Delver Magic Book VII: Altered Messages

by Inlo, Jeff

  "And where is the understanding and compassion for my loss?"

  "You keep turning this back on yourself. For once, think of the algors."

  Ryson, however, could see that Bol had no intention of considering anyone beyond himself. Faced with an unyielding dwarf, Ryson made one last request of Jure.

  "I can't believe it," the delver admitted, "but all this is still not enough for him. He wants to ignore what's really going on and I can't have that. Can you show him just how many algors lost their lives here?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean," the wizard admitted.

  "I mean tap into the magic and the memories of what happened here. I've seen spell casters create images that seem real. I don't want him to see just bones and hides. I want him to see the lives that were lost."

  "I think I understand."

  Jure concentrated on a new spell, one that would link the elements of light and alteration with the gray shadows of past memories. He did not shape the magic beyond the basis of the spell. Rather than try to force a false image from his own perspective, he allowed the creation of a powerful illusion to come from the echoes of time that were connected to the remains scattered throughout the vast chambers.

  Once the circle of magic left the wizard's fingertips, a wave of energy rushed through the passage. It filled the long corridor with a muted glow. The spell sought out the remains of the algors buried in that mass grave. It flowed through every bone and each shred of dried skin.

  The magic mingled not with the essence of algor spirit, but with memories trapped in time and still connected to the algor corpses. The energy pulsed with new intentions. Shadows of past existences rose out of the chambers and took detailed shape. Soon the corridor was filled with the ghostly images of hundreds upon hundreds of algors.

  The ethereal figures marched slowly forward. They moved in long lines toward the three visitors of the burial site. As the eerie forms walked past the delver, they appeared to smile with deep acknowledgment, but when they cast their glances upon the dwarf king, any indication of warmth faded instantly.

  The ghastly parade took its toll on the dwarf. He tried to turn away, but he couldn't take the algor ghosts from his sight. Even when he closed his eyes, he believed he could still see them. The vision took firm hold of his mind, and he began to shake with anguish.

  "No!" Bol shouted. "Get away from me!"

  Ryson decided to give the dwarf king one final push in a desperate attempt to make Bol understand.

  "Do you see how many there are? That's how many died when dwarf warriors rushed through their sandstone caves. The algors thought they were safe in their home, but they were slaughtered. Can you imagine what it must be like for the ones that survived?"

  "It's not my fault!"

  "Stop trying to make this all about fault and blame. That's only a part of it. I want you to stop pretending as if you're isolated from this. You're not. The serps are using you to cause pain and suffering, just like the pain and suffering you felt when Tun died."

  "I told you to leave my son out of it!"

  "You brought Tun into it, not me. I was talking about Jon. But you wanted to wallow in your own anguish. Well imagine that anguish magnified to an unbelievable level, because that's what it feels like to every algor that still lives. They're all connected. They're all a part of each other. When an algor dies, it's like losing a son... to all of them! Imagine the sorrow you felt when Tun died intensified hundreds of times over! Spread that across the entire population of algors. That's how much they suffered, and that's why you can't simply ignore what happened or pretend it doesn't mean anything."

  Bol wanted to flush the illusion from his mind, but as he fought against it, it changed. The conversion was not caused by any modification in the spell. Jure had no hand in what had happened, but the altered image crashed down upon the dwarf king with unbelievable ferocity.

  The ghostly forms swirled about in a momentary mist and then took a new shape. Every figure was identical to Bol's dead son, Tun. The shift, however, took place in Bol's mind and his mind alone. Ryson and Jure continued to see nothing but algors, but the exiled king saw his personal loss intensified on an unimaginable scale.

  Shrieking in emotional pain, Bol collapsed to the corridor floor. He beat his fists into the sand as he tried to fight away the vision of torment. With one last colossal effort, he made a plea to the delver.

  "Make it stop!"

  "Stop the spell," Ryson commanded of Jure.

  The wizard moved quickly and ended the incantation. The ghostly forms disappeared, even from the dwarf kings mind, but the memory would remain.

  The corridor was quiet except for Bol's heavy breathing. Both Ryson and Jure said nothing as they looked upon the dwarf kneeling in the hardened sand tunnel. It was Bol who finally broke the silence.

  "You were right. It's terrible... terrible what the algors must feel. It's not right..."

  The delver didn't want the dwarf to say any more. He wanted Bol to focus on the real enemies.

  "It's not right for the serps to open those kind of wounds," Ryson exclaimed.

  But with that said, the delver realized he had done the exact same thing to Bol. It was just as the dwarf king had said; instead of the serps manipulating Bol, it was the delver. To ignore or justify his own transgressions would be a stunning act of hypocrisy. He suddenly felt a crushing wave of guilt.

  Ryson might have only held to the best of intentions, but he could not deny what had happened. He had torn at Bol's emotions in a desperate attempt to gain compassion from the dwarf. There was a line between trying to make Bol understand and trying to twist out cooperation at any cost. He began to wonder how far beyond the line of decency he wandered. There was little the delver could say, but he had to at least acknowledge he had gone too far.

  "I'm sorry," Ryson whispered. "I shouldn't have done that. It was too much."

  The delver, however, did not understand everything. He had no idea what the dwarf king had seen. He believed Bol had only witnessed an illusion involving the algors. He could not imagine what Bol's mind had conjured.

  "No," the dwarf managed through heavy breaths. "It was necessary. I had to see."

  "I don't know," the delver admitted. "I think I went too far."

  Bol shook his head almost furiously.

  "If this is what the serps want—to cause this much pain—then they have to be stopped. I want to help."

  Bol had finally come to grips with both the past and the present. He saw his abdication in a new light, in the vein of algor torment. There were consequences linked to his decision. He also had to accept that his failures were currently being used to cause continued suffering. He could not allow that to continue.

  As for Ryson, there remained regret, but he latched upon a hope of redemption. He knew Bol wanted to help stop the serps, saw them as the evil manipulators they truly were. If the delver had made a mistake, he could at least salvage a new direction from the error, but he had to bury his remorse, at least for the moment. He had to move without hesitating.

  "Then let's go talk to the algors," the delver replied, starting to believe he might finally be able to thwart the serps.

  Ryson and Jure helped the dwarf to his feet. They walked up the incline of the tunnel and out into the sands, but they were no longer alone.

  Over a dozen algors were waiting at the tunnel opening. At first, they looked rather curiously at the delver and the wizard, but when they saw the dwarf, their curiosity turned to hostility. When they spoke, they did so in unison.

  "What is this dwarf doing here?"

  Immediately after the initial question, each algor shouted out his or her own opinion on the matter.

  "The dwarf is defiling the graves of our dead."

  "Is he responsible for the earlier upheaval?"

  "He is with the delver."

  "The dwarf must leave immediately!"

  "They're going to attack again!"

  "There may be more underground."
/>   That was all that Ryson could make out and he quickly reassured the algors that their safety was not in jeopardy.

  "There are no more here. It's just him. I brought him here, and I need to talk to you... all of you. Can you call the rest of the algors?"

  Within moments, a sea of algors broke over the top of the southern dune, walked deliberately down to the center of the flat ground where Ryson waited, and surrounded the delver and his companions. Standing shoulder to shoulder and chest to back, they filled in every available space.

  Ryson looked out upon the massive crowd and considered what he needed to say and how he would say it. Despite the number of algors, solemn quiet hung over the desert. If the delver shouted, he would be heard by them all.

  In trying to find the right words, he realized just how big of a risk he was taking. He might have helped Bol find a greater degree of compassion, but that was only a single dwarf. Before him was the entire community of algors. The crowd did not include every single algor, but they were all there in spirit. He would need to convince them that the serps were the danger to peace, not the dwarf king.

  Looking across the host of algors, he saw the potential consequences of his own actions. They stood upon ground that had conjured a painful memory of a past injustice. That memory could not be wiped clean from the algors' minds, but its influence needed to be understood. Failure or success would depend on whether or not Ryson could persuade the algors to avoid further hostilities with the dwarves. If he couldn't, the conflict everyone feared would almost certainly come to pass. Still, he had taken the matter into his own hands and the outcome would be dependent on what he could achieve, and also on what the algors themselves would decide. In that, he found even greater hope.

  He thought of Enin and how the serps maneuvered the wizard into a position of vulnerability. Ryson was hoping to remove that weakness, and in a way, the stage was set for exactly what Enin believed in the most. Despite the mistakes, Ryson acted based on his own conscience. His actions would allow the algors to decide for themselves the direction they would take. There would be no interference, not by the serps or by the powerful wizard from Connel.

  "I know what happened out here," the delver began. "Your dead... our dead... were pulled from the desert, set upon the sand to remind you of past pain, to remind you of the massacre that took place. I know it's opened old wounds. I felt it. I have an idea of the torment that you went through. I want you to know who is responsible."

  "The dwarves are responsible," the algors said in unison.

  Each algor spoke in a normal tone, but since it was said in complete unity, the response rumbled across the desert like a clap of thunder. It almost stunned the delver.

  "No, that's not what I'm talking about," Ryson countered. "The dwarves might have been responsible for the battle that took the lives of the algors buried here, but it was a council of serps that chose to disturb the dead. There are serps in Portsans who are causing turmoil across the land. They are hoping to abuse your memories to create even more havoc."

  "Why is a dwarf here?" a single algor questioned.

  "I brought him here. This is Bol Folarok."

  The algors erupted into a din of absolute confusion. They all began to talk at once. They started to move as well, and the throng shifted about the desert. The algors further back tried to push forward, just as many of those up front tried to leave in disgust. They ended up pressing against each other and no progress was made.

  Ryson could hear several angry shouts and many demands to take the dwarf captive. He feared the algors would act before he could speak again. He raised both his hands over his head as he tried to quiet the crowd, but few could hear his pleas. With no where else to turn, he looked to Jure.

  "Can you help?"

  "I can make your voice carry over the noise," Jure offered. "You won't have to shout and you'll be heard by all of them."

  "Do it."

  Jure cast the spell and the white flash of magic caught many of the algors by surprise. Those near the wizard quieted and tried to ascertain the purpose of the spell. When Ryson spoke, the intent was obvious.

  "I know you blame Bol Folarok," Ryson stated calmly, but his voice carried to every algor ear. "This is exactly what the serps expected of you. They want to use your rage and your pain for their own gain. You need to understand that before you act on any decision."

  The entire crowd of algors grew still. They looked to Ryson for further explanation.

  "The serps want to cause a war, or at the very least use the threat of conflict to keep other powers from interfering with their schemes. That's why they disturbed this burial site."

  "What does it matter?" one algor deep in the crowd shouted.

  "It matters because your decisions should be your own. You shouldn't be influenced by serps concerned only with their own interests."

  "But it was the dwarves who attacked us, not the serps."

  "That's true, and you'll have to decide what you wish to do about Bol Folarok, but let it be your decision. Don't let the anger inside you twist the truth—anger that I can feel because I'm a part of you."

  "And what is the truth?" another algor asked.

  Ryson replied from his heart as he began to find the words that explained exactly what he felt.

  "The truth is what matters most to you, not someone else. Don't let someone else determine how you think, or worse, how you feel. Think about it for a moment. These monsters reached into our souls to pull out past anguish for their own benefit. The anger and sorrow that was recast in our hearts was done in hopes that we would act out of fury and pain instead of understanding. We must not allow that to happen."

  Ryson paused and then pointed to the dwarf king.

  "I brought Bol Folarok to you because I wanted to stop any further suffering, not because I wanted him punished. There's a part of me, like you, that blames him for what happened, but blaming him will only put us on a path to more pain. I've already forced him to see things—terrible things—because I was angry, and because of that, I'm ashamed of what I've done. We need to choose a different way."

  "What is it you wish us to do?" one algor near the front questioned.

  "See Bol Folarok for what he is... and for what he is not. He wishes you no further harm. He is not an enemy of the algors. I know you want to lash out at him. Believe me, I understand, but we can't."

  Ryson stopped once more. He looked at the dwarf who could only stare into the ground. Bol would not meet his gaze or the searching glances of the surrounding algors. The delver saw torment in the exiled king, pain that in some ways he himself caused by forcing Bol out into the desert. He looked back to the algors and offered one last appeal for mercy, if nothing else.

  "If you take him and punish him, it will gain you nothing but more anguish. I'm not making this request lightly. I know what you feel. I know how you view the dwarf king, but you can change that here. Forgiving your enemy is the most difficult thing you can do, almost impossible. But there is a way to avoid that. Don't make him your enemy, and it will be that much easier."

  At first, the algors appeared reluctant to respond. They stood still and silent. Some eyed the dwarf, others watched the delver. After long moments, they responded together in one voice.

  "What does Bol Folarok say?"

  The dwarf would still not look up. Seeing the algors in such a manner reminded him of what he saw in the corridors deep within the sand. He began to see how they could be so close and how they could share so much. With that, he understood the relevance in his own vision, a vision that was brought about by an understanding deep in his own soul.

  When the image of his son was multiplied in the chambers below the surface of the desert, he wondered if it was an illusion, but he realized it was beyond that. It was a measure of comprehension and compassion. The recesses of his soul were allowing him to identify with the algors. He didn't understand why, perhaps it had something to do with the algors themselves and their ability to connect to each
other and even strangers who they deemed part of their community, but he could not disregard what had happened. He understood how much they must have suffered at such a terrible loss.

  Bol's own pain erupted once more through his body, made it difficult to speak. When he did, it was barely above a whisper, but what one algor heard, they all heard.

  "I'm sorry."

  The algors replied immediately, and once more, in total unison.

  "The dwarf king is not our enemy. You may all leave in peace."

  Chapter 28

  Jure teleported himself, Ryson and Bol directly to the chamber in Dunop's castle that Enin utilized for such spells. Their sudden appearance, especially that of the exiled king, caused more than a slight amount of alarm. Dwarf guards were summoned immediately, as was the queen.

  Therese arrived with several advisors. Her expression revealed a growing frustration with events that seemed to defy sanity. Ever since Petiole escaped, she faced one calamity after another. Tensions remained high with the elves, and she could not dismiss the threat of the dieruhnes. The delver's sudden appearance with Bol compounded her concerns, added uncertainty to matters requiring delicate deliberations, and if not handled properly, could destabilize the evolving crisis even further.

  Her first instinct was to question the delver. Her previous conversation with Ryson made her suspicious of his motives, especially in regards to Bol Folarok. With the exiled king standing before her, she could only imagine what might have happened. The delver had warned of a possible conflict with the algors, and that was not another pot she wished to have stirred.

  In deference to a true Folarok, however, she addressed the dwarf first.

  "Are you well, Bol Folarok?"

  She would not address him as king, for though he once wore the crown and carried the proper heritage, he had willingly signed the decree of abdication. His son and Therese's husband, Jon Folarok, was the recognized king.

  "As well as can be expected," Bol replied.