by Jake Yaniak
He broke the seal and opened the wrappings. Within he found that ancient weapon of which so many tales speak: Skatos Ereg it was always called in Olgrost, and it was feared by all creatures and spirits. Duri himself seemed to fear it, though he could not understand why he should fear the devices of a mortal.
An eager arm came forth from beneath Natham's cloak and claimed the sword for its own, drawing it back beneath his clothing. The torches at once sprang to life and the darkness which had covered that corner of the treasure room was lifted, revealing the broken old treasure chest to the light. Quietly he crept back to the upper fortress and once more passed the guards, this time without even a word or greeting.
The Brother
The dwarves had not given up on their stronghold as it seemed to those above. Below the earth, in hidden chambers, they regrouped and rearmed themselves, calling for their allies and their kin. In four days their numbers were restored and they were ready to march to war, though not so much as a whisper ascended to the upper realms where the soldiers of Marin still panted from their laborious battle.
On the fifth night after their coming to Mount Zhagib, the Marin soldiers were awakened by great shouts and screams. The dwarves had come. The army of Marin gathered and formed lines, but when they saw their foe, nothing could stop them from fleeing. The hirelings turned and fled without delay, thinking to themselves, 'I have come here neither for honor nor for love of Marin, but for pay; which will avail me nothing in the grave.' The soldiers by and large remained in their positions, but it was not long before even they were driven back. Lyris sounded a retreat and the soldiers took to flight. Thlux, it was clear, would not be surrendered to the dominion of men through one bold victory alone.
The horns of Marin blared and every man and women forsook their patrols and their encampments, fleeing to the central hall, making haste to the gates. But there they discovered what doom awaited them. There in the pathway stood seven golem-riders and a host of armored dwarves with their dreaded crossbows. Under a barrage of arrows the first groups of hirelings fell. The soldiers hid beneath their shields, forming lines and keeping their distance. Beneath a constant volley of arrows the golems advanced, pounding the warriors of Marin with hammers, cutting with swords, and piercing with spears. 'Master!' Natham shouted. 'This is my hour! Take the soldiers and lead them through the eastern gate.'
Whately's heart sunk as he nodded and called the warriors to his side. In one great movement the soldiers of Marin followed Whately and Lyris through the eastern gate, trampling to the ground those dwarves who withstood their flight. As she disappeared through the arched gateway, Lyris looked back and caught the eyes of the monster as he raged. Death hung upon his eyes, and the Marshall of Marin could see the end of his resolve. He meant not to return from that place alive. Her heart sank, and a tear washed down her dirty cheek.
'Gherzi!' the dwarves roared with delight 'Dhus!' they cried, which means to them both 'death' and 'revenge'. Natham rushed around the golems, with Admunth ever in front of him. He charged through the archers like a bull through wheat. He trampled the dwarves where they stood, the many dozens of arrows they had driven into the invulnerable shield acting like piercing horns. Hundreds of dwarves he slew in that hour, and several golems also. But in the end they surrounded him near the eastern gate and cast heavy chains around him. They bound his left and his right arms with great irons, the sort of which are forged to raise their enormous gates, not to shackle mortal men. His legs too they bound and his shield they pulled away. When all this had been done, one of the golems struck him in the face with his iron mallet. Natham's eyes were shut and his head hung down upon his breast.
Cheers rose up among the dwarves. They chanted 'Dhus! Dhus! Dhus!'
Another golem approached, this one bearing a great plume of iron spires upon its head, signifying the nobility of its rider. He was the one the dwarves call, 'Erekks' which is to say, 'Over-Master'.
He lifted his spear to strike their great enemy in the heart, but his stroke never fell. In that moment a slender javelin slipped through the eye slit of the invulnerable golem-mail, killing the rider instantly. Lyris stood just outside the city gates, with another spear ready to let fly. 'You shall not die alone, savior of Marin!' she cried out to Natham. But the monster said nothing, his head hung low as if he were dead. The golems raged and the dwarves rushed toward her. Soon she found herself in a ring of enemies, eagerly awaiting the smell of blood and the splattering of red.
One of the other golems took her into his fist and threw her against the wall. Her armor clattered and she fell to the ground, panting and groaning from the pain. The dwarves rushed upon her like vultures with their swords drawn and their axes raised above their heads. But they were all stopped in their tracks by a roar, the likes of which no mortal ear had ever heard before. Every eye turned, Lyris' also, and looked at the bound monster. His head yet hung low, and no sign of life was seen in his face. Yet another roar rent the air and every heart was filled with terror. With a great effort the mighty chains that bound his left arm were broken and the shriveled limb was let loose. Next the right arm was torn free and then the legs. The broken chains hung upon him like the tattered strings of an old garment of cloth. The monster rose to his feet. His left arm grabbed fiercely at the lump atop Natham's left shoulder and pulled the cloak aside. When the cloak fell to the ground many dwarves took to their heels. For beneath that cloak there was a blackened and scarred head with sharpened teeth and a powerful jaw. So hideous it was that Lyris wept at that instant, hiding her face in her arm.
The roar echoed through the hall again, this time unmuffled by the thick cloak under which he had for all these years remained hidden. He fell upon the golems with a fury that even those heartless beasts of war could not imagine. He tore their iron limbs off of their frames and wielded their gigantic dwarf-forged weapons against them. In that hour he made an end of the golems, and of perhaps many thousands of dwarves as well. He stood over the wounded Lyris like a lioness over her cubs. There he would have stayed, fighting and slaying until either the dwarves in their great numbers at last overtook him or until he, in his great rage, made an end of the dwarves of Zoar. But as he fought, biting, tearing and ripping his foes to pieces, he heard the voice of Whately calling from the east. 'Judan!' he called, 'It is not your hour!'
In that instant, Natham awoke and wrested control of his body once again from his infuriated brother. He lifted the wounded Marshall and carried her gently through the archway of Thlux and left the dwarf lands unhindered. Lyris was very weak as he bore her over the rocky terrain toward the east and then along the northern road toward Olgrost. With a great effort she removed her helmet and let it fall clattering upon the stony path. She looked again upon the two-headed beast that had once more rescued her. She lifted her left arm and put her soft hand upon the scarred face of Judan. Her kind hand reminded Natham of another kind hand, long forgotten. In all his life, this was only the second time a mortal hand had touched the face of his afflicted brother. Tears filled her eyes and she fell into a deep sleep in his arms.
Chapter VIII:
Into the West
Lyris
Lyris was taken back to Zomara, where she remained for many days in a deep sleep. She was kept alive on soup and water the whole while. During this time Natham and Whately took over her task of watching the Marches of Marin, though their efforts were never officially sanctioned or praised. Natham was still not permitted to enter the village of Zomara proper, and he was not permitted to come near his sick comrade, 'Lest she perish with a fright,' was the reason given by the Governess.
When another week had passed it was decided that Lyris should be sent to the Fortress of Marin itself where the Queen's own physicians could tend to her injuries.
On the first day of Messest she was whisked away before dawn by a caravan of Marin soldiers. It was their intention that she be removed from the monster's grasp, for his affection for her was all too apparent, and it made the peop
le of Marin uneasy. 'Who could tell what such a beast would do?' they asked one another.
Whately had in the meanwhile built for the monster and himself a nice house of wood and stone on the outside of the village walls. They were given land and a pair of strong oxen to help farm it. All throughout the summer of that year Natham and Whately labored in the fields, much as they had done in Rugna. And, also as it had been in Rugna, the land they tilled and tended became as lush as the queen's own gardens. The harvest finally came and Whately and Natham filled their purses with gold. It almost seemed to them, despite their constant sorrows, that their days of battle had drawn to a close. Though he wished to remain thus forever, Whately could see in the monster's face that he longed to speak with Lyris again, and to look upon her beautiful face. He never spoke of it, but it was ever in his eyes, and bore down upon him like a great burden.
On the second day of the following year, however, under a starry sky of unsurpassed clarity and beauty, Duri reappeared in Zomara. He had run the whole way from Marin Fortress, 'across the frozen lake itself,' he said as he excitedly told Natham his tale.
'I have not seen you much of late,' the monster said. 'Where have you been?'
'You must forgive me,' Duri said soberly, 'For I was in Marin Fortress with the Marshall Lyris.'
Natham's brow furrowed and his breath quickened. 'What news do you bring?' he demanded. 'Is she in good health? They have refused my every request for an account of her recovery.'
'She has recovered,' Duri said, 'but the wounds she received on Mount Zhagib have stayed with her all this time. She will wield neither spear nor shield again. Her bones have mended and her beauty is unmarred, but she has not, nor ever shall have the strength to march again to war.'
'That is a bitter fate for one such as she,' Natham lamented. 'For her spirit is strong and proud, and she loves her people deeply.'
'And yet her fate is bitterer still,' Duri said shaking his head. 'For Queen Marin is not the sort of vintner to leave off pressing until every drop has been drawn from the grape.'
'Speak on,' Natham demanded. 'I would know what has happened.'
'I have known that she resided in Marin, even as have you,' Duri said, 'And I have looked in upon her at times to see if she was well, for I know the affection you have toward her. And for all this time she has been well cared for. She was brought to the Queen's own apothecary and treated with the most expensive remedies. They filled the full measure of health and radiance back into her wounded body, until her hair once again stole away the mystery of midnight and until her eyes once more darkened the gleaming stars above.
'When her health was fully restored, she was brought as a guest of honor to the Queen's own table. This was more than a year ago. A great feast was being held at that time. She was given a gown of pure white silk to wear and a tiara of crystal was set in her hair. She was given a place of honor at the left side of Marin herself.
'To this feast came several men of the west. They were announced to the feast as Lords of Weldera, and they certainly appeared to be such. One of them was dark haired and clad in fine furs and rich garments of green and brown. Always they referred to him as 'Chieftain' or 'Wasterla', though I apprehend that these were simply titles and not his proper name. The other man was much taller and had silvery hair; I say silver and not gray, for he did not appear to me to be an aged man, but rather a man of unusual wisdom and learning. His clothing was dark and at his side he had a blade the likes of which I have not seen in king's halls or in dwarf-lords' hordes - though-' and Duri paused here for some time, 'I feel as though I have seen its like in some other placeÖ He was announced as a lord of Amla, a messenger from the Prince of that land. No council was taken at that feast, but the beauty of Lyris was pointed out to the man in furs. He looked upon her with hungry eyes, putting his hand to his beard as if he were devising some sort of plan.
'After this feast I heard the Queen speak these words: "In the ancient days, men lorded it over women cruelly, and the only power women had was in their wombs. With beauty they could be victorious where fists would avail them nothing. Our Mother indeed was a bold woman. But she had great strength and skill, enough to triumph over the stupid men of her age. But in our day, the blood of Marin grows thin and the great lords of the west are waxing mighty. Shall Marin then be left to rot if she cannot find it within herself to discover power where she yet possesses it? It is to the womb that we must look once more. By beauty, then, shall Lyris serve the Quendom, bringing to us security in a place where strength of arms would be insufficient. She will do much to gain for us that which we have ever desired."
'What is the meaning of this?' Natham asked, puzzled. 'And why have you not spoken of it, though it came to pass more than a year ago?'
'I knew not its meaning,' Duri said. 'But now, when it has come to pass, I remembered her dark council, and her greedy eyes. Not three days have passed since Lyris the Blind-Maiden, the one whose kindness is undaunted by your ugliness, was carried into the west to be a prize for some Western barbarian. Even now she is being brought into the west to board the barbarian's vessel and come by the Kollun Sea to the land of Weldera. The gleam that I was so glad to see returned to her green eyes was darkened and her countenance fell as she was spirited away under the cover of night. She had the look of a prisoner being led to the gallows. To Dalta City she is being carried even as we speak. I rushed, as I said before, across land and lake, thicket and highway, to warn you of this tragedy, for you know that I cannot do anything to save her with my own hands.'
When Natham told all of these things to his Master, Whately's face turned to white. He rose from his seat and began to rush about the room, gathering things and tossing them into a leather sack. 'We cannot delay, even for a moment,' he said sternly. 'We must be on the highway within an hour's time.'
As they gathered their things Whately began to speak to Natham of what was to come. 'We must overtake them ere they leave these shores,' he said without explaining. 'If we fail to do this then all we have labored for in this country will have been in vain. Take with you Adfaro, for he is the swiftest of our horses and he alone among our steeds can carry the weight of Admunth. I will bring Steia; she will be sufficient for my needs. It may be, my dear Natham, that this will be our final journey together. If we come not to the port ere Lyris' escort, then we must part ways, for I cannot return to Weldera. An oath binds me and forbids me.'
They left by moonlight and traveled due west along the country roads until they came to the Olmar road, which travels between Nikol and Marin. On this road they hurried almost without stopping until the sun sank into the west on the following evening. After a short rest they resumed their pace and passed the Fortress of Marin on the seventh day from their departure. For another week they traveled west, until at last they came to the great city of Dalta, where the great Malent elf-king had once ruled. They passed the stone arches of the entrance without so much as glancing upon the reliefs that adorned every inch of the walls and pillars. Marble statues of unsurpassed beauty were strewn about the city's streets, but these they passed with as little attention as they gave to the gravel beneath their feet. They pressed on over great stone bridges the likes of which no mortal can build and finally to that sacred harbor where the elves first set foot in Olgrost, according to their histories.
But it was all for naught. The ship was gone, it had left the harbor the night before, they were told, carrying Lyris and the barbarian lord into the west.
So it was that Whately brought the Monster of Vestron from the eastern shores of that continent where they had been shipwrecked all the way to the western shores of Olgrost, where the seagulls fly above the Kollun sea. But no further could they travel together. Tears streamed from Whately's face as he spoke. 'In my youth I slew a man. In the pride and folly of youth I accepted a challenge from a weaker man and fought him to the death, taking from him all that he possessed. In those days I traveled the lands of Weldera freely, buying and selling and growing wealthy
. But my injustice would not leave me. When I went to sleep at night it lay down beside me as it were, for my wife belonged to him whom I slew. When I rode upon my horse it came beneath me, for the steed was the steed of him whom I slew. Everywhere I went the shame of my pride followed behind, until I despaired of life altogether. A darkness fell upon me one day as I rode through the dark forests of Falsis, and I fell into a deep sleep even as I rode upon my horse. I struck a branch and fell to the ground as a dead man. That night, as I lay upon the empty road, the stars reeled overhead and disclosed to me, it seemed, all their judgments. Damned I was,' Whately wept, Damned for my great folly and pride. In that hour I was commanded, by whom I do not know, that the next soul that I encounter would ask me to perform a task that would draw me away from Weldera forever. That task required of me an oath, that the child that was in that day delivered into my care would never be brought by me to the land of Weldera where he had been born. I swore as I was bidden, and I have feared this day ever since. I cannot return to that land with you, for nothing good ever comes of a broken oath. But you,' Whately lamented, 'You are ever-faithful. I know that you must go to Weldera and save your beloved from the ambitions of callous lords. She alone of mortals, has treated you with kindness unmingled. May the lords of heaven bring fortune to your feet. Goodbye, my son.'
There beside the crashing waves of the Kollun Sea the Monster of Vestron and his Master bid one another farewell for the last time.