The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1

by Ryan Copeland

  The closer this new dwarf got to them, the more unlike the Shaman it appeared. The new dwarf was thinner, perhaps, but curvier at the hips and waist. The dwarf brandished its own blond beard that was shorter than the Shaman’s, with a bright fair complexion that shown out from its whiskers. Deep smoldering kind blue eyes looked out at them over great bushy eyebrows and a pronounced forehead.

  “Pay him no mind, sir,” a fair voice said from the bushel of blond beard in front of them. “He only pretends to run my village, but he has surely forgotten his manners. And his place”

  “You’re a…a…lady?” Michael stammered.

  “Are ladies a mythical species to you as well?” she said with a laugh and gesture for the surrounding dwarves to rise and depart.

  “Forgive my friend,” Tiberius said. “It’s just that, up until recently, we didn’t even know dwarves still roamed these lands much less imagined that a lady dwarf would…well, you know.”

  She chuckled at what Tiberius meant. “Aye, son. We dwarf women would look like our mates to your eyes. Though, to be honest, our disposition is much more tempered than theirs. Now, who are you gentlemen and your lady companion?”

  “She is Shayla Rider, Dragon Knight of the Axton Empire. This young fellow is Michael Deerborn, Mage of the Magi Brotherhood. And I--,”

  “We know who you are, King’s Son,” she interrupted with a raised hand and a broad toothy smile. “Even if you looked nothing like him, which you do, you carry the sword of Alexander Axton. And we would recognize that blade anywhere”

  “How do you know that this sword is his?” Tiberius asked. It was not widely known, even in the empire, that the emperor’s sword had been Alexander’s own weapon.

  “Which dwarf do you think reforged it for him, King’s Son?” she asked, beckoning him to show her the blade.

  He unbuckled his weapon, unsure what the lady dwarf would do with it, and gently handed it to her. She took a moment to inspect the scabbard before unsheathing it. Not a single detail went unnoticed by her keen fair eyes. The blade still looked new and unused though it had seen far more bloodshed and war than any other weapon in the whole of the empire. She smiled again at Tiberius and knelt in front of him, extending the sword over her head.

  Slowly Tiberius reached out and reclaimed his sword and sheathed it again. The dwarf stood and placed her hand on his chest. “The Father has indeed blessed us to be amongst the Axton emperors again.”

  “I’m not the emperor yet, my lady,” he replied stoically.

  “No, my boy, not yet. But his blood flows through you. You carry his face and you wield his sword. You command all who enter your presence with firmness and kindness.” In a soft, steady voice, she lowered her head and said, “You are The Spirit of The Warrior, boy. Made flesh and returned amongst us.”

  Something profound stirred in his soul. Like ancient locks opening for the first time in a thousand years, he knelt to face the dwarf and said, “The Spirit of The Warrior will always be with you, my lady.”

  “Excuse me. I’m terribly confused,” Michael interrupted.

  “We first spoke these words to Alexander the day he freed us from our bondage, and it pleases us to see that the bonds of brotherhood and commitment to justice and duty have not been abandoned by his descendants. The Spirit of The Warrior roams the world beyond with his vast host of heroes. He is the keeper of order and the champion of the oppressed. It was by his intervention in the matters of our mortal realm that he came down to free us from slavery so many years ago.”

  “That is a beautiful belief, my lady. But what does it mean exactly?” Shayla asked. She had heard the rangers of the empire repeat it to one another since she had arrived in their homeland a year ago, yet she still had no idea what meaning its words invoked.

  “We dwarves believe in the spirits of old, young lady,” the woman said as a mother instructing her child. “The Spirits of the Water and Ground that bring forth bountiful harvests. The Spirits of the Sky who were created by the Father Frijigzah to shape and mold our world. And the Spirit of the Warrior is the one who brought order to the chaos of the world. The one who protects and champions the defenseless.”

  Tiberius bowed at the honor. Though the rangers had long passed this greeting to one another, hearing it recited from the one who first taught it to his ancestors brought an overwhelming sense of pride and humility to him.

  “Please, come, my young friends,” she said, motioning for the companions to join her by the fire.

  The three companions turned to follow her to the now-empty bonfire, Michael slowly shuffling along lost in thought.

  “Pardon, me ma’am,” Michael said, taking a seat, “But what is your name?”

  “Catherine,” she replied. “Catherine Stonefoot.”

  “Tis a fair name,” Michael said respectfully.

  “Many names I’ve been called, young one, but fair is not one of them,” she said with a laugh. “Now, before you leave, I must ask where it is you are going that has brought you so far north and attracted the demons of the world to waylay you.”

  The companions looked to one another before Tiberius explained the gravity of their mission and what they were hoping to find at the dwarven ruin. At the mention of the beast that attacked them on their journey, a deep booming noise echoed throughout the village. The three companions turned to see the Shaman, still rooted in place.

  “We do not speak of such things here, boy!” the Shaman exclaimed.

  “Brusgrik! Shame on ye, for your inhospitality!” Catherine shouted at her fellow dwarf.

  “Damn, inhospitality, Stonefoot! These three have brought a plague upon us!”

  “Thrakeluhm!” Catherine roared. “Rodeul eiinos! Where is this plague you speak so boldly of!? Hold your tongue, Brusgrik!”

  The Shaman glared at the companions before hurrying off out of sight. The three companions watched him go before turning their attention back to Catherine. Her stern face melted, and a warm smile reappeared on her face.

  “I must apologize for Brusgrik. He means well, but unfortunately, is not as sensitive to the plights of outsiders as I am. As for what is going on in the world outside, I am deeply sorry for your troubles. There is little advice I can give you on your way forward except to say the path you seek is indeed the right one.”

  “So, the outpost is real,” Michael said.

  “Yes, it is young one. Our people were compelled by the Father’s will to travel there, and to build.”

  “What else did you build there?” Shayla asked, her innate distrust betraying her calm, calculated exterior.

  “We toiled and built many things there over the years. We thought it would be our new home, away from the troubles and wars of the world. But after a time, we felt the whispers of the Father upon our spirits. He bid us turn our attention to building something else. Something wonderful and terrible though we did not know its purpose. We only felt the need to complete it. And to use it.”

  “What was it?” The Mage asked wide-eyed.

  “It was a machine,” the dwarf replied in reverence, “one that we believed would allow us to communicate with our Father. But alas, it was not so.

  “We had not heard of a machine there. What did it do?” Tiberius asked.

  She thought for a moment, measuring her answers. Then after many heavy moments of silence said, “It took us somewhere beyond this world. To a place that our people call The Deep. A place where dwarves are free to build and learn and discover and thrive undying forever. But the term ‘Deep’ doesn’t really describe this place at all.”

  The companions looked amongst each other again, not quite sure of how to take her cryptic words. They had never heard of ‘The Deep’ before, but they felt they understood her meaning well enough.

  “If you go there and turn on the machine, you’ll see these things for yourselves. But if you choose to return, you won’t clearly recall it all. To us who have gone and returned, it felt more like a dream. A vivid, wonderful dream, but
still a dream.”

  “We not seek a machine, ma’am,” Tiberius said. “We only seek answers to the mystery of magic.”

  “Then I must say your quest for knowledge will be in vain, son of Alexander. We took all of our books and scrolls with us into The Deep.”

  “If this place was so wonderful, then why did you and your people return?” Shayla asked.

  “Not all of us did,” a sad, familiar voice uttered.

  They all turned to see the Shaman had rejoined them, standing just outside the ring in which they communed. “Many of our people stayed in that place. But the rest of us,” he paused, trying to conjure the words, “Just as strongly as we were compelled to venture to the realm of the undying, we were compelled to return and settle here.”

  “We built many things when we returned,” Catherine continued. “We sent our creations out into the world so that they may be used by all who sought out justice and peace. We forged the first wands for the Magi in secret and delivered them to the first High Sorcerer. We spread our knowledge of craft and brewing to all who would seek it.”

  “You created the first wands for the Magi?” Michael asked, his voice growing excited.

  “Aye, lad. We did. When we returned from The Deep, we found new knowledge and new desires to build had been placed in us by the Father himself. The wands, a way for the Magi to make magic real, was the first thing we created.”

  “You created the first wands for the Magi” Michael asked, his voice growing excited.

  “Aye, lad. We did indeed. When we returned from The Deep, we found new knowledge and new desires to build inside of us. The wands, and way for the Magi to make magic real, were the first things we created. When we came to these shores, the Magi only had the wands and staves they had brought with them. As clever as they were, they had not the mind or knowledge for creating new ones. Alas, all the knowledge of building new wands they left in their library across the sea.”

  A sudden idea struck Michael. “Ma’am, if I may, did you make this wand?” he asked, producing the ebony and ivory wand from his cloak.

  The two dwarves stared, frozen in shock and amazement. Not at all the reaction Michael or his companions would have imagined they would have received at seeing the wand. The Shaman reached for the wand, which Michael gently handed over. He turned it over several times in his rough hands. He brought it close to his ears as if listening to some hidden symphony. A small smile formed on his hard mouth, and he closed his eyes in pure joy.

  After a moment, he handed the wand over to Catherine, who mimicked his same movements. When she spoke, at last, it was whispered and solemn. “This wand, my young friend, was not made by our hands. But it is the nearest and dearest creation in the whole world to us.”

  A frown grew on the Mage’s young face. “If you did not make this wand, then who did? Where did it come from?”

  “This wand,” the Shaman started before a lump grew in his throat. “This wand was made by the Father himself. When we awoke in the deep caverns of the north, I held this very wand in my hands. I could feel the Father’s presence in the wand, and I could hear the music of his halls in the wood.”

  “Brusgrik and I toiled for nigh on ten years to reproduce its splendor, but were unable to even match it,” Catherine added. “How did you come by this?”

  “The High Sorcerer of the Magi gave it to me before we departed,” Michael replied, confused. “He said he found it amongst his predecessors belongings.”

  “Curious that such a thing would be left unattended. Other wands were fashioned in the same manner, but none carried the true blessings of The Father as this one was.”

  “If you awoke with this wand, then why send it away?” Tiberius cut in. “Such a thing should be held as a token of your people.”

  More sadness grew on the two dwarf’s faces. “As in all things, we follow the will of the Father,” Catherine explained. “The Father bid us send this wand to the Magi. After all, we dwarves have no need for such things to summon magic. It flows through us like a river that we can reach in and draw out at will.”

  “Ma’am, if I be so bold. Could magic still be used with it!” Michael exclaimed.

  “That would explain how you were able to repel the beast that attacked you in the woods.”

  She handed the wand back to Michael who stared at it reverently. “I don’t know if I am worthy to carry such a thing,” he said after some contemplation. “By all rights, this wand belongs to your people. I am but a lowly mage.”

  “I do not know how the fates conspired for it be placed in your care, but it was brought to you nonetheless. It is a treasure above all others in the world. It is yours to wield. And wield it well.”

  Michael slowly took the heavy wand in his hands and bowed his head at the woman’s words. The burden of carrying something fashioned by The Father himself began to weigh on him. Not to mention possessing the only wand capable of drawing magic.

  “Lady Stonefoot, our aim is to find the outpost that your people built,” Tiberius said. “Will you journey with us to that place?”

  “Alas, King’s Son, but we cannot,” the dwarf replied.

  “Why can’t you?” Shayla asked. “Your people were the ones who built it. You should be able to look on your own works again.”

  “Once we left the place our people now dwell, we were forbidden from ever returning. Now we remain here, the last of the dwarves,” the Shaman answered.

  A great sadness took hold of Michael, such as he had never experienced. The thought that these were the last people of the ancient and mythical race of dwarves moved him to tears.

  “Do not cry, young Mage,” Catherine said, wiping his tears away. “I have given you knowledge to aid you in your journey, and now a gift for you that I hope will be of use.”

  She motioned the Shaman to come closer, and from within his deep billowing robes, he produced a massive leather-bound tome. He gently handed it to Michael, who stared blankly at the large book.

  “This is the history of our people, young one,” Catherine said. “From when we first awoke in the deep mountains of Narzeth to today. This book has passed through many hands and traveled thousands of miles, and now it is yours. I pray to the Father that you use it wisely and keep it as a token of our people. You have all you need to see your venture through to the end.”

  Michael looked at the dwarves, his face hardening with resolve. “I shall carry this the rest of my days. You and your people will never be forgotten in the empire.”

  “We thank you, child,” Catherine said. “Though I would venture to say that our paths might cross again.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tiberius asked.

  “There are things in motion that you cannot perceive with your human eyes, but we are able to see with our own. The will of the Father is stirring, and where his will leads, we will follow,” she replied before standing. The companions followed suit, unsure of what was to come next.

  “Now, it is time for you all to depart our home.”

  “But I have many more questions to ask of you,” Michael started but was quieted by Catherine’s raised hand.

  “You have all lingered long enough,” she said. Without another word, she and the Shaman began to walk away from the ring they all had conversed, the companions moving quickly to keep up.

  Small dwarven faces peered out of the stone huts as the companions walked, some smiling happily, others sad at their departure. Sorrow overtook Michael at the thought of never seeing these smiling dwarven children again, but a renewed purpose drove him to complete their journey.

  After a brief walk, they arrived at the village's edge to find their belongings stacked neatly against a grey stone hut. Once they were laden with their belongings, Tiberius bowed low and said, “Thank you for all you’ve done for us, Catherine Stonefoot. I pray that whatever conflict is brewing in the world does not come to you and your people.”

  “Thank you, King’s Son,” she replied, returning her own bow. “I hope for
that as well, but I have a small notion that we will be drawn into whatever events are moving in the world abroad. We dwarves are closer to magic than any other creature that walks the world. Now, please be off and do not falter in your path. Whatever evils may be brewing outside, it is not time yet for you to engage them.”

  “I wish it were an easy thing to put them out of my mind,” Tiberius admitted. “But I know sooner or later I will be called to answer the threats looming in the empire.”

  “You very well might find that those threats lie upon the road that you and your companions travel,” she replied with a wry smile. “For now, whatever you do, do not abandon your path.”

  “And how do you know that?” Tiberius asked, surprised.

  “I don’t know, but call it a feeling,” she replied, her smile never abandoning her face.

  Tiberius bowed his head in reverence to her wisdom and turned to lead his companions out into the wild once again. The sun was quickly setting at their backs, and they would have many miles to put between them and their hosts before making camp for the night. But as they left, they each turned to look on the dwarven village one last time, each silently acknowledging this was perhaps the last time they would look on this place of comfort and knowledge.

  Chapter 14

  The Companions

  Their pace was slow as they moved through the frozen woods in silence. The wood was heavy with an unnatural stillness, appropriate for the weight that each of them bore. The sun was setting low to their left, the last few rays of welcoming light were creeping lower and lower while dim stars were beginning to shine over them. In a few hours, their journey would be marred in thick blackness. They didn't know what to say after all they had learned during their brief respite in the dwarven village. Even if the three companions had the words to say, they dared not speak them for fear of being called a coward.