Tales from the New Earth: Volume One

by Thompson, J. J.

  “How did you learn all this, Ironhand?” Simon asked. “You said when you returned, the battle was already over.”

  “Over? Yes, but the dragons were still there, digging through the rubble like hounds after rats, looking for survivors. My warriors and I were enraged by the carnage. We attacked, knowing that it would be our deaths, but determined to make the dragons pay for their crimes. I thought perhaps that one day, a song might be written about the last battle of Shandon Ironhand and his brave band of warriors.”

  He sighed again.

  “But who would even write it? None will now remember how it was. All of my men died during the final battle. I attacked the largest of the brutes, the leader perhaps; red-scaled, with a scarred and hoary muzzle. A veteran of many a battle, it seemed. Twas that one that broke my leg, and popped out a few teeth. But I gave as good as I got, oh yes. I sank my axe so deeply into its eye that it remains there still. My last memory was of being slammed head-first into a wall by its wings as it writhed in its death-throes. As I said, glorious.”

  Ironhand was smiling at the memory, but Simon was appalled. The dwarves were destroyed? Just like that? It didn't seem possible.

  “Then all of your people are gone?” he asked gently.

  “Gone?” Ironhand raised his head and glared into the darkness beyond his candle flame. “Of course they are not gone. What an absurd comment. I hope that those who escaped down the secret passage survived, but even if they fell, the dwarven race is greater than just one stronghold, and one of the smaller ones at that.”

  “You mean you have other cities underground?”

  “Of course. Our capital, down so deep that you can almost hear the pulse of life from the planet's core, holds thousands of souls. Not even a primal dragon could destroy that fortress, even if one could reach it.”

  He groped at his waist, pulled out a flask and drank loudly.

  “Ah, that hits the spot,” he said with a wince after he swallowed.

  “You still didn't tell me how you learned about the dragon attack while you were away hunting,” Simon reminded him.

  “Ah yes, that is true.”

  Ironhand's voice shook as he began to recall what had happened.

  “I found my father, near the base of the outer gate as we prepared to attack. While my men charged, I spotted him, lying there broken among the corpses. I rushed to his side and found him still alive, barely. He it was who told me of the attack and that he had ordered all who could to retreat to the capital. Naturally, as lord of the stronghold, he stayed behind to cover their retreat. When he had spoken his last, I took his token, which he had given to me, and charged into battle. That's when I took on that dragon.”

  The dwarf held up his right arm and Simon saw a band of metal, silver or platinum, around his wrist. It was covered with engravings and gleamed even in the darkness.

  “Are you alone, Ironhand?” the wizard asked. “How badly injured are you?”

  “Aye, I'm alone. All of my men are gone, heroes to the last. None remain alive in my stronghold. But they killed dozens of dragons! Did I tell you that, wizard? Besides the one I accounted for myself, there were many others taken down by my people. They did not go meekly into death, of that you may be sure.”

  “I believe you, Ironhand. Your injuries?”

  “Bah, a trifle. Broken leg, twisted shoulder, a few teeth gone. Nothing of consequence. But my father made me swear that if I lived beyond the battle, that I was to retreat from our home. The others of the dwarven people must be told, he said. Well, those who retreated will have to tell them. I don't think I'll live long enough to make that report.”

  Simon looked at the elementals and then back into the mirror.

  “What are you talking about? You just said that your injuries weren't life threatening.”

  “Aye, I did. I also told you that I am alone and my shoulder is wrenched out of place. My axe hand, wizard. I am defenseless here and the dragons still prowl these tunnels. I got this far as my father ordered, but I can walk no more and I refuse to crawl. Sooner or later, one of those wyrms will find me. Well, when it does, before it rends me to pieces, I'll spit in its face!”

  Ironhand's expression was fierce and a pale light seemed to glow in his eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the reflection from his candle.

  Either way, Simon felt a great admiration for the dwarf. There was no way that he would let Ironhand die alone at the fangs and claws of a dragon. Not if he could do anything to save him.

  The wizard stood up with the mirror in hand and headed for the stairs. The elementals hurried to follow him, obviously mystified.

  “All right, Ironhand, just hold on. I'm coming for you.”

  The dwarf peered through the darkness and Simon almost felt like those smoldering eyes could see him.

  “Coming for me? You can't come for me, sir wizard. I'm deep in the bowels of the world. By the time you could reach me, if you could, I'd long be a dragon's meal.”

  Simon hurried down the stairs, slipped on his shoes and crossed the room to grab Bene-Dunn-Gal.

  “Yes, if I was walking there, that might be true. But I'll be Gating down. And I'll take you to Nottinghill and leave you in the care of Clara. She'll see to your wounds, I have no doubt.”

  Ironhand's eyes widened and Simon heard both Kronk and Aeris gasp behind him. They were at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  “You can do that?” Ironhand asked doubtfully.

  “Yes, I think so. I'm certainly going to try. So sit tight and, I don't know, try not to get eaten, all right? I'll be there soon.”

  The dwarf roared with laughter, wincing with pain but grinning widely.

  “Oh, you're a one, you are. Very well, good wizard. I shall 'sit tight' as you call it. Good luck to you.”

  “See you soon.” Simon said and canceled the spell.

  “Master, did I hear right?” Kronk asked as he tip-tapped over to Simon. “Are you going to try to Gate to that dwarf?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “Why?” Aeris shook his head incredulously. “Because you don't know where you are going, that's why. Do you know the coordinates for that tunnel? Did you at least see enough of the walls and floor to form a picture in your mind before you Gate?”

  Simon grasped his staff firmly in his right hand and planted it on the floor.

  “Nope, I didn't,” he answered truthfully.

  “Then how do you expect to get there? We told you, both Kronk and I, how dangerous a blind teleport can be. Did you even hear us?”

  “Of course I heard you. I'm young now; my hearing is actually quite good.”

  He stared at both of the elementals and saw only concern and fear in their eyes, even Aeris'. He sighed and leaned on the staff.

  “Look guys, I can't just let him die down there. I'm the reason he was out in the tunnels when his home was attacked. If he hadn't been, he might have turned the tide in the battle.”

  “But you don't know that, master,” Kronk said plaintively. “It is likely that he would simply have died with his people.”

  “I know that, my friend. But he is brave and noble and deserves a chance to live, if only to avenge his people. I intend to give him that chance. And yes, Aeris,” he said, interrupting the angry speech he was sure was coming, “I don't know his location. But I know him. I know what he looks like right now and that will be my target. Not a place, but a person. All the Gate spell needs is specific instructions on where I want to go. And I want to go to Shandon Ironhand. I think it will be enough.”

  Aeris opened his mouth, frowned and suddenly became thoughtful.

  “By the Four Winds,” he breathed. “That might actually work.”

  “I believe it will. Now look. You two have to stay here. No. No arguments, please. The dwarf could be attacked at any time. So stay here, take care of the tower and I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Is that an order?” Aeris asked bitterly.

  Kronk simply w
atched Simon, blank-faced.

  “No, it's not an order. It's a request. Please honor it.”

  “Very well, my dear wizard. We will remain here. Good luck.”

  “Take care, master. We both want you back.”

  Simon smiled at them, chanted the Gate spell's incantation and fixed the last image he had of Ironhand firmly in his mind.

  “Invectis!”

  Chapter 22

  Simon found himself standing in the dark. The still air smelled of rock dust and smoke and, from a distance, he heard echoes of roars and bellows. Dragons.

  “Ironhand? Are you here?”

  He was about to cast a Light spell when he heard a snap and saw a red flame come to life several yards away.

  “Well, I'll be an elf. You made it!”

  Simon grinned as he hurried over to the dwarf's side. Up close, Ironhand looked much worse than he had in the mirror. The cuts on his face were oozing and looked inflamed. His eyes were almost swollen shut and his bound leg jutted out at an unnatural angle.

  “Yes, I know. I've looked better,” the dwarf said, apparently reading Simon's expression clearly.

  “Well, maybe. But you're alive. And I intend to keep it that way.”

  There was a distant thud and the tunnel shook, dust drifting down from overhead.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  “By the stone, if you can get us out of here, I can dance,” Ironhand said and, with Simon's hand under his elbow, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Or foot. He put very little weight on his twisted leg.

  There was another thud and a more violent shudder shook the ground.

  “I think we're about to have company, sir wizard. If we are leaving, now would be a good time.”

  “I agree,” Simon said hurriedly and chanted the incantation for the Gate spell again.

  He pictured the town hall in Nottinghill as well as he could and was about to invoke the word of command, when a scream of incredible volume echoed down the tunnel.

  Ironhand's candle was snuffed out as he dropped it and all that Simon could see were a distant pair of flaming red eyes. They were huge and looked down on them from the height of the ceiling.

  “Now, wizard. Now!”

  Simon heard a great sucking sound and knew that the dragon was drawing in a huge breath to blast them with fire.

  “Invectis!” he screamed just as a wall of flame, as bright as the blazing sun, shot down the tunnel toward them.

  He fell back and he heard Ironhand gasp with pain as the two collided. When he looked up, expecting to see the raging maw of a dragon dipping toward him, Simon instead saw the puzzled face of Clara.

  Above her, the opening in the roof of the hall let in beams of bright, cheery sunlight. They had made it.

  “Simon?” Clara said as she bent down to help him up. “What's going on? You look like you've been rolling in soot.”

  The wizard got up with her help and turned to look down at Ironhand. The two of them exchanged a glance and then burst out laughing.

  “By the gods! Shandon! What's happened to you? Have you been digging coal or something?”

  Simon understood why the cleric was saying that. The dwarf was coated in black dust and he suspected that he was too. It was the burnt dust of the tunnel that had shot ahead of the dragon fire. It had been that close.

  Both of them laughed until they ran out of breath. Simon guessed that it was simply the relief of escaping from certain death that had set them off, but for whatever reason, the laughter had felt wonderful. It was good to be alive.

  Clara and another young woman, whom the cleric called her apprentice, helped treat Ironhand's wounds. She set the leg first, confirming that it had been broken, as well as two ribs and a finger. Then she used her powers to heal his dislocated shoulder and his many cuts and abrasions.

  All Simon needed was a basin of water and some privacy to get cleaned up. Clara gave him a clean robe, deep blue and very soft, and told him to keep it as a gift. It was a nice change from his usual gray clothing.

  After getting cleaned up as well, Ironhand joined the wizard and they were served a hearty meal of fried chicken, fresh rolls and other delicious home-cooked staples.

  Clara peppered them with questions as they ate. Simon sat quietly and let Ironhand do most of the talking. His own part had been minor at best.

  When she heard about the loss of the stronghold and the deaths of so many dwarves, Clara paled with shock.

  “So it was a concerted attack,” she said, somewhat dazed. “The gods of Chaos truly want us all dead.” She looked at Simon, who was sipping some tea. “If you have a chance to speak with the elves, you should tell them about this. They have to be a target as well.”

  “I suspect that the elves know about all of this,” he told her quietly. “Their scryers apparently keep a close watch on the goings-on in our world.”

  “Aye, that's true enough,” Ironhand said gruffly. “For all that we aren't on the best of terms, the dwarves know that elves see more than most others. Who knows, maybe they will stir themselves and aid the mortal races for a change, instead of holding back and gazing down on us from the elven realm.” He grimaced. “But I doubt it.”

  The dwarf stretched and leaned toward Simon. He'd been given a white tunic and leather breeches and looked a lot better than he had two hours earlier. When he grinned at the wizard, the cleric's power of healing became obvious. His smile was wide and even and all of his missing teeth had been replaced.

  “When I am fully healed and the smith in town repairs my armor, I'll need to get in touch with my people and tell them that I still live. You have done so much for me, sir wizard, and rest assured that I will repay you one day.”

  “There's no need for that,” Simon protested. “I'm just sorry that I couldn't do more for your people.”

  “Bah, a dwarf always pays his debts,” Ironhand said sternly. “Your rescue allowed me to live to fight another day. And, if the survivors from my home meet a tragic end before they reach our capital city, I will at least be able to tell my people what happened and prepare them for the war to come.”

  He looked around at Clara and back to Simon.

  “And make no mistake, my friends. We are now at war. I speak for all dwarves when I say that the dragons are now our mutual enemy. The wrath of the dwarves has been roused and that has not happened in many ages of men. We will fight them now to the last, in memory of those we have lost.”

  He stood up and limped around the table to stand next to Simon, who scrambled to his feet.

  The dwarf held out a hand and Simon took it in his own. Ironhand shook hands with him gravely.

  “You are now kin to the dwarves, Simon O'Toole. We will answer your call if and when you have need of us. No more retreating from the dragons. No more standing back and letting others fight in our stead.”

  He released the wizard's hand and reached into a pack that he had slung over his shoulder. Then he presented Simon with a piece of white metal, smooth and etched with symbols. It was inlaid with some black mineral that glowed from within.

  “Take this, my friend. If ever you meet another dwarf out in the world, show them this token and they will recognize you as kin and will aid you as needed.”

  Simon was deeply touched. He knew how proud and self-sufficient the dwarves were.

  “I thank you, Ironhand. And you know that if you need me, I will be there.”

  “Aye, I know that now.”

  He winked at Simon and returned to his seat.

  “How are you going to reach your people?” Clara asked him curiously.

  Ironhand grinned slyly.

  “We have our ways, lady cleric. Best to leave some dwarven secrets to the dwarves. Suffice it to say that they should be here in a day or two. So I won't be a burden to you for very long.”

  Clara laughed lightly.

  “You are far from a burden, my friend. But I'm sure that you want to reach your people as soon as possible.”

  �
��Speaking of reaching people, my two friends back home are probably getting anxious about me,” Simon said with a rueful smile. “I left them a bit abruptly when I went to help Ironhand, so I think I'd better get back.”

  Clara stood and waited while Simon and Ironhand exchanged warm farewells. Then she led him back through the hall and outside.

  “You've made a great ally today, Simon,” she told him as they stood in the late afternoon light.

  The wizard smiled and shrugged a bit self-consciously.

  “If that's the case, it was entirely unintentional. I just wanted to help.”

  The cleric squeezed his shoulder gently.

  “I know that. I'm certain that Ironhand does as well. You have a good heart, my friend. Follow it and it will never leave you astray.”

  “Thanks, Clara. Call if you need me. And take care of Ironhand. He's a tough one, but he's been through a lot and he's lost his entire community.”

  “I will. The gods of Justice have taken a great interest in the dwarves, which I am sure they won't appreciate.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

  Simon laughed.

  “Maybe not.”

  He slipped Bene-Dunn-Gal off of his back and chanted the incantation for the Gate spell.

  “Talk to you soon.” he said to the cleric, who nodded and waved.

  Simon invoked the spell and gratefully headed for home.

  The general relief that Kronk and Aeris showed Simon when he returned was quickly surpassed by amazement when he told them what happened.

  “The dragons destroyed the dwarven stronghold?” Aeris asked in amazement.

  “Leveled it, according to Ironhand,” the wizard said as he brewed some tea. Evening had set in and Simon wanted to sit by the fireplace and run through the events of the day. He felt drained and doubted that he had enough energy left to light a candle.

  The elementals were waiting next to his chair and, as he sat down with his tea cup, each one moved to one of the chair's arms.