Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2)

by Brandon Cornwell

  Darby spread his hands, shrugging. “All I can do is bring it t' the council. They'll decide whether to agree or...”

  Elias raised a brow. “Or?” he prompted.

  Darby shrugged again. “Or not. They're none too fond of elves, and right now, men ain't too high on their list either. Tall folk ain't exactly been treating us kindly as of late.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The interior of the mine was low enough that Elias had to bend down to fit through some of the tunnels, carrying his sheathed sword in his hands instead of harnessed on his back. It extended into the higher peak at a very slight uphill grade for about fifty yards before dipping downwards at a relatively steep angle. The three dwarves that had accompanied Darby to the surface stayed at the iron door to the mines, sealing it shut and standing guard.

  Along the ground in the middle of the tunnel ran two sets of iron rails, attached to wide wooden beams set into the ground at regular intervals. The surface of the rails were worn smooth by the steel wheels of the carts that the dwarves used to transport raw ore to the surface to be processed. A thin layer of rust was forming on the top of the rails, evidence that they had gone unused for some time.

  When they reached the crest of the uphill grade, Elias asked Darby why the tunnel didn't just slope downward immediately.

  “That's t' keep the water out when it rains,” explained Darby. “Every so often, the drains that keep the old quarry dry get plugged up, and the rainwater can puddle pretty deep. If it were to drain into the mines, we'd have a hell of a time gettin' it out.”

  As the tunnel traveled deeper into the mountain, it gradually grew broader and taller, until Elias could stand fully upright again. He transferred his sword to the harness on his back, freeing up his hands. Darby led Elias down the corridor alone, much to Tataramoa's dismay. The warrior had strongly suggested that Elias take some companions into the mine, but Elias declined.

  “Elves have not treated the dwarves kindly here on the mainland, and to come into their city with an armed escort could be considered an act of aggression. I'd prefer to avoid that,” Elias said, before leaving the worried elf in charge.

  So here he was, following Darby down the tunnel. Their footsteps echoed off of the walls as they walked between the iron rails that ran along the mineshaft. Darby held a torch aloft, revealing the path, the red firelight causing their shadows to dance on the rough-hewn walls.

  “Now, let me do the talking,” the tall dwarf was saying as they closed on a mortared stone wall with an iron-banded door in the center. Two armored dwarves, each coming barely to Darby's chin, stood on either side of the barred door. Both of them held an axe in their hands; large, heavy things, these axes seemed freshly forged. They had long, sweeping edges, nearly a third the length of the haft, with intricate designs etched into the flats of the blades. These axes were designed to chop flesh and bone, not trees.

  “Back so soon, Darby? Was the walk t' Jetty that brief?”

  Darby scowled at the guardsman. “Does it look like I've been above ground that long, dirtbrain? I've found a better solution to our dragon problem.”

  The other guard laughed. “What, you gonna sacrifice this elf to them? Might work, I hear they like pretty maids.”

  Elias frowned but held his tongue. Even in the Northlands, the few dwarves he had met had been gruff, but mostly good-natured. He resisted the urge to fire a sarcastic comment back at the dwarf. There must be something about the position of guardsman that drew unpleasant characters.

  Darby shoved the second dwarf unceremoniously against the wall, pinning him there for a moment. “This elf brings with him the steel we need t' pierce their hides. Y'see that sword he's got strapped to his back? I forged that myself outta the very stuff I was after.”

  The smith shoved himself back, pushing off of the guardsman, who angrily straightened his breastplate. “So, what, this bushwalker is just gonna go in there and kill the dragons what ate twenty of our kin? I'd like to see him try.”

  Darby put a mockingly sincere expression on his face. "Oh, aye, I'd like t' see that too, but unless ya open this door, it's not gonna happen, now is it? So I recommend that one o' ya git that key out right quick before I knock your heads together! Ya might be tasked with guarding this door, but I'm still on the council, an' you're not!”

  Grumbling, the first guard fished around in his breastplate before pulling out a thick, intricate iron key. Jamming it into the keyhole, he twisted it, causing the lock to make a loud, mechanical clicking noise. Shoving the door open, Darby beckoned to Elias. “Right this way, Master Elf. Once you know what language t' speak, there's no end t' the doors you can open.”

  The guards scowled at Elias as he walked through.

  “You be sure to mind yourself down here, elf,” the first dwarf spat.

  “Aye, we've got ten thousand axes and more dwarves than we need to swing 'em. Keep yerself in check!” The second elf gripped his axe meaningfully.

  Darby waved a hand, dismissing them. “Ignore them. They're just over-inflated bellows, is all. Slap armor on a dwarf, he thinks he's invincible, with a pair o' stones bigger'n his head.”

  Elias followed Darby as the mine shaft opened into an enormous chamber, and his jaw nearly dropped in awe at the sheer size of the place. Pillars hewn from the living stone stood at regular intervals, banded and reinforced with iron, stretching from the stone tiled ground to the top of the cavern. Iron chains with chandeliers shaped like wagon wheels hung from anchors unseen in the darkness above, rimmed with blazing torches that cast pools of light onto the smooth floor below. One such fixture was currently lowered to the ground, the torches being replaced by a team of industrious dwarves, their faces and hands smudged dirty and black from soot and ash.

  They looked up at Elias as he followed Darby past, the surprise on their faces quickly replaced with thinly veiled spite. One of them, a younger dwarf with a short, red beard, snapped out as Elias walked past.

  “What, owning ever'thing above ground weren't enough? Ya gotta come down here t' our world?”

  Darby whirled back, glowering at the younger dwarf. “He's my guest down here, ya little shit! Get back t' yer task! Those torches ain't gonna light themselves!”

  Another, older dwarf spoke up. “Why's he down here, MacWilliams?”

  Darby stepped up to the dwarf, who stood no higher than Darby's chin. “I'm bringin' him before the council, not that my business is any o' yers, Dougan. So how about ya git about t' lightin' them torches, 'fore I git ya about to it.”

  The older dwarf scowled from behind his beard. “Mighty big words from a half-breed blacksmith.”

  Darby grinned, his eyes narrowing. “I'm as much a dwarf as any of ya. Wanna see if my hammer can make ya sing as pretty as my steel does when I hit you with it?”

  For a moment, Elias thought there was going to be a very short brawl. Before any blows were thrown, however, the older, shorter dwarf backed down, glaring at Darby and Elias. Grumbling under his breath, Dougan turned back to the torches, helping the younger dwarf light them.

  “Give a half-breed a title, an' he thinks he's better n' the rest of us.”

  Darby led Elias towards a tunnel on the south wall of the cavern that was encased in massive, uniform stone blocks, fitted together so tightly that not even a sheet of parchment would slide between them. Tiles of quartz covered the ground, set into the even stone floor about an inch apart. They were polished so smooth that the firelight coming from the torches recessed into the walls reflected onto the ceiling, revealing intricately carved arches spanning the broad, low tunnel. Elias had to duck under the arches as they walked through the relatively ornate passage.

  The end of the tunnel opened to another chamber, much smaller than the first one they entered. This one a square room, perhaps a hundred feet on a side and thirty feet tall, with a domed ceiling. Rough-hewn pillars, again reinforced with iron bands, sported torches and were spaced every twenty feet or so, supporting long arches of stone and iron. On the far
end of the room, between two pillars, was a raised dais with eight chairs. Three dwarves sat in these chairs, conversing over maps and parchments covered in the thick runic script of the dwarves.

  Elias was struck by the similarity of the designs and writing of the dwarves to the men of the north. The architecture and script of the elves were much more ornate, flowing and light, while the dwarves had a much more angular, thick design, though it wasn't without its charm. Elias felt a wave of nostalgia, and he realized that he missed the Northlands.

  To his left, there was a broad, low table with four more dwarves standing around it, a carved map of Lonwick and the surrounding regions covering the surface, the mountains rising above the plains, each rise in elevation recreated in painstaking detail. He could see the Stromgard mountain to what he assumed was the northern end of the map, towering above the mountain ranges around it. As much as he wanted to approach and study the carving, the fact that all seven dwarves had stopped speaking and turned to look at him when he entered kept him close to Darby.

  “So. You've come back, quite quickly, and with this... topsider with you,” one of the dwarves said, his powerful voice lacking the usual thick accent of the rest of the dwarves. He stood at the head of the carved table, hands resting on a low mountain range. He wore a heavy coat of plates that hung down to his knees and belted around his thick waist and ironclad boots that rose nearly to his armor. Each finger sported a heavy gold or silver ring, some of them set with small gems of various colors, and sturdy iron bracers were laced onto his forearms. A long, thick, gray beard fell nearly to his belt, and though it was receding, his red hair fell freely about his shoulders, streaked through with white.

  This time, when Darby replied, it was courteously. "Yes, Greggor. As I was departing th' mine, I ran into an old acquaintance o' mine. I'd like t' introduce Elias of Stromgard. He's leadin' an army to Valtheim, aimin' t' help his kin take it back from the raiders that have overrun it.”

  Greggor's hand settled on the carving of the Stromgard Mountain. “So. An elf of the North. I've never heard of such a thing. Tell me, Elias of Stromgard, what brings you to our kingdom? Coming down here doesn't get you closer to the Northlands.”

  Elias bowed slightly. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his deep voice reverberating around the chamber. “Darby told me that you have a dragon problem, and he sought steel from his forge in Jetty. Steel that he had used to make a sword, which I now own. I am willing to use that steel to help you take care of your problem, if you are willing to help me take care of mine.”

  The armored dwarf drummed his fingers on the three-dimensional map. "Killing vicious beasts for a price? You sound more like a mercenary than a general.”

  Elias frowned. “Would you give me warriors if I just asked nicely?”

  Greggor scowled, his mustache drooping around his chin. "We don't give free people away here in the underground, elf. Each soul under the mountain follows his or her own path within the kingdom we are carving out of the mountains. We eight were freely elected by our people, and they follow us because they want to.” He gestured to Elias. "With all due respect you being an elf, likely won't inspire the same kind of loyalty. Up there, in Lonwick, dwarves and elves... well, let's just say we're on less than cordial terms.”

  Elias nodded. “I am aware of the injustices visited upon your people. I may have been born in Lonwick, but it is not my home. In the North, your people were treated with respect by the kings in Brandt's line.”

  Greggor arched an eyebrow, looking Elias over. “So, I assume you want our warriors to aid in the liberation of Lonwick. Why would we come to the aid of those we once rebelled against?”

  Elias spread his hands. “It's not to the aid of Lonwick that I go now, but to the aid of Valtheim. I understand that Silverdeep was attacked by men of the Northlands; it is likely that these same men attacked my home, rebelling against their king, Brandt, son of Brynjar. While they ruled, Brynjar, his father, and grandfather never raided the south. Brandt would never have sent men to attack you.”

  Greggor looked down at the map. “It is true that while Brynjar's line ruled the Northlands, they only warred amongst themselves, not us. When we could, trade with their kingdom was prosperous. There was relative peace along the border, and they appreciated our steel.” He looked up at Elias again. “But you ask us to leave our new kingdom, and fight in wars that have nothing to do with us, for an end that benefits you the most. How would such a thing help our people?”

  Elias walked over to the table, standing across from Greggor and the other four dwarves. “By coming to Brandt's aid, I would assume the raids would end, and you could resume your activities above the ground. Once we finished our business in the Northlands, I would be riding south. While my purpose is not the liberation of Lonwick, I do ride against the Felle, and if I am successful, I expect the Felle will be dealt a blow that brings Lonwick victory. This is, honestly, what I would prefer. If your warriors are instrumental in this victory, then perhaps your standing in Lonwick will be greatly improved.” He looked down to Greggor. “Perhaps improved enough o sue for independence.”

  Greggor chuckled. “That's an awfully big gamble for 'perhaps.' What assurances do you offer?”

  Elias shrugged. “I don't have any way to offer an assurance of that. What I can offer is that if we succeed, we will eliminate two major threats to your people, one being the northern raiders, and the other being the Felle. In that case, you'd be no worse off than you would have been if Lonwick defeats the Felle without our aid, except that you'd not have the Northmen to worry about.”

  Greggor was quiet for a moment, before looking to either side of him, at the other dwarves in the room. One by one, they nodded, only two shaking their heads and turning away. Last, he looked to Darby, who shrugged.

  “Sounds like the start to a solid plan t' me. We can at least put it up to a vote. Let the people decide if they want t' have another war above ground. It's been two hundred years since the last one.”

  Greggor nodded. “Aye, a vote does seem like the best course. Very well, Elias of Stromgard, we'll put it before our people. If they agree, then you'll have every volunteer who wants to join with you, once you slay the beasts that killed our kin.” He held up a finger. “There are, however, no promises how many will go with you. It could be five, for five hundred, or none.”

  Elias nodded. “I understand.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Elias waited outside the entrance to the mine, twenty warriors waiting with him. It had been two days since he had met with the dwarven council, and he was awaiting the results of their vote. This was a process he was unfamiliar with, but he liked it. Instead of a single person or even a council deciding the fate of their subjects, the dwarves had chosen to make every voice heard. This, however, took some time, when compared to the issuing of decrees or directives. Time that he didn't have to spend. Every day he waited was another day lost. Another day that Brandt was in danger, and another day that grew closer to his rendezvous with Jonas and Martin.

  While they waited, Elias had overseen the relocation of his small army to Rockhill. The fortified city stood above a vast quarry, bigger even than the one at Silverdeep, using the edge of the man-made pit as one side of their defenses. Great stone blocks formed the walls, which ran a hundred yards from the sheer drop into the stoneworks below, and in a semi-circle away from the quarry. Any foe caught between the cliff face and the walls would have little cover from the defenders atop the wall, which made Lonwick's northernmost outpost highly defensible. It had served them well before Brynjar's grandfather had put an end to the Northland's raids.

  Elias's forces camped outside of the walls, sheltered by the towering fir trees that crowded the fields surrounding the city. Generations upon generations of farmers had pushed back the mighty forest, clearing land for their crops, and now the city supported a population of nearly twenty thousand. When word had reached them of the Felle aggressions, they had doubled their guards and allowed the
farmers that lived outside of the walls to take refuge within, anticipating an attack that had as yet not come.

  Tataramoa had been loath to leave Elias's side while he was underground, but Elias had insisted that the stoic sea elf direct the warriors while Elias garnered the support of the dwarves. Instead, Tataramoa hand-picked the warriors that would accompany Elias to the dragon's lair. It was with these warriors that Elias waited at the entrance to the mines. The quarry at Silverdeep was now as empty as it had been when Elias had arrived.

  It was near noon when Darby, accompanied by ten armed and armored dwarven warriors, emerged from the iron door.

  “Well, Elias, you'll be pleased t' hear the vote passed. T'was a narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless. Many of the citizens of our underground realm remember the last time they carried an axe to battle, and found that it suits them still.”

  Elias smiled, shaking the dwarf's massive hand. “I am glad to hear it. As you can see, I've got some companions of my own that will accompany me. Perhaps they will be of assistance. I certainly hope so.”

  Darby sized up the gathered blue-skinned warriors. “Aye, I thought you might bring some o' yours with ye. I see spears... can they fire bows?”

  Elias nodded. “Sea elves are some of the best archers I've ever seen.”

  “Aye, then I've got somethin' for 'em.”

  Elias and his warriors followed Darby down into the depths. This time, the entire passage was lined with dwarven warriors, each brandishing an axe or a short sword, some few with crossbows. Some greeted the elves, nodding to them as they passed, while others openly scowled at them as they walked down the passage.

  Darby looked back to Elias, shrugging apologetically. “Like I said, it was a close vote.”