bold enough. By the Underking’s beard, I swear it.” He gestured toward the elven warriors halfway between them and the gate. “You don’t get a lasting peace with the likes of that around.”
“I’m surprised it’s held this long with so many enemies in such proximity,” a voice said behind him.
Before he even turned toward the voice, Irsu’s face unleashed a rare smile. “Bordnu,” he said, grinning even more widely as he turned to face his brother. He waved a hand toward Bordnu’s shoulder insignia. Captain of the Iron. “You mean they are still going to let you lead this company?”
“The king knows talent when he sees it,” Bordnu replied, his own grin as wide as an axe head.
The two brothers locked arms and slammed their foreheads together despite the fine helms they wore.
“I have hope of living through this thing we are doing then, thanks to the king’s wisdom,” Irsu said. “Do you know when we march?”
“The gate has opened. The dragons have sent through their scout. He has not returned,” Bordnu answered. “When he does, Hagirr will tell us the plan.”
“That wizard!” Irsu complained. “How is it our forefathers bound our service today to a human? And a magician at that.”
“Do you not read the scrolls still?” Bordnu asked, laughing. “That is why I am commander of this company, and you are leader of this platoon, Irsu. Education.”
“Aye, but I’m prettier,” Irsu countered.
“Ma always thought so,” his brother agreed. “Explains why you didn’t study your scrolls, and were always sneaking off to mingle beards with the ladies.”
Irsu shrugged. Beer, fighting, ladies, and his newly built hearth in Iron Mountain. What else was there? Leading the other dwarves in battle put their fates on his shoulders, something he’d only reluctantly agreed to accept when asked. Asked was a friendly term for what happened, of course, as he wasn’t really given a choice. What the Underking asks is a directive, not a request.
“There is movement at the gate,” Coragg said. “The dragon returns.”
Irsu and Bordnu turned to face the news.
A flash of light signaled the arrival of the wizard, Hagirr. It was he, ten thousand years earlier who had discovered Earth. Then he’d broken the two worlds he’d joined for long enough to achieve his goals apart. And the reason no humans other than Hagirr walked Aerth today. He’d sent them to the other world, knowing that failure to separate the humans from the other races of the world would result in a war of extinction.
And the humans would have lost.
For the same reasons any of the other races that entered Earth had sworn to leave once it was ready for the humans. And magic enforced their word.
It was Hagirr that had foreseen the worlds being rejoined, hoping that on Earth his own kind would prosper and grow strong enough to survive in the ten thousand years since. Had they? Or was humanity dead? Irsu had no idea. The dragon would tell everyone soon enough.
By agreement, Earth would now belong to all. The humans had their time. That was the deal. Time to get strong, then they would be tested.
Someone had activated the gate from the far side, just as foretold.
Something had set the trial of humanity in motion.
Irsu’s axe physically vibrated in his hand, so thunderous was the noise around him.
How Hagirr had lived to see the rejoining, Irsu
didn’t know. He knew little of humanity, except legends and tales mothers told to scare children to sleep. However the wizard lived, it was probably rooted in evil. That’s why the dwarves and elves had gone to war with humanity in the first place.
The evil in the hearts of Men.
Bordnu would argue that there was no proof black magic was involved in Hagirr’s longevity. Irsu didn’t need proof. Because for one to prosper so, another must be deprived. This was true in wealth and life. Balance was the nature of things. It was why Irsu tried hard not to take more than he needed for a good life.
The dragon exited the gate well off the ground, then hovered over the legions at the front of the horde.
“I am Rodimikari! I have seen Earth!” the dragon’s voice bellowed across the valley.
A million voices went silent at once. The assemblage was so quiet, Irsu heard the breeze whistling through the helmet visors of his unit.
Emptiness made his ears ring.
The wizard gestured. The dragon responded, and while Irsu could not hear the human, he heard the response.
“There is war among the sons of Earth. Humans are everywhere, and they’ve created devices for traveling the ground and air almost gnomish in their design. Magic is still faded from that world, but as Hagirr said it would, it is flowing in through the gate, and will soon be reborn. The humans attacked me as one would expect. There were rightfully afraid.”
Silence as the wizard gestured some more.
“War has leveled the city that houses the gates. There was no sign of the old gods, only a new god that did not answer the pleas of the humans I burned away.”
Gesturing from Hagirr, probably angry words as well if Irsu had to guess.
“They attacked me, I merely defended myself. Who has the gall to attack Rodimikari? While magic is all but gone from Earth, their weapons have grown powerful. I felt the sting of a thousand tiny arrows.”
A moment as the conversation continued from the wizard.
“We can advance. The lands of Earth will see the children of Aerth. Send in your elves, wizard. Your gnomes. Your dwarves. Your goblins, trolls, and whatever has climbed up from the slime of the lands to serve you. I, Rodimikari, will lead my people back to Earth, to once more claim the skies as we did in the days of my fathers.”