by Greg Curtis
Yorik didn't want to go there. He knew the sylph would not welcome them. And it was so far away that it felt like they were riding away from the battle when they should be fighting. But if anyone knew how to fight Mayfall it was them. And he had to be fought. He had to be killed. Yorik had to finally kill him.
In the end this was all his fault. These dead should be laid at his feet. And the only thing he could do was try to stop too many more joining them. That was his purpose. His only purpose. To kill Mayfall.
After that he could kill himself.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
The party were travelling along the southern road leading through Gerwindar when they came across the dwarf. Actually he came upon them as they were stopped for the evening and doing nothing more than thinking about preparing their evening meal.
He was a trader by the looks of things, riding a wagon being pulled by a pit pony. Given that the sun had set and the sky was darkening it was a surprise to see him travelling. Besides, they weren't yet near the dwarven city of Iron Deep and the dwarves did not trade a lot with the gnomes. They did not have good relations with them. They did not have good relations with many people.
To the dwarves the elves and dryads were tree people; primitives scarcely worthy of recognition. Satyrs were swamp lovers, little more than animals. Humans were savages and primitives but capable warriors and the dwarves respected them for that at least. They also had the best trading markets and plenty of gold to sell. The giants who lived in the mountains above them were their best regarded neighbours. They respected them for their strength. But they still didn't consider them their equals.
With the gnomish the dwarves' dislike was centred on their rivalry. Dwarves survived by trade. They tore the ores from the ground and used them to fashion their wares. And to give them their due dwarves were incredibly capable artisans when it came to metal wares.
But the gnomes were equally capable as artisans and unlike the dwarves they welcomed the use of magic in their wares. In fact they normally enchanted them. And so when the merchants sold their wares in the various markets, the dwarves and the gnomes were bitter rivals, often undercutting each other and deriding the others' wares. Certainly they never traded with one another.
So to see the dwarven trader riding towards them in gnomish lands came as a surprise. But more so than that was the fact that his wagon was empty. If he was passing through Gerwindar heading for the nearer human realms to trade he should have had a wagon loaded down with wares. Instead, even under the darkening sky they could see that the deck of the wagon was empty.
Still, they sat on the side of the road as he approached and waited patiently for him to reach them, knowing that he could only be coming from Iron Deep. Even though he would not be friendly he might at least be able to tell them how to proceed and who they could speak to if they were to enter the dwarven realm. Especially if they could find some coin to throw his way. They didn't have to wait long.
“Out of the way tree rats!”
The dwarf waved his arm angrily at them. But strangely Genivere thought, he didn't sound so much dismissive of them as he did angry. Not with them though. He barely even seemed to notice them. His gesture was simply a habit. There was something wrong.
“We would like to speak Master Dwarf.”
The captain wasn't going to be put off by the dwarf's rudeness. It was after all, only what they'd expected.
“I have no words for your kind.”
At least she'd caught the dwarf's attention and made him look up at her instead of at the back of his pony. He still sounded angry though. But his face spoke of misery and his hand did not go near the pole axe lying on the seat beside him.
Genivere suddenly felt concerned for the dwarf. It was an unusual thing to feel for one of his people. They were angry and insolent, arrogant and always spoiling for a fight. They were dangerous too, inordinately strong despite their small stature, and quick with their tempers and weapons both. But this one carried the weight of grief in his eyes.
“Who do you mourn dwarf?” Genivere asked the question no one else seemed willing to ask and ignored the captain when she turned to look at her.
“My people. My city. My home.”
He stared straight at her and she saw the truth of his words in his stone grey eyes. She saw the anger too in the set of his shoulders and the rigidity of his jaw.
“We too grieve for friends. And for copses torn from the world.”
“Everyone grieves. And many more tears will be shed before that vile creature is finally laid to rest. Rivers will flow and lakes will be filled from them. Mark my words tree rats. I Belabas Coldfist of Iron Deep promise you that.”
He wasn't threatening them; he was stating something that he believed to be true, and that did not settle well with Genivere. Nor with any of the others.
“Vile creature?” Captain Ysabel asked.
“The thane! The thane, you moon addled whelp!”
The dwarf yelled it at the captain as if it should mean something. But it didn't mean much at all to them save to Genivere, and it didn't mean that much to her. She knew the term from somewhere. But she couldn't place it. Not just then. Maybe in time it would come to her.
“You've been fighting a magistrate?”
Captain Ysabel asked the question, completely ignoring the disrespect shown to her. But then Belabas was a dwarf. He would always be expected to be disrespectful to their people, and this wasn't their land. It was the gnome's realm. It would be different if the dwarf had come to them and started calling them names in their own home.
“No!” Something about her question seemed to have incensed the dwarf even more. “Has the green gone to your brain woman?”
“The thane. The destroyer of realms. Leveller of cities. Killer of millions. Bane of the sylph.”
“I don't understand. I've never heard of this thane. Who is he? What is he?”
But even as the captain asked Genivere was finally remembering where she'd heard the word before. It was the dwarf's mention of the sylph that had reminded her.
“Captain, almost a thousand years ago the thane came among the sylph and destroyed their cities, killed millions, and turned their land into a rocky waste. He was said to be a wizard of immense power. One against whom all the others put together could not stand.”
Which, when she thought about it reminded her uncomfortably of another incredibly powerful wizard they'd encountered only a few weeks before. One who had been busy destroying small villages and towns.
“Ahh a dryad.”
The dwarf did not seem impressed by her or her knowledge as he stared at her once more, having apparently noticed her ears. “The only people even more addled than the elves. But for once the stupid tree rat is right.”
“The thane destroyed the Land of The Sky long ago and now it seems he's returned and decided to attack the honest miners of Iron Deep. He has murdered at least fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand?” The captain's voice trailed off in shock.
“At least. So many more are still buried in Iron Deep that we'll never know the true number.”
Genivere believed him. She didn't often believe dwarves. They lied a lot. But the truth was written in his face and she could hear it in his voice. It was there in the anger too. He wasn't angry for what had been done to him and his group. He was angry because it covered the grief. He had lost people. Friends and family. And he couldn't yet face that truth head on. So he yelled instead.
“How?”
“Magic. Power. How does a thane do anything?” As quickly as it had come the dwarf's anger vanished to be replaced by bitterness once more.
“Kindly tell us what happened Master Belabas.” Genivere decided to try a more polite approach. Dwarves didn't like it, but they surely hated it less than the captain's almost challenging tone. “We have been riding through the villages of my people that have been destroyed. Ripped from the world while their remains and much of the forest has been covered
in disease. An undead disease that will not even burn clean. It may be that this is the same creature's work.”
“Aye fool girl. It is.”
He didn't know that. He had to be guessing she thought. But he sounded certain of his words.
“This thane is busy destroying the world one town and one city at a time. Iron Deep was simply the first city he set his murderous eyes on.”
An entire city destroyed? It was unthinkable. And yet she knew it was true. She knew it because she suddenly understood what he was doing driving an empty wagon north.
“You carry the names Master Belabas?”
And that was the cargo he carried. One of no size and that could not be seen. But one that was yet heavier than all the stone in the world. He was carrying the names of the dead to their kith and kin in the other realms. They would be written in the book sitting on the seat beside him. The book that his pole axe was laid across.
“That is my task.”
He nodded at her, for once not rudely. But then he would not be rude when the names of his clan's dead were on his heart. Dwarves had few decent customs about them, but that was one they did observe. That the names of their dead and insults should not be uttered in the same breath.
“Please tell us what happened that their deaths may be observed.”
“You know our ways girl.”
The dwarf did not seem impressed by that. He would probably have much preferred to simply carry on his way. But custom had to be observed. Even when it was in the company of elves.
“Then you shall hear of the passing of the Iron Deep clan and know of their honour. And of the scourge that destroyed them.”
“It was after the final battle. We had finally been victorious against the plague of walking death that has beset us for months. Five thousand of our best had fallen to it, but at least three hundred thousand of our restless ancestors had been permanently laid to rest. We smashed all their bones until they were little more than powder and no foul mage will raise them again. Not even a dead one.”
“It was a glorious victory after a mighty battle, and we were celebrating. Every house on every street was alive with laughter and song. The ale and mead were flowing like water. Music was in the air and the people were dancing. It was to be a night to remember.”
“And then he came.”
Genivere wished he hadn't said that. It reminded her too much of Mayfall and how he had simply appeared out of nowhere. Wrapped until then behind a curtain of invisibility. And it reminded her of what he had done after.
“He arrived without warning. Without ever having been allowed through the city gates. He was just there. This annoying human. Calling us runts and telling us we'd annoyed him by destroying his army.”
“No one believed him of course. No one really cared about him. A few guards went to arrest him and throw him out. But only because he was upsetting people. In truth we just wanted him gone.”
“And then he shouted. A sound that wasn't at all human. Not when it ran from one end of Iron Deep to the other. When it echoed from the cavern ceiling hundreds of feet above our heads. When we could feel it in the stone under our feet. And we knew then that he was some sort of wizard. Someone with that foul magic your people so love.”
“Dozens of guards ran for him then, but they were without hope. He laughed at them, and they were blown away. Sent flying into the air far faster than any arrow ever given flight, only to smash into the cavern walls. Smashed so hard that their bodies broke. And he laughed as their broken bodies tumbled to the ground.”
Genivere felt sick when she heard him say that. All she could see as he spoke was Yorik's broken body being hurled with frightening power into the temple wall. All she could hear was the sickening sound as his body and his armour had both been broken on it. She guessed the others were thinking much the same as her. Still she said nothing. This wasn't the time or the place.
“Then with the merest flick of his fingers he sent others the same way and soon there were hundreds of my people hurtling through the air.” Master Belabas sighed in pain. “Hurtling through the air until they hit a wall or fell back to earth and hit the stone beneath them.”
“People were running, screaming in panic. The women and children tried to flee. They tried to hide. But he would have none of it. He caught them and sent them flying to their deaths as well, laughing each time as if it was somehow amusing. The men tried to fight, but lasted no longer. All they did was amuse him. But they distracted him while those who could not fight found shelter or distance.”
“The guards hit him with a cannon eventually. They'd wheeled one into place behind him while he was laughing, and they fired it at him from thirty feet away. It did nothing. The shot ran right through him as though he wasn't there. All the attack did was to make him laugh some more. And then he melted the cannon and the guards who had fired it into the stone floor. He did the same to those who attacked him with crossbows or ran at him with spears. There was nothing we could do. His magic was simply too powerful.”
“And so he carried on. For twenty minutes, maybe more. He killed hundreds, perhaps thousands like that. And the only reason he stopped was because he grew tired of it.
“Then, when he was done laughing he told us that he'd had enough. He announced it as if it was some important proclamation that everyone should hear. He said he was bored.”
Genivere wanted to say something then. To say perhaps that at least he had given up before everyone was killed. But she said nothing because she knew there was more to come. Something even more terrible. So she kept quiet and let the captain simply ask him to continue.
“He brought the roof down.”
For the first time the dwarf was quiet, almost whispering the words at them. As if he didn't to say them. As if saying them out loud might make them real.
“Pardon?”
“He brought the roof down you vapid moon calf!” The dwarf snapped at her, his voice suddenly louder than ever.
“He reached up with his magic into the mountain above us and started sending blasts of whatever foul sorcery it is that he has into it. Three hundred, four hundred feet above us he shattered stone as though it was fine crystal.”
“Rocks the size of houses began tumbling everywhere, crashing down on us. And where they hit they crushed whoever was beneath them, before cracking into pieces that shot off in all directions and killed anyone else that was nearby.”
“Buildings, our great stone castles were no challenge to them. They were crushed. Houses, shops, halls even our castle. They simply collapsed as the rocks smashed into them. Nothing could survive that. And even those who had taken shelter in them were in danger.”
“So we ran. We couldn't stop him. We couldn't touch him. We couldn't hide from him. And we couldn't reason with him – he just laughed uproariously as these huge stones began destroying our world. His arms were raised high above his head, he was smiling from ear to ear like a foul human drunk on mead, and he looked as though he was about to burst into song. Despite the fact that he was bringing the rocks down upon himself as well. But of course they couldn't hurt him. When one landed on him he simply walked out from its remains as if he were only a ghost and carried on.”
“So we ran like frightened mice before the cat, dragging the wounded and the young and weak with us, and behind us our home of a thousand years was destroyed. Buried beneath the mountain it was carved into. Those that could escape ran. He was too amused watching the rest of us die that he didn't care if a few of us escaped.”
“And then?” The captain prodded him gently.
“Then I don't know. Ten, twenty thousand of us made it outside to the safety of the open blue sky. The destruction carried on behind us and we could see nothing of what was inside. Tens of thousands more surely made it down into the safety of the deep tunnels and distant chasms. Many more were surely still working in the mines. They are being dug out even now but we have no thought as to how many that may be.”
“But of
the wizard, nothing. He did not appear again. He did not leave the city – at least not by the gate.”
“We should have killed him.” Finally the anger had gone and the pain had returned as the dwarf looked to the ground, almost whispering. “We should have torn his heart out.”
“But you could not Master Belabas,” Genivere said gently. “He was beyond your power. There is no shame in not being able to defeat a greater enemy.”
Though she was trying to bring the dwarf comfort her words only succeeded in making the dwarf angry.
“Not then green fool!” He snapped at her. “When he first came among us. Before he was a thane. We should have beheaded him there and then. He was a criminal and a coward then and we owed him nothing. He was human after all. Being hunted by those human knights. Many then said we should kill him. Others said we should just send him away. Everyone knew he would bring trouble to us. But a few soft hearted women said we should care for him. He was wounded and bleeding. He’d been chased by the sylph and their puppets the Iron Hand to the limits of his flesh. And we have no love of those winged vermin.”