The Prophecy

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Chapter 13 – Maelnar

  “You?” Steve was close to sputtering. “You’re Maelnar? You’re this ‘key maker’ that we’re supposed to find?” He angrily turned to Breslin, who was still scowling at his father. “Why didn’t you say you were his son?”

  “Ye did not ask, human.”

  All the dwarves were now laughing, clapping each other on the back. Apparently everyone in the room was in on the joke. Everyone but the humans, that is. Maelnar rose from his seat at the table to approach their guests.

  “Ye were sent out to find me? I suppose then that ye will tell me what all this fuss is about. Why does the human king seek me out?”

  “Is there someplace more private we can talk?” Rhenyon asked.

  “Aye, through there.” Maelnar pointed through an open doorway off the side of the chamber. Inside they found several cushions to which they each sat. Sarah sank blissfully down on her cushion, relieved to be off her aching feet. Noting the woman’s actions, and correctly judging them all to be in need of refreshment, Maelnar caught the eye of an underling. The young dwarf nodded, slipping quietly out of the chamber.

  Sitting down heavily on his cushion, the old dwarf began removing some of the ceremonial garb he had rushed to put on before their guests arrived. Most of it was solely for the purpose of impressing outsiders. Removing the three various, highly decorated robes he had been wearing, he tossed his staff aside, and systematically began pulling various implements off his belt.

  “Confounded things do nothing but weigh you down. At my age, I do not need any extra weight on my belt.” He patted his round belly. “If I want to increase my mass then I will indulge in more phedras at mealtimes.” Smiling at Sarah, he winked. “I have a fondness for them, lass.”

  Sarah stifled a giggle. This was the celebrated key maker? Maelnar was not what she was expecting. A wizened little dwarf barely able to move, yes. A spritely fellow with lively eyes and a sense of humor? No.

  “So. Tell me, why are ye here?”

  “We are the Nohrin,” Steve began. “We’re here –”

  “Are ye now?” Maelnar interrupted. “I have been wondering when the famed Nohrin would appear. Have one of ye an elemental jhorun then?”

  Steve nodded, igniting his left hand as a demonstration.

  “How did you know about the existence of the Nohrin?” Sarah asked. “Are you familiar with the Bakkian?”

  “I should say so, lass. I created it.”

  “You made the prophecy?” Sarah was dumbfounded. “Then you must know why we’re here.”

  “Nay, lass,” Maelnar corrected, “I do not have the ability to prophesize. The Bakkian was a favor for a sorceress, the same who made the prediction. I simply crafted the vessel in which the prediction was held.”

  “Man alive, how old are you?” Steve wanted to know.

  The dwarf snorted. “Much older than the likes of ye, lad.”

  “Okay, here it is in a nutshell.” Steve paused, wondering how to best describe their situation. “You create portal keys, right?”

  The old dwarf nodded, still smiling at Sarah.

  “You created a green portal key for the Scribes, right?”

  At this, the dwarf’s eyes jumped over to Steve’s. “Aye, that I did, lad. And a right royal pain that was. How do ye know the Scribes? Are they kin to ye?”

  “The Scribes were my grandparents. They have passed away. On my world my wife and I inherited all that they had. We stumbled across this green crystal key, and we accidentally activated their portal, and presto, here we are. However, the key is still on our world.”

  Maelnar was in the midst of taking a large gulp of ale from the goblet set before him when he choked, sending it dribbling down his beard and onto his lap.

  “Confound it. Damn goblet.” He fixed Steve with a steely glare. “Ye lost the key to the Scribes’ portal?”

  “We didn’t lose it,” Steve clarified. “Why does everyone always assume that? We just went through the portal without having the key with us, so we can’t get back home. Unless…”

  The elderly dwarf scowled into his tankard. “Unless I create another key for ye, is that it?”

  Sarah leaned forward. “Is that going to be a problem? Is it that difficult to create a duplicate key?”

  “And what do you think, lass? The Scribes’ home is on another world entirely. I was tasked with creating a key that would activate a portal on that world and link it to this one. Was it easy? Nay, it was single-handedly the most difficult task I have ever encountered.”

  Rhenyon leaned forward. “I realize it is difficult, but it is something that must be done. The king’s son is being threatened by hostile enemies that want to do him harm. As of late there have been several abduction attempts. The Nohrin here will take the young prince to their world, out of harm’s way.”

  The dwarf nodded slowly. “So the need for all the urgency becomes clear. The king seeks to protect his only son. Now that I can understand.” Sighing heavily, he ran his gnarled hands through his thick hair. Leveling his gaze on the small group of humans, he singled out Steve. “This will not be easy, and will not be quick. The materials needed to craft the key are scattered far and wide. It will take me some time to collect them.”

  “Can we help?”

  “Nay, ye do not know where the sensory crystals grow. We are much better equipped for this than the likes of ye.” He sighed again, leaning back heavily on the wall. “This is bad timing, indeed. We have our own set of problems down here. In fact…” He eyed Steve appraisingly. “Ye are a fire thrower. Aye, that will do. That will do nicely. Very well. I have just set my price for doing this favor for ye.”

  Rhenyon sputtered. “Price? Ye dare to charge us for performing this task?”

  Maelnar leaned forward, never breaking eye contact with the furious captain of the guard.

  “Do not forget this, lad,” he shook his finger at the soldier. “I am not under yer king’s rule. I cooperate at my discretion. Ye ask that I undertake an enormous task. I therefore want a favor in return.”

  Sarah laid her arm on Rhenyon’s. “That’s fair. What do you ask of us?”

  “We have a problem here that we are unable to resolve.”

  “Does it have anything to do with certain tunnels of yours having to be sealed?”

  Maelnar fixed the human woman with a piercing glare. “It does indeed, lass. It most certainly does. How much do ye know?”

  “Only what Breslin has told us,” Rhenyon answered, starting to calm down.

  At that moment, several dwarves appeared, instantly transforming the barren table before them into a sumptuous feast. Huge slabs of roast meat, fresh vegetables, pastries, wine, and beer were all brought before them.

  “Ye must be famished,” Maelnar said, indicating the heavily laden table. “Please, help yerselves to whatever ye like.”

  Rhenyon leaned forward, inspecting the offerings. Picking up an empty plate, and not entirely too certain of what he was about to eat, he selected a little of everything. Whatever he popped into his mouth melted on his tongue. Eagerly, he speared another piece of meat with his knife. Following their captain’s leave, the rest of them, Steve and Sarah included, picked up empty plates and helped themselves.

  At that moment a young dwarf set a plate of exotic looking fruit down in front of Sarah. Steve, who had been munching away on various pieces of meat, looked over the latest offerings and selected a fat, orange fruit. He waited a few moments to see if someone else would select one and show him how to eat it. Smiling inwardly, Rhein also selected a ghanje fruit and slowly sliced off the ends, peeling the skin back much like you would with a banana. Steve mimicked the soldier’s actions and took a bite. Not bad. A little tart for his taste, but the fruit was large, so he sliced a few more pieces out of it and gave some to his wife.

  Watching the proceedings with a smile on his face, Mae
lnar waited for everyone to finish selecting food before taking some for himself. Deliberately taking his time selecting several pieces of meat, as well as some of the fruit, he watched as all the humans eagerly consumed the meal before them.

  Holding a piece of skewered meat on his small dagger, Steve opened his mouth to ask a question.

  Instantly cutting him off, Sarah jumped in. “If he asks what type of meat, don’t answer, okay? Better he doesn’t know.”

  For the second time Maelnar spewed ale down his chest. Glaring at his goblet once more, he pulled his beard free from his belt to sop up his spilt drink. Chuckling more to himself than anyone else, he looked at Sarah. “That is the second time I have snorted my ale. I like ye, lass!”

  The dwarf got to his feet to brush the rest of the dark liquid off his tunic. Wringing out his beard over a thick rug in front of the fire, he smoothed it back into place and re-tucked it into his belt. With a sigh, he sank back onto his cushion to study his guests.

  “Ye have no doubt noticed,” he began, “the size of this cavern. We stumbled across this place nearly two millennia ago. Most was already hollowed out, leaving us with a minimal amount of work to make it habitable. But what we were shocked to discover was that this is not a natural cavern. Something else had already cleared it out for us.”

  Intrigued, Rhenyon leaned forward. “Who, or what? Do they want to reclaim this space? If so, we are unable to get involved with what is clearly a dwarven affair.”

  “Nay, nothing like that, lad.” The dwarf pulled out a long wooden pipe from inside his tunic and started packing tobacco into it. “The prior residents have long vacated the area, leaving behind numerous hollowed out caverns, tunnels, and so on. This cavern was the central junction point to their community. That is why this cavern is as large as it is.”

  “Are the past occupants and your present problem linked?”

  Striking his flint repeatedly to get his pipe lit, Maelnar nodded. Steve leaned forward and held out his right arm, with a single flame lit on the tip of his right index finger. Nodding appreciatively, as though it was perfectly normal for a human to have a lit finger for which to light one’s pipe, Maelnar puffed until his tobacco was lit. Inhaling deeply, he continued.

  “Let me ask this of ye, before I continue any further.” He blew a series of smoke rings into the air, each smaller than the previous one until he had what resembled a bulls-eye floating above the table. “Does the layout of this cavern and the many connecting passageways remind ye of anything?”

  Steve nodded. “Reminds me of an anthill I once saw in school, one that had a clear sheet of glass on one side so that you could see the inner workings of the hill itself.”

  “And an ‘ant’ would be - ?”

  “Oh, sorry, it’s a bug. On my world they come in a variety of sizes, from tiny to about an inch long. Individually they are typically harmless, but where you find one you usually find several thousand more.”

  “Aye, that is an apt description.”

  Sarah straightened. “This is a huge anthill, isn’t it? Some type of insect colony used to live here? Is that what you’re telling us? And now they’re back?”

  “The guur that once called this home have been extinct for many thousands of years.”

  “What happened?” Rhenyon asked. “Have they somehow returned?”

  The dwarf looked suddenly old. He took a deep breath.

  “We have been able to determine that this cavern and the surrounding tunnels are many thousands of years old. Naturally we assumed they had long been vacant. And they have been.” The dwarf fell silent.

  “So what happened?” Steve prompted.

  “One of our exploratory diggers came across a fossilized guur egg.”

  “And it hatched?” Steve whistled. “Talk about a long incubation period.”

  “Nay lad, I said it was fossilized,” Maelnar corrected. “The egg was unable to hatch. It was petrified.” Did this human not know the meaning of ‘petrification’? “Therefore it was harmless.”

  “But clearly it did hatch, correct?” Rhenyon asked.

  Maelnar nodded.

  “How?”

  “We dwarves typically do not have jhorun, and are quite proud of that fact,” Maelnar explained. “Yet every generation one or two are born that are cursed with one. As it happens, this digger was one who, unfortunately, had a jhorun, and a unique one at that. He had the ability to restore a fossilized object. If ye found a piece of petrified wood, then he could restore it to a chunk of wood.”

  Sarah was nodding. “He restored the egg. So it hatched.”

  “Aye, lass, that he did. His actions may have been involuntary, but the damage had been done.”

  “How long ago did the egg hatch?” Pheron wanted to know.

  “Perhaps two hundred years.”

  Rhenyon whistled. “So this ancient insect hatched. How was it able to procreate being the only one of its species left?”

  “Because the egg hatched a female,” the dwarf explained. “Without a male, she cannot lay viable eggs. However, a female guur can create drones by segmenting a part of itself off. Fortunately, the female can only undergo this metamorphosis no more than twice a month.”

  Steve whistled. “If this bug can produce, say, twenty-five drones a year, and it’s been alive for two hundred years, then we’re talking roughly five thousand bugs running around. How long do they live?”

  “We do not know what their natural lifespan is, but we continually come across dead specimens deep in the tunnels. Without a live specimen to study, we are unable to say how long they live, only that some have been dying off. Either that or something else has been killing them and leaving their remains where they could be found. Personally, I believe they are dying of natural causes.”

  “Great. You’re telling me that we have fewer than five thousand bugs.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure, not a problem.”

  “We have led numerous attacks on them, trying to keep their numbers down. We estimate we have destroyed at least a thousand of their numbers.”

  “Leaving, what, at least four thousand? So you expect us to eradicate thousands of these bugs for you? Am I the only one who thinks this deal is a wee bit lop-sided?”

  The dwarf smiled. “I know there are not that many. However, ye only need to dispatch one.”

  “The female?”

  Maelnar smiled. “Aye. The female. She is the one that we cannot find because we have been unable to venture too deep into the tunnels.”

  “What about the rest of them?” Sarah asked.

  “Without the female to keep the guur population up, the drones will eventually die off.”

  “These drones, they can’t reproduce?”

  Maelnar shook his head. “Nay, they cannot.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad,” Steve began. “We just have to find –”

  Sarah held up a hand. “I have a question.”

  “Yes, lass. Go ahead.”

  “Why couldn’t you go deeper into the tunnels? Does something happen if you do?”

  The dwarf sighed. “The guur have demonstrated signs of intelligence. They have led several of our scouting parties into traps designed to prevent them from retreating. If we go too deep, retreat no longer becomes an option. So we must be careful.”

  “So these things are smart, is that what you’re trying to say? And when were you gonna tell us this?” Steve demanded.

  “Fear not, lad, we will tell ye all we have learned about the guur.”

  “But they’re smart!” Steve repeated, frowning into his tankard. He took a drink and leaned back on his cushion.

  Not having any problems whatsoever about exterminating bugs, no matter what size they were, Sarah took her husband’s hand.

  “Is this going to bother you?”

  “Here’s the way I see it. These insects were believed to be extinct, and up until now, or whenever they showed up ag
ain, they were. Is that right?” He looked at the dwarf, who nodded. “Then,” Steve rose from his sitting position and started to pace, “you’re asking us, well, me, to send them straight back into extinction. How can you ask us to do that? Don’t these things have a right to exist?”

  Maelnar also rose to his feet, prompting the rest of the group to follow suit. “The guur,” he began, “lived for many thousands of years. For unknown reasons they died out. If our digger had not touched that egg, we would not be having this discussion. These creatures had their chance, and now their time is over. If the guur are allowed to remain unchecked, then they will continue to kill us whenever they have the opportunity. Their numbers and their territory continue to grow each year.”

  “They have killed some of you?”

  “Aye, lad, they have.”

  “How many?” Sarah wanted to know.

  “Nearly three hundred over a span of several centuries, with the most recent just a few days ago. A digger broke through to a small cavern being excavated by a single guur. Before he could retreat, the guur attacked.”

  “One bug killed him? Are you serious? How big are these things?”

  “Nearly three feet in length, from tip to tip.”

  Steve whistled. “Great. Bugs of nightmarish proportions.”

  Rhenyon approached, his men flanking him on either side. “How do we find these creatures?”

  “We can tell ye where their lair is rumored to be, but I advise against a direct frontal attack. Their numbers are too great.”

  Pheron put a hand on his captain’s shoulder. “I have an idea, sir, which might help us out here.”

  “I am all ears, lieutenant.”

  Pheron walked over to Steve, pointing to his harness. “How many of those power crystals do ye have, sir Steve?”

  “I counted a while back. There are twenty five of them.”

  “May I see one, please?”

  “Hot or cold?”

  Remembering the encounter in the tunnel where Steve and his wife had experimented with the discs, he smiled. “Cold, please.”

  Retrieving an uncharged mimet, he passed the crystal disc to the lieutenant, who took it, clenching it tightly with his right hand. Concentrating furiously, Pheron was silent for several minutes as the other soldiers looked at each other, trying to figure out what he was doing.

  The lieutenant finally opened his fist and looked at the mimet. He could feel a faint trace of his power within the disc. He handed it back to Steve. “Try to draw some of my jhorun out.”

  Suddenly understanding where Pheron was going with this, Rhenyon smiled, nodding his head in approval.

  Looking down at the disc, Steve sent his jhorun to investigate. Sure enough, he could feel a faint sliver of power emanating from within the disc. Pulling the jhorun inward, he felt the unfamiliar power mix with his own.

  “Yeah, I can do it,” Steve confirmed.

  “Excellent idea, lieutenant,” Rhenyon said, clapping him on the back.

  “What idea?”

  “Steve,” Sarah took his hand, “they are going to help you out. Since you’re the best equipped to deal with these things, they are offering to charge up your mimets for you.”

  “Oh. Oh! Cool!” Steve took off his harness, opening pouches to withdraw all the mimets.

  Dividing them up evenly into piles, Rhenyon handed three to each soldier, taking several for himself as well. “Start charging these things,” he ordered his men. “We are going to give sir Steve as much power as we can should he need it.”

  Steve worriedly looked at his friends. “You’re still gonna come with me, right?”

  “Aye, sir Steve,” Rhenyon confirmed. “Ye will not suffer this fate alone.”

  “How long does it take to charge this up to full capacity?” Rhein asked, studying a crystal disc intently.

  “It takes me around four hours if I concentrate.”

  “And yer jhorun is much stronger than the rest of ours,” Rhenyon observed. “It will probably be several days before they are all charged.”

  “May I make a suggestion then, lads?” Maelnar approached the group of humans. “Remain here for a few days. Be our guests. Charge yer crystals and we will tell ye all we know about the guur.”