Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  “You still haven’t answered my question Taleinith,” the Loremaster spoke quietly, ashamed that he had been so presumptuous as to believe that the Forest Elves were so monumentally different to every other race. True that they lived a different lifestyle, but all cultures acted in similar ways when beliefs were truly investigated.

  “I know I haven’t, but I needed you to realise that not all of us fully comprehend Her Order ourselves, for such things are hardly simple. Some concepts are too complex for people to understand, while others are too complex for those that do understand to fully explain them. Such is Nature’s Order, though it is seen by every being all the time. Every living creature knows instinctively how to thrive within its own habitat, even though the young must be taught how to fully use the skills. The instincts are what Nature gave them so that they might live their lives according to Her wishes; Her Order. The race of Men kills for reasons outside of those wishes, for petty gain rather than for survival when it is because they need to eat or to defend themselves and their young. Instead Men kill for sport, or because the realm beyond the border appears to be richer. Such materialistic desires are irrelevant to Nature, because when you die you will lose all your possessions. The Baridians, who are seen by the other human factions as “uncultured” and “barbaric” live their lives according to Nature’s Order, killing only what they must rather than what they want, but they are still prone to times when a Chieftain will send his warriors to attack other lands and expand territory. Sometimes it is because the Charad Empire are seen to digress too far from the Order, other times it is out of vengeance for an attack by the Charadic army which is against the Order and Katchanga or another of Her appointed Guardians must attempt to end the decline away from Her. Unfortunately these efforts can often result in those who are aided trying to then get vengeance and go against Her Order, and so the decline is perpetuated and Katchanga must then take steps alone to reset the balance. He has aided and fought against almost every faction in the world, and only those who are truly wise can see why. The others despise him when they force him to turn against them, and so it is only through his magic that the balance remains intact and he maintains his mobility. Nature’s Order is all about maintaining this delicate balance, which is why these mountains and others continue to hold the multitudes of orcs within their bodies. If orcs were not intended to exist, then Nature would never have made it possible for them to have thrived as they have, and so it is against Her will that he and we should render them extinct. This is where the Order becomes unclear to many, because anyone who comes into the regions where the orc-kin have gathered is always attacked, and of course Men must then pursue a quest to destroy them. While Katchanga could never aid the orcs, due to their hostility to all races save when a powerful being can command them through instilling fear, he uses his powers to ensure that the attempt to destroy the creatures ends in failure. As with the humans he must fight, only those who are going against the Order must be removed from the land Nature created; a land Her children and Guardians strive endlessly to maintain according to Her will. Living by Nature’s Order means that we learn to appreciate the simpler pleasures of life, such as a sunset or sunrise or seeing the face of someone you love by the pale moonlight or a soft autumnal sun’s glow, rather than the desire for money and material possession like Men and Dwarves seem to crave.”

  A long-winded answer had been given to a short question into a complex issue. Lonariel supposed that such was the way when all faiths must be explained to, well, an unbeliever such as he, and he began to wonder what it was he actually believed. Taleinith had held no intention of trying to turn the Fire Elf into a follower of Nature’s Order, but nonetheless he realised now just how empty his life had been. From a tender age he had learnt the use of weapons, while at the same time he had pursued his quest for knowledge, which ironically had prevented him from actually learning something of true value during over a thousand years of life. Here he was among people who had a seemingly simple and possibly naïve view of the world, and yet they were fully content with life. Katchanga spent almost every day of every year serving Nature in one way or another, knowing that he could die during any of his journeys and not caring about the future, and yet Lonariel had become cynical of many faiths. His chosen career had developed within him an ardent desire for proof, and he know realised how blind he had been to the truth of many things. Faith had always seemed to be a pursuit of falsehood, yet in hearing how Taleinith described the Order that Katchanga and Halarniel both followed fully it seemed as if they had both become more fulfilled than the Loremaster.

  “What would you do if you felt your life to have been wasted?” he asked, his head bowed by the sense of emptiness he was experiencing.

  “I would remember that Fate governs all our actions, and whatever happens will have occurred for a reason. The reasons are always hidden until the time when people begin to feel the effects of their efforts. An example I can give you is that few people realised that all that happened in Katchanga’s life would allow him to become who he is now, yet he has become a favoured Guardian of Nature and for a brief few centuries he managed to unite all the lands upon Periand, and his influence has been felt intermittently upon the two other continents and their surrounding islands.” Taleinith seemed to understand how his young companion was feeling, as if he had thought the same at some point during his own life’s activities. “I learnt as much from Katchanga himself, and I have never encountered someone who could refute his advice, and the few who attempted to provide a different idea have never possessed any credibility.”

  The unhampered flight of the wyverns had covered the expansive mountains without difficulty and, even as Taleinith finished his speech, the surface entrance to Brietrin’s Hall, a strange shaping of the mountain peak to resemble a pillared temple, passed into clear view. The area housed within the hauntingly beautiful shelter was used as a meeting place between the Dwarven smiths and the traders of foreign lands, the Dwarves unwilling to allow strangers entry to their city itself lest the strangers used what information they could gain to inform their Kings of any defensive measures and allow the Hall to fall as so many had done during the Ages that the stout mountainfolk had dwelled within Naturien. Already five Dwarven clans had fallen into extinction, whether it was to orc-kin or a less common foe, as their enemies were drawn by a lust for the valuable gems and minerals within the walls of the settlements, and so the few strongholds that remained intact were always wary of strangers to their lands lest they suffer the same end. Lonariel and Farim had been accepted only by the request of Daruil, and now the Fire Elf had to tell the fiery-tempered King of Guthingol, for so Brietrin’s forebears had named their city, that his most trusted Loremaster and good friend had been severely wounded and may even now be dead within a Kuhiar clan’s dwelling though the Human and Elf had survived practically unscathed. The tale sounded fantastical even as he played the idea through his mind, and the Elven Loremaster was almost inclined to depart the land as soon as he had recovered his winged steed had it returned safely. How could someone let a person know a good friend was dead, and in the same breath inform him that nearly a hundred giants and an unknown number of orcs were close to moving to attack his people?

  It had been Lonariel’s impression that the only reason the Kuhiar were able to hold out as they were was their diminutive size, seeing as how they were of Dwarven height and the Fire Giants were all more than double the height of the tallest Man, and many of the tunnels were little higher than a human. This had meant that only the patrolling orcs and panthers had been able to access these areas, and the confined nature of the spaces had allowed the black-armoured Dwarf-kin to hold all advantages save numerical strength. This was the telling factor however, because the Kuhiar were woefully few in number by all appearances while the orcs were innumerable, and every death among the Dwarf-kin was dire. The Loremaster knew he had to warn Brietrin’s people of this threat because it was only a matter of time, and judging by King Far
lan’s sombre mood a brief length of time, until the horde turned their attentions to Clan Doomhammer’s hall and the wealth contained therein. Judging by the insignia of a four-horned demon, a symbol that had last been carried by the soldiers of Moragil when he was part of Carrassiel’s army, it seemed as if the successor to the defeated Dark Lord was in command of the foes that had assaulted the Kuhiar. If so what did it mean? Was history about to be repeated? The Fire Elf was unable to continue thinking such dire thoughts as the wyverns landed, their descent vertical as they tilted their wings constantly in response to the high winds that were always drifting across the high points of the mountain range. Even as the creatures’ clawed feet touched the hard stone, five armour-clad Dwarven sentinels marched swiftly to meet them, battleaxes gripped in readiness lest the currently unrecognised arrivals proved to be invaders. Taleinith’s hand instinctively reached under his dark green cloak to grasp the hilt of his sabre, but with a tremendous strength of will he brought his hand out unarmed before him. Reluctantly the other escorts followed his example, and several had to accompany their thoughts with hand gestures to keep the wyverns from preparing an attack.

  “Whatever the reaction of the Dwarves,” the Warden told his companion through clenched teeth, “I shall be here to help you if it is needed.”

  Dwarves and Dragons

  September 9th, 1190

  As the sentinels closed to within just a few metres of the Elves the flaming torches cast their dancing orange glow over the dark cloaks and the moonlight-coloured chain mail of the Wardens. The sky had barely lost the last rebellious rays of sunlight, yet already the high peaks were silhouetted by the moon and stars and much was barely visible save where the firelight wasn’t obscured. Holding his torch so that each Elven face was highlighted the leading sentinel squinted as he recognised Lonariel and he relaxed his grip slightly, though he looked suspiciously at the Wardens. The warning growls from the wyverns seemed to antagonise him slightly, and his remarks were given with an unwarranted level of aggression.

  “Explain yer business, Elves of the Forest, for ye’re out of yer realm here.”

  This puny humanoid speaks without the respect due to his guests Lonariel heard the wyvern he had ridden comment within his head, the tone suggesting that the Dragon-kin was close to attacking the sentinel, and the Loremaster hastily thought back that it was a sentinel’s role to be in such a mood when armed strangers drew close to their home. Through it all Taleinith remained calm, his limited experience with those of Dwarven heritage making the response unsurprising.

  “I and my fellows have come as escort to ensure Lonariel of the Fire Elves remained safe within the mountain trails. My Lady commanded such a precaution considering his original companions have become…indisposed.” At the mention of Farim and Daruil the sentinels realised their absence, and the lead sentinel reached a conclusion hastily.

  “What did ye do with them that they couldn’t return ter Guthingol with the Loremaster?”

  “We did nothing, Master Dwarf, for the Loremaster of your clan did not enter our lands. The human has been taken to our Clerics, for the wounds he sustained within the mountains were severe. When he is able to make the journey he shall be returned to you, but we can do nothing about the Dwarf he accompanied.”

  “Daruil Hammerstriker received grievous wounds within the Kuhiar hall upstream from here, for reasons that mean I must have an audience with King Brietrin immediately. Your Loremaster, and my friend, was alive and being taken so that your kin could heal him when last I saw him, but such were his wounds that I doubt he will have even survived that journey. Patrolling orcs and panthers caused wounds both times we encountered a group, but the initial battle’s injuries hadn’t sealed fully when he was next in combat, and so he suffered greatly.” The Fire Elf spoke quietly, both arms raised in an effort to make the sentinels focus on him rather than continue glaring at the Wardens of Halarniel’s land. It appeared to work, the news of Daruil’s state and mention of a problem great enough to warrant an audience with his King causing the leading sentinel to become far more professional in his manner.

  “If that’s the case then yer’d best come inter the Gateway, though yer friends must give up their weapons or return ter their own realm immediately,” he told the Elven Loremaster gruffly, referring to the chambers within the highly decorated structure, that had once been a mountain peak and stood as the entrance to the Dwarven kingdom. Taleinith nodded to his fellow Forest Elves, and seven sabres and longbows accompanied by full quivers were passed to the other four sentinels, though none of the other Wardens seemed comfortable with their unarmed state. It seemed as if the wyverns shared this sentiment, unless they were simply responding to their riders’ feelings, because all save the two that had born Lonariel and the Head Warden stepped closer to their Elven masters and flexed their wings and tails to show that they were prepared to defend them if the Dwarves thought to take advantage of the situation.

  The external appearance of the Gateway was very deceptive, because the inside was far larger than it seemed from regarding the pillared design. The outer doorway led into an expansive hall, the ceiling a dome of polished and carved stone depicting a great battle between Dwarves and Orcs. The foot of the walls was hidden from view by a myriad of different-sized tables and upturned carts, no longer in use as the merchants had departed to return to their various homelands with the wares they had bartered for, and the Dwarven tradesmen were once more within the many craft-houses where mined ores were transformed into tools, weapons and all the other artefacts that were required both for trade, war and other purposes. Three corridors branched from this chamber, each one sloping downwards slightly as they bored into the rock from which the structure had been carved, and many doors could be seen along the passages to the left and right of the entrance. The third corridor, slightly smaller than the others, was actually a steep yet steady slope and seemingly the way into the city of Guthingol. The lead sentinel took this passage, paying little attention to the life-sized statues of Dwarven kings past and present that lined both sides of the smooth corridor, while the other sentinels stood watch over the Elves as they wandered aimlessly about the entrance chamber. Most admired the carved battle scene, which extended the full length of the chamber’s cavernous dome. The Dwarven half of the scene displayed an image of the main gate of Guthingol, with nearly a hundred of the stout warriors identifiable amidst the throng of indistinct shapes that clouded much of both sides. The other half, the Orcish half, was filled with the hairy brutes, each armed with a crude blade or hammer and charging towards the defences. Straining even his keen Elven eyes, for despite the considerable level of lighting in the chamber the image was right at the very pinnacle of the dome, Lonariel could just make out a third type of warrior fighting beside the Dwarven defenders. He appeared to be Elven, though the weapons within his hands were unlike any he had ever known an Elf to bear. They could best be described as a dagger-sized trident, with three small blades where a dagger would ordinarily have one thicker blade. Such weapons seemed impractical to the Loremaster, because they offered no better offensive or defensive bonus than a normal dagger, yet the pictured Elf was so muscular in appearance that he seemed more than capable of wielding at least an average sword if not a blade similar to the Fire Elf’s own. Looking closer, as best as he could due to the slight shadows and the curved nature of the dome, he noticed that there was a curved scabbard attached to the warrior’s belt, and that a hilt could be seen on either side of his torso. It appeared as if the warrior had chosen his unusual weapons over the curved weapons beside him, yet this choice appeared to be madness. Following his companion’s gaze across the depicted battle Taleinith also saw the strange warrior, but recognised the being with a greater swiftness due to having seen him in battle before.

  “Katchanga wielding his sai blades against the orcs,” he commented matter-of-factly, his eyes seeming to laugh at the confused look upon his friend’s pale face.

  “I was wondering why a
warrior would use such impractical weapons in place of his swords, especially when faced with such odds,” the Loremaster told him.

  “Because Katchanga preferred to keep his enemies as close as possible rather than allowing them room to manoeuvre. If they were within range of his sai blades then they couldn’t use the full length of their own weapons, but if they weren’t able to knock aside his weapons then he could block all but the strongest attacks, and such close quarters meant that if he was against multiple opponents they were blocking each other when he turned away their weapons. Plus they are easier to wield in an enclosed space than weapons as long as a scimitar and he wouldn’t interfere with any attacks made by the Dwarves.” It certainly made sense, and Katchanga certainly possessed the speed to make full use of such tactics. Perhaps such strategy had been what had allowed him to win so many victories over his opponents through the centuries.

  “That was a grand day,” one of the sentinels suddenly offered, a wistful look crossing his bearded face as he joined the discussion. “Five hundred of us against at least a hundred times that number of orcs, with both Katchanga and me king standing at the front of that defensive line. We lost two hundred fellow warriors before the accursed attackers met us at the gates. It was like the entire mountain had come ter life with all the pounding of their booted feet, but me king says “Stand!” and we stood. They hit us hard in that initial charge, but we continued ter stand and let our axes tear inter their hairy hides as the foolish creatures’ blades barely dented our armour. The fight was over within a few hours, though it ended with the Elf, me king and just a hundred of us remaining ter slay the last of them that stayed ter fight. Eventually we forced them all ter flee, though Katchanga cut them down with that longbow of his and few reached this level ter flee back ter their filthy holes. Had ter add at least a hundred notches ter me axe after that, and each one as good a kill as ye’ll ever see.”