Tygahl caught Tiberius’s eye from the doorway and stood at once. He raised his large flagon above him and proclaimed in a loud booming voice, “Hail! Commander Tiberius of the Imperial Rangers!”
Cries of “Hail!” sounded out around the room, rattling the wooden building down to its foundations. Tiberius bowed his head in humility to the praise offered by the people. It had been many long years since he had walked amongst the people from the north and he had forgotten their resilience was unmatched by any other kingdom in the Axton Empire. After the cheering died down, he began to move through the crowded inn to take his seat next Shayla at the bar. She offered him a broad smile and leaned close to him.
“Like I said, once the big man had some decent food in him his whole mood changed.”
Tiberius chuckled at her words, and said, “You will find northerners often are at their best after a few plates of breakfast, and a few potent cups of coffee, my friend.”
He had sat chatting with Shayla and Tygahl for a while when Constance came rushing into the room. All eyes followed her as she quickly approached Tiberius, who rose to greet her.
“Sir, messages just came in,” she reported exasperated. “A detachment is on its way here from the capital at all haste.”
“Excellent news indeed!” Tiberius said, clasping Tygahl’s back. “They will surely bring medicine for these people and reinforcements to protect against—"
“I’m sorry, sir, but there is more,” she interrupted, her voice grim. “A red dove arrived at the emperor’s rookery last night. A red dove bearing the figure of a white bear against the snowy mountains.”
Tiberius's body stiffened at those words. All of time around him seemed to stop, and for a moment, his mind went numb as he tried to process what he had just heard. But then all at once, his heart began to race, his blood boiled, and his stomach turned over. Whatever anger he had held at bay was starting to rekindle inside him.
Shayla stepped towards the Ranger and asked, “What does that mean?”
Tiberius steadied himself, trying to force his anger at bay. “In the days before the empire, the clans of our land would send doves to one another. A white dove meant peace, a blue dove for requesting a parlay. And a red dove---”
“War,” Shayla finished for him.
“Best take this outside, my friends. Tygahl join us, please,” he whispered before pushing through the throng of people.
Once they emerged from the inn and walked a small distance from the door, Constance continued the message. “The message also said the King’s banners have been recalled and his army is marshalled in White Fyre. The city has been completely garrisoned by his forces. The people who lived there have been kicked out of the city and their homes. The King is on his way there to take command.”
Tiberius seethed with rage at the news. Shayla, in turn, looked hard at her companion and asked, “Isn’t Michael from White Fyre?”
“Aye,” he replied, shaking with rage. “That is his home. Or rather, it was his home.”
“How did our forces get such information so quickly?” Tygahl asked.
“I would suspect these things have happened since our quest began. Undoubtedly, the emperor was waiting till we made contact with him to reveal all that has happened,” Tiberius replied, his mind fast at work.
“Why would the King garrison his men in Michael’s home?” Shayla asked.
“White Fyre is the largest port in the empire,” Tygahl explained. “If he controls the port, then trade from across the sea is impossible.”
“Why would he care about the trade from across the sea when he is marshalling for war?”
“Countries to the west of our empire trade goods with us such as iron ore and golden string. Materials we use in smithing our arms and building our homes,” Tiberius said. “He also can’t have his army encircled and can make a hasty retreat.”
“The King’s navy is the largest in our country outside of the Imperial Navy,” Tygahl added.
“Before we jump to conclusions, how can we be sure this letter is even real? Who wrote it?” Shayla interjected.
Constance held the letter for Tiberius to read himself. He felt his heart skip a beat as soon as his eyes saw the beautiful and elegant handwriting on the parchment. A faint smell of roses and sunflowers flooded his senses, and dreams of a far off cottage in the woods came crashing on him.
He turned to the Dragon Knight, and with a lump growing in his throat, said, “My First Sergeant Trevin wrote this letter. I would know his handwriting anywhere in the world, and I believe his words to be true.”
The four stood in silence for a moment, trying to decide what to do next when Shayla asked, “Did the letter say when this detachment would be here?”
“No, ma’am, it did not,” Constance answered. “But if this letter was indeed written by First Sergeant Moore, then he would not openly say what their plans would be.”
“The man wants a war,” Tiberius uttered without thinking. His whole body shook with anger, and his heart began to pound as if he were in the thick of battle. He looked between the three of them into the square with a clenched jaw and said, “So be it. The man will have war.”
“Father preserve,” Tygahl muttered.
“There was something else,” Constance said.
“Oh, gods bless it, what else?” Shayla exclaimed.
“One of the villagers on guard thought they saw men in the trees early this morning. When we went to investigate, we saw no track or sign of disturbance, but if there are scouts out in the wild, they won’t leave much of a trace, even to us.”
Tiberius stood still for a minute before turning again to his Ranger. “Take the men and scout wide around the village. When you’re done, report back to Master Rogers. Tygahl, I request you give twenty of your most able-bodied men to continue the watch. Until we receive our reinforcements, we will dig in here.”
Tygahl placed his hand on his chest and bowed, the Imperial sign of respect. “My lord, me and my people are at your command. We will gladly follow your lead in defending our homes.”
Constance and Tygahl bowed at Tiberius’s orders and departed to retrieve their men. After they had departed, Tiberius turned to Shayla, his face filled anger and confusion, and said, “I fear our journey must be put on hold, my friend. War and death surround our country.”
“Things have indeed changed,” Shayla finished. “I am torn though, Tiberius. On the one hand, I would wish to fight against this evil that has infested our home. But on the other, we were charged by your father to see this quest out.”
“That we were,” he replied. “But what good is rekindling the power of magic if we have no home to come back to?”
“Do you think King White is actually capable of overthrowing the empire?”
“Alone, no. But if he is indeed the machinations that have befallen us so far, then it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he could sway others to his cause.”
“Surely, his reach and influence has not grown to such an extent. Regardless, should we not continue our quest anyway? Rekindling the power of magic would help sway our favor in whatever war is to come.”
Tiberius thought on her wisdom for a moment. He weighed his decisions as a banker weighs money. At length, he answered his companion’s question. “True, magic would aid us. But I remember the parting words of Lady Stonefoot. The path we follow will lead us to where we ought to be. It is no coincidence we are here when this has happened. We should stick to the path we are walking now.”
She conceded his point and grew silent. Without another word, she turned and headed back to the barracks deciding to resume her vigil on the Mage. Tiberius stood there for a while, contemplating all that he had learned. The weight of an impending war with King White made him seethe with a fury he had not felt since the battle at the Vermillion Pass. Finally, he decided to take a walkabout and examine the village for all that needed to be done.
The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky as he beg
an to trek back to the ridge where they had made their stand against White’s soldiers. Large black crows and other birds had gathered in the field to eat away at the dead that littered the area. With their weapons and armor already stripped away by the rangers, the birds were unimpeded in filling their gluttonous bellies. Strangely, the sight of it brought a measure of contentedness to Tiberius. It reminded him of his purpose in life and his duty to the empire. To defend its citizens from harm and evil intent, regardless of the kingdoms of their births. The sight of the dead comforted him mostly because it reminded him of war.
Try as he might to forget the last five years of his life, it dawned on him that fighting the Narzeth was the first time he ever felt truly alive. Being out in the woods and forests with his men and bringing justice to the enemies, both known and unknown, made him feel alive. Cutting down men for a righteous purpose made him feel alive. The realization of this stirred up a great conflict in his soul, for he did not know whether these feelings humanized him or made him a monster.
He stopped at the peak of the hill. He could see the Ice Steps carved into the mountain face in the distance, the only manner of ascending into the frozen tundra that lay beyond. So close to their destination, yet now with all the evil surrounding them, a million miles away. He felt torn between continuing their journey to the Land Beyond and fulfilling his sworn oaths as a ranger to fight the empire's enemies.
He was lost in his thoughts when a faint whiff of smoke caught his attention. He focused on where it came from and extended his Sight further out to perceive what it was. But even with all of his power, he could not see anything that would lead him to believe someone was burning a campfire.
He jogged down from the ridge, eager to discover the source of this new smell amongst the rotting corpses. A part of him prayed it was just his imagination at play while the warrior in him prepared itself for battle. Past the field where the archers had fallen, he rushed to the tree line beyond. A sudden curious sight bid him stop just before breaking into the trees.
On the ground lay the dead bodies of the archers who had fled before the might of Michael’s magic. Their once pristine white leather armor had now turned a disgusting mix of green and black. He extended his power from where he stood and could plain as day see many of them had been hacked at the waist and knees. Many more had been bludgeoned hard, their skulls and chests concaved as if a large tree had fallen on them. He drew his sword and crept into the woods, his eyes searching deep for any sign of threat.
“Fear not, King’s Son,” a stern voice whispered from the woods.
He recoiled in shock. It appeared as though the shadows in the forest had begun to move, and slowly dozens of figures began to emerge. At the head, two familiar figures came into focus.
“You will not be alone in your plight,” Catherine said, coming into view joined by the dwarf shaman.
“Lady Stonefoot!” Tiberius exclaimed, rushing to greet her. “How is it you are here?”
“A good question that is best answered later,” she replied. “For now, you must take us to the Mage.”
“Alas, he has fallen into a deep sleep,” Tiberius replied. “The strain of conjuring such powerful magic as he used has taken its toll on him.”
“Aye, we know this, boy,” the shaman said. “And if you don’t let us see him, he might never wake from the sleep he’s under.”
Tiberius furrowed his brow and replied, “I don’t rightfully understand.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, boy. Yours is the way of the sword; ours is the way of the Father. And the Father’s way is the way of magic.”
“Please, Tiberius,” Catherine interjected. “We have come to help you and your friends by the will of the Father. We have not felt his presence in our hearts for some time, so believe me when I say we are meant to come with aid.”
Tiberius knelt to meet their eyes and studied them hard. Her dark blue eyes were deeper than the deepest chasms he had ever seen. Ancient and powerful, but full of love and understanding. In her tender eyes, he saw no sign of dishonesty or treachery. He only saw the will to right the wrongs that had been laid before them. At long last, he bowed his head and placed his hand over his chest.
“I welcome your aid and your counsel, daughter of Frijigzah.”
She touched his shoulder with a mother’s touch, and when he looked on her again, tears were forming in his eyes. She smiled at him and held his face in her rough stone-like hands. “My boy, I can see there is great anger and sadness within you. But do not be afraid; we will not abandon you in your time of need any longer.”
At her words, a dozen more dwarves moved from behind the trees to behind the woman. Tiberius sprang to his feet at once, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. They were all clad in heavy iron and leather crafted armor, with heavy double-sided axes strapped to their backs. Iron helms were drawn down over their stony faces. Yet, even in the approaching darkness, Tiberius could see their bright blue eyes twinkling in the dusky night. Upon their helmet's metal seams were the same strange runes that he had seen carved into their stone buildings. Their steps were heavy and shook the ground, yet again to the Ranger's astonishment, they left no mark of their walking.
“I take it these are the men my rangers saw wandering in the woods this morning?”
“I am impressed your lot could see them, boy. These twelve hearty dwarves represent the best warriors left in the world, and their years of fighting and surviving have made them undetectable to birds or beasts,” the shaman replied.
“Clearly, you underestimate the skill of my rangers. But I had not known there were warriors amongst your people. The tales of dwarves do not ever mention warriors, only builders, and shaman.”
“Aye, there are warriors in our people, but only when the need for battle arises,” the shaman said. “Yes, we were created by the Father to build and cultivate upon the earth. But we each carry the spirit of the Father in us, for he is also a mighty and cruel warrior.”
Tiberius smiled. “I have someone in the village who would be most eager to meet fellow children of the Father.”
“We know of Tygahl, son of Tybalt. For it was the power of the Father in him that stirred us,” Catherine explained. “We had not felt the Father’s presence in our homeland in nigh on four hundred years. A blink of the eye to our people, but a lifetime it has felt to be without his presence. Please, we have lingered long enough in these woods amongst the dead. Lead us to the Mage and to our brother.”
Though Tiberius was eager for more news from them, he led them from the darkening woods in silence. The sudden weight of history and myth that was being made right then and there came crashing in on him. Never in a thousand years would anyone in the whole of the Axton Empire ever think that fourteen dwarves would be walking behind an Imperial Ranger to the defense of a tiny village. More and more, Tiberius began to feel the power of forces unseen moving around him.
They entered the village just after night had descended. Outside of a modest-looking, if not oversized cabin, sat Tygahl. A giant oak pipe hung in his mouth as his thoughts rested somewhere far off in memory. His eyes scanned the village around him as he caught sight of the approaching party. He sprang to his feet in wonder, his pipe falling from his mouth that now hung open in surprise.
The Ranger smiled at the enormous man’s dumbfound expression. “My friend, I have brought guests.”
Tygahl was rooted where he stood, unable to process the sight before him. “Are these… truly… dwarves!?” he stammered and exclaimed.
“Hail, Tygahl! Son of Tybalt, son of Tygahd!” Catherine exclaimed, walking past Tiberius to Rogers.
Their eyes met, and in an instant, they were connected as two children of Frijigzah reunited for the first time. A lump formed in his throat, and he knelt at once to be closer to her stone-hard face. He examined her eyes again before bowing his head low and saying, “Hail, daughter.”
As with Tiberius, she extended her hands and raised his face to meet hers. “Tygahl,
child of the Father,” she whispered back before embracing his neck with a mother’s love.
The twelve dwarves at her back marched to Tygahl, each removing their iron helms and axes. In the dim twilight, Tiberius could see each of their rock-like faces. Their beards were an assortment of colors, and their hair was wild and shaggy. Some were taller and stouter than others, but each of them was still slightly smaller than the young boy asleep in the barracks.
They encircled the large man, each placing their hands on his massive body. Each of the twelve whispering greetings to one of their long-lost brothers. From inside the enormous cabin emerged, Michelle, who squeaked at the sight before her.
“Peace, my love,” Tygahl said with a hearty laugh. “As you can see, Master Tiberius has brought us guests! Please, come.”
He motioned for her to join the group of dwarfs outside his home, each exchanging greetings to the woman in their own tongue. More of the townsfolk began emerging from their homes at the noise, each staring bewildered at the scene before them. After their initial shock, each of them made their way over at the behest of their Master to greet the new arrivals to the village.
Outside the growing crowd of people, Tiberius stood alongside the Shaman. “Truly amazing,” he uttered, if only to himself.
“It is most fortunate we are reunited with our long-lost brethren,” the shaman replied. “But enough of this. My business is not with Tygahl, son of Tybalt. Take me to the boy.”
Tiberius was stirred from the heartfelt scene in front of him and led the shaman to the ranger barracks. Inside, the assembled rangers were huddled around Constance, receiving their orders for the night ahead. As he entered, they each leapt to their feet to greet their commander but were rendered awestruck at the sight of the dwarf.
Shayla emerged from Michael’s room at the commotion, but upon seeing the shaman again, she exclaimed, “Well, the gods bless us indeed! To see these fair folks again in such a perilous and dark time!”
“Where is the Mage?” the dwarf cut in.
They led him to where Michael continued to lay motionless on the bed. The Shaman examined him for a moment with an impassive face before asking, “Where is the wand?”
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 21