The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  While Agar made his report to Sarius, Elerian leaned wearily against the low, crenellated wall behind him, watching as the battle in the courtyard again turn into a rout. Dwarves continued to pour through the exit to the hall, swelling the numbers of those already in the courtyard. Fighting from behind their shields, they pushed the remaining Mordi completely across the courtyard where they were mercilessly slain or forced over the precipice behind the wall to fall to their deaths.

  Resting his back against a merlon to Elerian’s left, too weary to take any further part in the battle, Ascilius watched approvingly, red sparks glimmering in the depths of his dark eyes as the Wood Goblins were put to death.

  “Have you had enough of Goblin blood today?” asked Elerian curiously.

  “A river of their blood would not satisfy me,” replied Ascilius grimly, speaking from the depths of his hatred for all Goblins. “Were I not so weary, I would gladly slaughter more of them.”

  “You may have the opportunity before this day is over,” replied Elerian, straightening his tall form once more. Ascilius, too, came away from the wall. His face was still pale and strained, bearing witness to the toll Fulmen had taken of his inner strength, but he stood resolutely on his feet once more.

  “Is the gate secure?” he asked worriedly.

  “It is,” replied Elerian. “Falco had matters well in hand when I left the stables to see what you were up to.”

  “You were supposed to remain on the first level to make sure the gate remained closed,” said Ascilius with a frown.

  “If I had stayed put, those mutare would have torn you to bits,” replied Elerian dryly.

  “Nonsense,” said Ascilius dismissively. “I was just gaining the upper hand over them when you almost blew me apart with that confounded destruction spell. Why is it that your rescue attempts always involve setting me on fire, or blowing me up, or changing me into something I would rather not be?” he asked dryly.

  “There you go exaggerating again,” replied Elerian, rolling his eyes. “I do my best and all I hear from you are complaints.”

  At that moment, Durio walked up, eyes gleaming as fiercely as those of Tonare who followed at his heels, both of them covered with the gore of combat.

  “How can the pair of you stand and argue in the aftermath of a battle,” he asked with a frown.

  “Humor heals the spirit,” replied Elerian, his clear gray eyes suddenly appearing wise beyond his years. “If I did not laugh then I must weep,” he said sadly, his eyes taking in the horrors left by the aftermath of the battle: pools of blood, severed limbs, wounded and dead Dwarves covered with gore all intermingled with the slighter forms of slain wood Goblins and the bulky, hairy bodies of dead mutare.

  “You sound like an Elf,” replied Durio contemptuously to Elerian. “Only females weep after a battle. A warrior endures the hazards of war like any other hardship.”

  “How did you arrive so soon, Durio?” asked Ascilius, hoping to forestall an argument between Elerian and the Dwarf.

  “The hills seemed unusually empty and free of any danger, so I decided to improve on your plan a bit,” replied Durio, casting a challenging look at Ascilius. “I thought from the start that the force you took with you was too small.”

  “There were more Goblins stationed in the castella than I expected,” conceded Ascilius grudgingly. “Had Elerian not cleared the hills of the enemy, however, your choice to follow me might have come to a different ending.”

  “We can debate our choices later,” said Elerian firmly before Durio could reply, for it seemed to him that an argument might now flare up between the two obstinate Dwarves. “We need to find a way into Galenus.”

  “We can signal our brethren in the city to open the gate to the ridge road, if Durio has not already done so,” said Ascilius, reigning in his temper.

  “I did not bother, for we cannot enter Galenus that way,” said Durio harshly. “The bridge at the end of the ridge road is gone. I am afraid that we have exchanged one prison for another, for we have no way to leave the castella.”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Ascilius, refusing to give up hope. He began to walk at once across the courtyard, followed by Elerian, Durio, and Tonare. Midway around it, a road pierced the crenellated wall that formed its outer boundary, running across a narrow ridge that led to the slopes of Celsus. As he followed Ascilius across the stone paved road Elerian saw, far to his left, a dark, steady stream of Goblins and mutare running toward the fortress. Behind them, ballistas and a great ram were being pulled toward the castella.

  “We should send everyone back inside,” said Durio sharply to Ascilius. “The missiles from the ballistas will crush anyone who remains in the courtyard or on the road.”

  “We will leave everyone in place until the stones begin to fly,” replied Ascilius firmly. “It will focus the Goblins’ attention here while the wagons enter the stables.”

  “With the stable gate sealed and the bridge gone, it might be best to bypass the fortress entirely,” suggested Durio. “Why not abandon the wagons and take everyone on foot around the north flank of Celsus. Once we reach the north gate we can easily gain admittance to the city.”

  “What think you, Elerian?” asked Ascilius. His voice was steady, but Elerian saw a hint of uncertainty in his dark eyes. Reluctantly, for the last thing he wanted was to come between these two stiff necked Dwarves, Elerian stopped and tried to focus his mind on the northern route around the mountain, straining to call up the second sight that sometimes warned him of future events.

  “I see a dark cloud hanging over the flanks of the mountain,” he said quietly to Ascilius and Durio who had also stopped walking.

  “How menacing,” said Durio sarcastically to Elerian. “But perhaps it is only rain clouds that you see.”

  “There is no scent of rain in the air, only death,” replied Elerian calmly enough, but his gray eyes gleamed with a cold light that made Tonare whine uneasily, for it seemed to him that Elerian and Durio might easily come to blows.

  “Enough of arguments between those that ought to be friends,” he said harshly in his rough voice. “Ascilius is the king, Durio. He has the right to decide what we will do next.”

  Durio cast an angry look at Tonare, but held his tongue as he met the dentire’s fierce little eyes.

  “Decide then,” he said harshly to Ascilius after turning away from Tonare.

  “I will not abandon the castella until I am sure that we cannot somehow enter Galenus,” replied Ascilius firmly. “If we fail to enter the city, on no account will I disregard Elerian’s warning and take our people around the mountain.”

  “You were a fool as a youth and you are still a fool,” said Durio, making no attempt to hide his contempt for Ascilius before stalking away toward the castella, his back rigid with anger.

  “What a pleasant old fellow he is,” said Elerian dryly as Durio stamped away. “I begin to see why you spent so much time traveling.”

  “The death of his son has made him bitter,” replied Ascilius without rancor. “Besides, there is some truth in what he says.”

  “If you believe that, then you really are a fool,” replied Elerian sharply. “We could never have gotten this far if you were the half-wit Durio thinks you are.”

  “I suppose you are right,” said Ascilius, brightening somewhat as he resumed walking down the road.

  “Of course that is not to say you are without character flaws,” said Elerian cheerfully as he walked on Ascilius’s left side. “Like most of the Dwarves that I have met thus far you are grumpy, impulsive, and exceedingly fond of drinking and fighting. All in all, I must say that you are a most trying companion for a modest, sober fellow like myself.”

  “If you are modest and sober then I am a Goblin,” said Ascilius in a long-suffering voice as he came to a stop at the end of the road. He and Elerian were now standing on the brink of a precipice several hundred feet deep. A hundred feet away, on the far side of a stony ravine, two large steel doors
dulled to a somber hue by wind and weather stood in a sheer cliff face. Above the entryway was a narrow balcony which fronted a small steel door barely large enough to admit a Dwarf. The whole cliff face as well as the balcony had a slick, glassy look which told Elerian that it had been magically hardened. The bridge that had spanned the gap between the road and the gate to Galenus lay at the bottom of the ravine, reduced to heaps of rubble and shattered stone.

  “The bridge was destroyed to keep the Goblins from crossing I would imagine,” said Ascilius, “but there should still be a sentry behind the balcony door. If I can get his attention, he may be able to tell us if the stable doors can still be opened.” Reaching for a horn that he carried on a strap around his neck, Ascilius began to blow mightily on its silver mouthpiece. His face darkened from his efforts and veins throbbed in his temples, but the door on the balcony remained closed.

  “Leave off Ascilius before you burst a blood vessel,” advised Elerian. “If they could not hear the sounds of the battle, they have no chance of hearing your horn.”

  “There is no hope then,” said Ascilius gloomily as he put down his horn. “I have bungled things badly, Elerian. Durio was right to say that I am not fit to lead.”

  “Bring me a hook and a rope that will reach that balcony,” said Elerian, ignoring the Dwarf’s abrupt descent into melancholy.

  “What good will that do us?” asked Ascilius with a frown.

  “Bring them and you will see,” replied Elerian with a gleam in his eyes.

  Shaking his head, Ascilius ran back to the fortress. In a short time he returned with a grappling hook tied to a light, strong rope thick as a Dwarf’s thumb.

  “Hold the end of the rope,” ordered Elerian. Casting a sending spell, he watched with his third eye as a small golden orb flew from the fingers of his right hand and enveloped the three-pronged steel hook that lay on the roadbed. The hook immediately vanished, reappearing above the balcony where it fell to the stone floor with a ring of steel.

  “Why this is just like Ennodius,” said Ascilius, hope lighting his eyes as he carefully drew the grappling hook up until it lodged on the ornate metal railing that surrounded the balcony.

  Pulling Acris from its sheath, Elerian sank the sword into the roadbed almost up to the hilt, the argentum inlaid in its smooth sides gleaming brightly as it effortlessly penetrated the stone. Pulling the rope tight, Ascilius carefully knotted it around Acris’s ridged hilt. Raising his right hand for a second time, Elerian cast a transformation spell over the rope which became rigid as iron.

  “Be careful Elerian, it is much farther than the street that you crossed in Ennodius,” advised Ascilius.

  “We will reach the balcony with no trouble,” Elerian assured the Dwarf. His eyes gleamed with laughter when Ascilius’s rough-hewn face paled beneath its dark tan.

  “What do you mean we?” demanded Ascilius. “Bring me across with your magic as you did in Ennodius.”

  “It is a long way across the ravine,” replied Elerian, his face expressionless and his voice serious. “If I were to miss with my spell, I would have to come back for you. It will be quicker if we both cross together now. You are not afraid are you?” he demanded of his companion, a faint, hard gleam lighting his clear gray eyes.

  “Of course not,” replied Ascilius feebly. “I will dare whatever I must to help my people.”

  “Climb on my back then,” ordered Elerian briskly. “Take only Fulmen with you.”

  “He will pay for this,” thought Ascilius darkly to himself, for he strongly suspected that Elerian was playing one of his demented pranks. After setting aside all his gear, he thrust Fulmen through his belt and climbed reluctantly onto Elerian’s back.

  Cradling Ascilius’s short legs in his arms and making light of his heavy burden, Elerian leaped lightly onto the cord stretching from the road to the balcony in the cliff face, balancing easily on the narrow strand. With light, sure steps he advanced along the rope, adjusting easily to the breeze which suddenly began to blow, pushing against his face and body like an invisible hand and whipping Ascilius’s braided hair and beard about. On the road, scores of Dwarves gathered to watch the improbable crossing, certain that any moment the two companions would plunge to their death. Standing among them were Durio and Tonare.

  “I told you that he was a fool,” growled Durio to the dentire.

  “Say rather that he has the courage of a dentire,” replied Tonare as he watched Elerian and Ascilius advance across the cord which seemed thin as a span of spider silk at this distance.

  Ascilius, of course, was not feeling brave at all, for halfway across the ravine, he made the mistake of looking down. Immediately, his head began to swim. Heart pounding in his chest, he involuntarily tightened his arms around Elerian’s neck.

  “You’re choking me,” complained Elerian in a strangled voice.

  “You deserve a good choking for dragging me out here,” replied Ascilius angrily as he slackened his grip a little. His heart began to slow and then suddenly skipped a beat as Elerian stumbled and then wavered on the thin cord beneath his feet. Ascilius groaned and a collective gasp went up from the Dwarves on the roadbed.

  “We are done,” thought Ascilius despairingly as he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable plunge through the air to the rocks far below.

  GALENUS

  Miraculously, instead of slipping off the rope, Ascilius suddenly felt Elerian steady beneath him. Opening his eyes, he was about to advise Elerian to proceed with greater caution when his companion suddenly began to run over the thin cord beneath his feet, stepping as surely as if he trod a broad walkway. Eyes opened wide in horror, Ascilius felt his tongue suddenly freeze in his mouth, and his much-abused heart race uncontrollably in his chest. For the second time in the space of a few heartbeats, he was certain that at any moment he and Elerian would fall to their deaths.

  Racing sure footedly along the slender rope beneath his feet, Elerian’s eyes gleamed with pleasure, for he felt as if he were flying through the air. From the rigidity of Ascilius’s body and the strength of his grip, he knew that his companion was terrified, but that only added to his enjoyment of the situation. He considered pretending to stumble again but then reluctantly discarded the idea.

  “He might faint this time, creating a dangerous situation for both of us,” thought Elerian regretfully to himself. He had barely completed the thought before reaching the railing to which the grappling hook was fastened. Leaping lightly down, he let go of Ascilius’s legs, depositing the Dwarf on the floor of the balcony. The feel of solid stone beneath his feet immediately restored Ascilius to himself, transforming his terror to anger.

  “You are mad!” he said to Elerian in a horrified voice. “You could have killed both of us.”

  “Don’t tell me you were afraid,” replied Elerian raising his eyebrows in pretended surprise.

  “Nothing frightens me except your perverse sense of humor,” replied Ascilius angrily. His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Did you stumble on purpose?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I thought it might impress your friends,” replied Elerian, his eyes gleaming with laughter. When a vein began to throb in Ascilius’s forehead and his powerful hands began to clench and unclench, Elerian held himself ready to leap from the balcony back onto the rope where he would be safe from the Dwarf. “They are all watching you, you know,” he reminded Ascilius.

  Breathing deeply to calm himself, Ascilius turned toward the road and saw hundreds of Dwarves cheering and shouting encouragement.

  “I will strangle you in private at the first opportunity,” he muttered to Elerian as he unclenched his hands and waved back.

  “There will not be a later if we cannot get someone to open this door,” replied Elerian, undaunted by Ascilius’s threat.

  “They will open it or I will beat it down,” growled Ascilius as he drew Fulmen from his belt. Imagining that the small steel door was Elerian’s head, he began to rain down blows on its upper half. Each time Fulmen
struck the door, there was a bright flash of silver white light, and a hollow boom rang out until it seemed as if a thunderstorm had broken on the mountainside. As it shivered on its hinges under Ascilius’s terrific assault, dents began to appear in the door’s hardened and magically protected steel surface. Abruptly a narrow slot opened in the upper part of the door. Breathing heavily, Ascilius ceased his assault on the portal.

  “Who beats on this door?” a deep voice asked nervously through the slot.

  “Ascilius of Ennodius,” replied Ascilius at once.

  “I recognize the name but not the face,” said the Dwarf behind the door in a suspicious voice. “Have you any proof this is not some stratagem of the enemy. We know there are shape changers among them.”

  “In what inn did Ascilius defeat Gavros, son of Baldur in arm wrestling?” abruptly asked another voice.

  “The Red Pony,” answered Ascilius immediately. “I won twenty silver coins on that match.”

  A brief rattle of bolts being drawn back and the clang of crossbars being removed followed Ascilius’s answer. Then the door suddenly flew open and a powerful Dwarf rushed out to seize Ascilius in a bear hug.

  “Where did you spring from old friend,” shouted the Dwarf. “An eagle must have carried you here.”

  “I came across this rope, Gavros,” replied Ascilius, pointing with his left hand to the cord fastened to the balcony railing after his friend released him. Ascilius did not seem to think it important to mention to Gavros that he had been carried across the ravine by Elerian, for he left out that detail.

  “You must have the courage of a lion,” replied Gavros in an admiring voice. “Just the thought of stepping on that thin strand makes my head spin.”