by Jake Yaniak
This is what is known as the Covenant of Marin: Those men who take part in the revelries of the Maiden Festival bequeath to the Marin Quendom all female offspring, a small price to pay they thought. But the males were returned to their fathers before they reached their third year.
When the Quendom had grown into the size of a nation, however, the laws and practices of the Marin Tribe were forced to acquiesce to the more 'natural' circumstances of husbands and wives, fathers and mothers. Men, however, were never accepted as citizens, with the one exception of the husband of Marin, Ollitov, whomever he might be.
Women of War
Though they were convinced that a nation commanded by women would serve mankind better than what had hitherto ruled over humanity, the realization of that ideal was not forthcoming. War and danger still beset them on every side, and whether they were more cool headed and less arrogant than their predecessors mattered very little. Marin was compelled to maintain almost constant war against her neighbors. Most of the time they fought in defense, but admittedly often for gain or for glory and sometimes simply for honor. In the end, their Quendom can stand amidst all the other kingdoms and dominions of the earth without it even being noted that they were in every generation ruled by women rather than men. The end result of their government, its powers, its needs and its abuses were very much the same in all things.
The might of the Marin Tribe became such that even the elves of Dalta City became wary of them. As early as the sixteen-hundred and seventh year of this age Marin found herself facing the deathless upon the battlefield. It was also at this time that the seeds of the fall of Dalta City, its lord and its heritage, were sown. Unable to defeat them alone, Lord Dalta made a league with the vicious and brutal men of Hilgram, who came against Marin from the south of Olgrost. The army of Marin was scattered, and the princess Elna was taken captive by Lord Dalta, who, in an act of utter thoughtlessness, gave her to the Master of the Hilgramun. It was in this battle that Marin was slain, and as Fate would have it, she was slain with the sword of her own grandfather, Dalta, father of her mother Dalia, whom Vantu had abused. Among her people, the heritage of Marin was well-known, but among the elves it was never acknowledged. Dalta himself thrust his blade through her armor without regard. She looked upon him with sorrowful eyes and then fell to the dust, cursing the name of her father with her last breath.
Many laments were written among the Marin Tribe about the fall of Marin and the dreadful suffering of their captive princess. Oaths were sworn, and the fall of Dalta City was prophesied.
The princess proved to have the blood of Vantu within her; she soon found an opportunity to escape and make her return to the Marin Tribe, where she was welcomed with great rejoicing.
The revenge of Marin came swiftly. Elna, taking the place and name of her slain mother, led her people to war within the decade. Eight years after they were driven from Pelil by Dalta and the wicked men of Hilgram, Marin returned and inflicted such devastation on the southern country that all claim on Lake Pelil was surrendered to her forever. The master of the Hilgramun was impaled upon a great spike which was raised above the city of Pelhugram. Thus the banner of Marin for the first time blew in the wind above the great lake of Olgrost, and beside it the city's former lord writhed in anguish, perishing ere the afternoon was full. The spike remained aloft until the body rotted from it and fell to the earth of its own decay. It was burned where it landed and a great mound of stones were laid atop it, marking forever the place where the enemy of Marin was punished.
This marks the beginning of the Marin Quendom. Before that it was called a tribe or a sect and many other things. But here for the first time the Lady of Marin accepted royal honors. A crown of silver was fashioned and set with five rubies that they had captured, among many other treasures, from the Hilgramun. She was crowned queen over all of the east and south of Olgrost in the thirty seventh year of the sixth century of the second millenium of this age. On the northern shores of the lake, Marin Fortress was built. It is from there that every queen and king of Marin has ruled.
By the end of a century, Marin ruled over every mortal soul in Olgrost, reducing Dalta to an oasis of fortresses, unassailable yet with no hope of expansion. All that remained outside her grasp was the city of Dalta, wherein the elves yet lived and the Zoar frontier city of Borzal, which was haunted by dwarves.
There were many wars between Dalta, Zoar, Borzal and Marin in those days and in the centuries that came to pass. No great progress was made, however, and all the best efforts of the rival kingdoms led only to the same stalemate they had achieved in their previous struggles. In the course of these wars, Marin Quendom finally avenged the death of their first Queen. Ollitov, the husband of the Marin who reigned in the middle of the fourth century of Marin's dominion, killed Dalta and drove the elves far away from Pelil. Hurting and devastated, the elves swore to avenge themselves upon Marin. But their oaths came to naught.
Nearly one hundred and fifty years later a man of bold words and rash deeds came to rule over the city of Lapulia, which lies far to the south along the western coasts of Dominas. This was that man who is called Czylost by historians, self-sworn enemy of the ancient elves and instigator of those horrible Race Wars that covered Tel Arie in blood.
In league with this dangerous man, Marin at last drove the dwarves from Borzal and purged them from the land of Olgrost. They escaped into their mountain strongholds, however, and to this day they haunt the wild places of Olgrost, vexing the marches of the Quendom and taxing travelers. Twelve years later, with Czylost's aid, Ollitov slew Dalta II and Marin at last demolished his city, ending at last the easternmost stronghold of the elves.
Now in full possession of Olgrost, Marin Quendom spent the next twenty-eight years building her strength. This new power was first unleashed in the continent of Illmaria against the elves of Luma. The ancient city of light and the Crystal Palace of Falruvis were burnt to the ground and left in smolders. The elves fled to Weldera and found refuge in the citadel of Dadron, whose walls were believed to be as immortal as their elven builders. After six years had passed, Czylost and Marin, through bribery and deceit, made an alliance with the country of Amlaman and lay siege to Dadron, surrounding it on every side with towers of war. Were it not for the many hidden waterways, which the mortal armies never fully discovered, Dadron would have been lost at once. But the city of Falruvis defiantly withstood their siege for over twenty years.
At last, when it seemed they could bear no more, the Nine Heroes of Noras appeared, Cheftan Galvahir wielding the Sword of Pelas, god of the Argent elves. With their aid, the elves broke the siege and drove their enemies through Amla Gap into the wilderness of Amlaman.
But only twenty-one years later, when Czylost was one hundred and twenty-five years of age, a final assault was made against the Holy City. So fierce and sudden was their onset, so cunningly executed was their plan, so numerous were their warriors, and so unexpected was the betrayal of the Elvenking that the city did not withstand the attack for more than two weeks. It was said that the Nine Heroes of the Noras were slain in that battle, for they came to the aid of their benefactors and fought to their very last breath for the city of Pelas.
Thus the Race Wars were over, and Czylost ended his hateful raging at last and lay his gray head to rest on the bed of the slain Falruvis. There he died, and it seemed that all passion and valor with him. The wind grew cold and long shadows seemed to spread throughout the land. Marin, finding the war more costly than it was beneficial, withdrew her soldiers little by little from Weldera. It had been Czylost's goal to make an end of all elves. He had seen the end of Dalta, of beautiful Luma, and Dadron last of all. Untouched, however, were the lands of Bralahi, whose secrets are to mortals unreachable. Czylost, therefore, died a failure by his own standards and a devil by all others, and the melancholy of his soul seemed to poison the whole region. The armies of Amlaman slipped quietly away from Falsis, taking little plunder from their ancient neighbors. The record of
the war, or at least their own involvement in it, was nearly stricken from their histories. The armies of Lapulia remained in command of the citadel for a mere thirty years at the end of which they surrendered the dominion of Falsis and the city of Dadron to the Daevaron of east Falsis who rule it to this day.
Chapter VII:
Dwarves in the Marches
Zomara
For the next three days Natham and Whately were led eastward, into Marin Quendom proper. The laws of Marin required that any such travelers, especially those who had passed through Olger to the old Verder ruins, should be brought before the local governor, whose seat was in the town of Zomara. Whately was of a mind to refuse the march and go their own way, trusting in his own skill and the strength of Natham to withstand these soldiers if need be. He was not of a mind to become enthralled to yet another nation. Natham, however, insisted that they follow them, saying, that he feared nothing from them.
The Marin soldiers seemed grateful that they had no need to compel these travelers to make the journey. 'If such trouble we had with the golem and he so little, how can we pretend to compel them by force,' they soundly reasoned.
Zomara was a small village encircled by a crude wall of wooden pikes, which were hastily bound together and set facing outward. The lands surrounding the village were used for farming, but these were abandoned each night as the people shut themselves inside the walls for safety. For there were many dwarves in that region, and the people no longer felt safe in their own homes. In those days it was chiefly against these creatures that the swords of Marin were directed. They were, to the Quendom, like rats or some other invincible vermin. In the ancient wars they were driven once and for all from Olgrost. But their mountain strongholds were never taken. Even when their haunts were discovered they could not be driven from them. They were fierce warriors, as any tale will tell, and they became all the fiercer as the battles drew near to their own dwelling places. If at last the soldiers of Marin could succeed in defeating them in their own hiding places, they would retreat to such depths that no human could reach them. There they would hide among the Gaians, who send forth vapor and poison which only the dwarves can survive.
It should be said here that dwarves, unlike goblins, are not entirely bereft of reason. In fact, it is quite certain that they often reason better and faster than men. Their language, however, is simple and crude, only having room for quick commands and words of warning. They can learn the tongues of men, but they rarely find them useful. They do not make treaties; if ever they do they show no signs of caring for the agreements.
They are smaller than men, usually no more than three feet in height. But for that height they are at least three times stronger than a human being. Their weapons, which they forge in deep fiery places, are stronger than human weapons as well.
They adorn themselves with trophies alone. Fur, skin, leather, skulls and bones are their clothing. The only raiment they make for themselves is their armor, which as might be imagined, is also finer and stronger than the best productions of men or elves.
It is said in the Dadron schools that there are three parts of reasoning that are necessary for the whole: There is understanding, judgment, and Reason proper. In this last faculty the dwarves are extremely deficient, due to their sparse vocabulary. The consequence is that they do not pass their knowledge on to their children, except for that which the child apprehends by their own observation. They have no histories, save that which the elves have invented for them, they have no government, save for a crude, goblin-like lordship of the mightiest. This deficiency also explains why they relate so poorly to the other races of the world, and indeed to the animals as well. They will not hesitate to hunt a creature to the very last for the sake of a trophy or for sport. It seldom occurs to them that they might someday wish the animals were yet available to satisfy their hunger.
Where dwarves truly excel all other races, however, is in their understanding and their judgment. When they do reason, however, they do not err. They turn whatever new object they encounter about in every direction, taking it to pieces and remaking it again until they have no further doubts concerning its nature. When they speak to one another, their meanings are never misunderstood, partly because of the simplicity of their tongue, but mainly because of the care that they take in apprehending the meanings of the words they say. It is, on this account, very difficult for them to understand the complex and counterintuitive languages of men. They do not understand humor at all.
Their superb understanding, however, makes them masters of the elements and magicians of incomparable skill. They learn to make weapons that move on their own, bows that fire repeatedly, and even, in some rare cases, creatures of metal or wood that can move about on their own, or at the command of a rider. This is the nature of the dread golem that had slain so many Marin soldiers and so many hireling men ere the monster of Vestron arrived.
A bird can fly with ease at a great speed and land upon the slenderest twig. A beaver can build a dam the like of which no mortal or immortal builder can match. Even a tiny spider, mindless though she be, can make a web of unsurpassed beauty and utility. All this is by means of the understanding, which all moving things share to some extent. As the dwarves are masters of this faculty the precision of their hands and their thoughts is like the flight of a bird through the woods, irrational, yet led by perfect intuition. In battle, dwarven archers do not miss easily, nor do their strokes with the blade or their blows with the axes often miss their marks. To fight a dwarf with weapons alone, however diminutive he may be in stature, is like fighting a whale in the sea.
In battle, a golem-lord, which is what the Marin call the mobile inventions of the dwarves, is more deadly than any number of men. For the armor of such an artificial creature is harder than any hide, and instead of claws and teeth it carries weapons of iron, which are moved with amazing precision.
Their deficiency in reasoning, however, has long proved to be their downfall. However deadly they are in a battle, they are no good in a war; which is to say, that they have a mind for striking with arrows and spears, axes and swords, and they have the power and understanding to make creatures of iron, and weapons of great enchantment, but they have no mind for strategy, certainly not for the elaborate plots of human beings.
Dwarves had been seen wandering in the fields of Zomara at night lately, causing the people of the village to forsake their farmlands and huddle together behind their crude fortress of wood. For the most part the dwarves took only what they needed from the harvest and then crept away as silently as they had come. But they seemed to be increasing of late, and they were taking a greater toll on the supply of food and grain. Moreover, on several occasions the dwarves were reported to have been bearing battle axes and longswords. Thus Lady Hivilu, the elder of Zomara and governor of the southeastern marches of Olgrost, sent to Marin Fortress a request for aid. The young Marshall, Lyris, along with sixty other women and two hundred hireling men, was sent to her just three months earlier to put an end to the pilfering, and to make the lands safe again for habitation.
Of her mission and her difficulty she spoke to Natham openly. 'Refuge the dwarves took in a small cave, not more than a league to the south of Zomara. There they in safety sought to lie. Our trackers - that is, the hirelings, found their trail and they led us to their caves. At first we thought our work was finished, when by nightfall of the first day it seemed they all lay slain. But we were mistaken. Upon the morning of the second day, a golem appeared, one of those dread monsters of iron. Ten of our soldiers, the golem in its fury slew. More than thirty of the men that day also in bloody heaps fell. Yet for all our sacrifice, and all our labors, upon its armor not a dent was made. The third day we did better, with no soldiers lost and only seven hirelings killed. But in the end we were forced to retreat from their rocky haunts. The fourth day the golem came upon us while many were yet at rest, slaying more than thirty of our sisters ere a retreat was made. The stars alone can count the hirelings that
in that day were cut down. Finally, bereft of hope and full of vengeful folly, we overtook the golem in the clearing and sought to make an end either him or of ourselves.'
'Are there many such golems in these lands?' Natham asked.
'They are rare,' Lyris answered solemnly. 'But when they appear, seldom do they appear alone, it is said. The dwarves can pass many generations without crafting any such devilish enchantments. But as they live for many lives of men, toiling away ceaselessly and unwearied in the darkness, it is all too often that they attain sufficient skill to create those monsters of iron. Thou hast slain the monster, and the golem-lord within his devil-armor has perished. But there will undoubtedly be more forthcoming, especially when the others discover the end of their comrade. To make a beast of iron, that breathes and moves, slays and wounds, is a task that cannot be performed in solitude. Such a dwarf-master must of necessity have his apprentices, his sons, his heirs, and his masters. If there are any among his kindred with understanding enough to have shared in his work, then we have much to fear.'
'Then we may expect to see more of these monstrosities?' Natham asked.
'Indeed, if tradition serves,' Lyris said. 'But first we must reach Zomara, where council and rest we can find.'
Whately followed behind them silently as they walked, shaking his head and marveling at Natham's words, '"We" may expect more of these? he murmured to himself.'
Whately watched Natham's every step with amazement in those days. The creature, who had only reluctantly involved himself in the wars of the Merkata, and even then only for his own ends, suddenly surrendered his services to these soldiers without reserve or hesitation, though no oath would he swear. He carried their burdens, lit the fires for their meals, kept watch in the lonely hours of the night, and even, almost gentlemanly helped them in the difficult places along the road. To Lyris alone, however, would he speak, and they spoke often. Even more amazing to Whately was the lack of fear this Marshall of the Quendom showed toward the strange creature that had come into their realm. 'Such a soul, one that is not horrified by the misfortunes of others, is a rare gem indeed,' he said to himself.