The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic

by Timothy Woods

  Walking across the ramp, Bran noted again the enormity of the gate wheel. The track itself that the wheel moved in was five feet across and two and a half feet deep. Then, once beyond the wheel itself they still had to move an additional ten feet to come out the other side of the wall.

  Once they emerged from the tunnel in the wall, the company stopped in front of a grizzled old dwarf standing in the middle of the road. He was average height for a dwarf, but his muscular build rivaled that of Gant. His hair and beard, at one time black like Gant’s, were now shot through with silver. He stood facing them with his legs planted firmly apart and fists on his hips. His eyes were narrowed as he glared at Gant. Gant stopped in front of him and bowed deeply.

  "Axethane, Ralk. It is good to see you again."

  Ralk continued to stand there unmoving for a few seconds, and then his face split in a huge grin. He grabbed Gant and hefted him off the ground.

  "It is good to see you in one piece, my son. Come. Bring your men to the dining hall and tell me everything that has happened since you left." Ralk set Gant on the ground and stepped back still holding on to his shoulders.

  Gant shrugged his chainmail back into place and stood up straighter, trying to salvage at least a little of his dignity. He grumbled while his men and those dwarves in the immediate area hid their smiles.

  "I didn’t march six and a half leagues just to be hoisted around like a sack of mushrooms."

  "More like a sack of rocks. I swear boy, you grow more like granite with each passing day." Tearing his eyes away from Gant, Ralk scanned the front ranks looking for Hine. Seeing that he was among them and uninjured, he motioned the young dwarf forward, smiling.

  "Hine, my boy, I see you are no worse for the wear." He placed his arm around his grandson’s shoulders and turned toward the mountain on his left. Gant waved his men forward. They followed Axethane Ralk to a five foot tall, iron door in the mountainside. As Ralk opened the door, warm firelight streamed out to further illuminate the yard, accompanied by the aromas of hearty stew and fresh baked bread.

  Kale smiled at Bran.

  "A proper, hot meal at long last. I was getting ready to cook my boots."

  Bran returned the grin.

  "That would have been a welcome change from those awful, hard biscuits."

  As they walked into the gathering hall, Kale stated with sincerity.

  "You know, even as tired as I am, I would walk straight home for one of Kara’s home cooked meals. I wouldn’t even tease her about her biscuits."

  "I will be grateful for a hot meal regardless who cooks it," Bran replied.

  Ralk lead them deeper into the hall. The walls were smoothly worked stone, as were the floor and ceiling. The dining hall was sixty feet wide and forty feet deep. There were tables evenly spaced throughout, and torches hung in sconces along the walls. At the right end was the kitchen; the enticing aromas were emanating from there. More than a few dwarves looked longingly towards it, smiling at each other in anticipation of the meal to come. When they reached the tables closest to the kitchen, Ralk stopped; but before he could say anything, Gant held up his hand.

  "Axethane Ralk, we have news from the front. Before the tidings of war, I have more gladdening news." Gant gestured to Bran who came forward to stand at his side. Gant unslung his axe and raised it above his head. The whole company, with the exception of Bran himself, followed his lead and as one they shouted.

  "Hail, Axethane Bran!"

  The shout was deep and seemed to make the stone of the floor vibrate with its resonance. When the shout finished ringing in the hall, dwarves came out from the kitchen and from the other end of the hall and gathered around. As they all stood at attention around Gant’s company, Ralk, with his eyes shining and a fierce grin on his face, raised his own axe. All the dwarves who were gathered around went to one knee, and held their axes across outstretched open palms.

  "In times of war, the Axethane shows himself by the conviction of his axe. Let the enemy in the west tremble, for a new Axethane walks among us. Hail, Axethane Bran!" As Ralk finished, the entire hall erupted in a mighty shout.

  "Hail, Axethane Bran!" It was followed by far away voices repeating the chant, for even the dwarves manning the wall could here its ring and responded in kind. As the last echoing voices died away, all the assembled dwarves thumped their axe hafts on the ground once then stood at attention again.

  "Axethane Bran, be welcome among us."

  Frowning, Bran replied.

  "You do me too great an honor, all of you. I am no different from any of you."

  Ralk smiled at Bran.

  "Spoken like a true Axethane. None of us believed we were any different than our brothers when the Axethane mantle was first laid upon us but, as time goes by, you will understand. Not only are you different, you are chosen; but enough of that for now. You men are weary and in need of good food and fine ale. Furl, bring these men plenty of that delicious stew you’ve been cooking and the finest ale in the cellars. We have much to celebrate and tales to hear. Let all the men know that if they are not on watch, they are welcome to join in the merriment."

  Furl, a rather rotund dwarf with a red beard streaked with grey, and a broken nose, thumped his right fist over his heart and hurried back to the kitchen. After a few minutes, a very young dwarf, barely bearded, ran from the kitchen to inform the men of the celebration.

  "You men are in for a treat. Furl over there is the finest cook to ever grace the Middle Watch kitchen. He is almost as good a cook as Henna, my wife," Ralk said with a huge grin.

  At this statement Gant raised his eyebrows.

  "Best not let mom hear you say that or you’ll have to hire Furl yourself if you ever want to eat again."

  Ralk howled with laughter and slapped Gant on the back.

  "Please, everyone, be seated. I can see most of you are dead on your feet. Furl will return soon with the meal." As the dwarves moved off to the tables, Ralk went over to Bran and looked him in the eyes.

  "Lad, we need to talk. There are things I must tell you, but I’m afraid there will be little time for that tonight. Tonight, you will have to endure being honored at the celebration. It is important that the men get to see you and speak with you. The mantle of Axethane is as heavy as an anvil, but when you see how it heartens those around you, that anvil will lighten. For now, eat, drink, and rest. Revel in the companionship of your fellow dwarves. We will talk in the morning before you leave." At that, Ralk walked off to join his son and grandson.

  Bran watched Ralk walk away with a touch of concern in his eyes. He frowned and turned to Kale.

  "This is your fault you know."

  "My fault? How is it my fault?" Kale replied incredulously.

  "If I hadn’t had to watch out for you, I wouldn’t have had to kill all those Shifters. Now I’m going to be the center of attention all night, and it is entirely your fault," Bran put emphasis on each of the last three words. Kale laughed so hard tears flowed from his eyes.

  The next morning, Ralk walked into the barracks and strode up to Bran and Kale as they were putting on their chainmail. Ralk nodded to Kale, who returned the nod, and then turned to Bran.

  "Come lad, we will have that talk now." Ralk spun on his heels and headed for the barracks' door. Bran looked at Kale and shrugged, then followed Ralk out the door. Bran hurried to catch up with Ralk, and matched his pace when he was slightly behind him and to his right. Ralk turned his head and then fell back a step so that Bran was right beside him. They traversed the main corridor that led to the dining hall. Before they reached it, Ralk took Bran by the arm and steered him into a corridor that led deeper into the mountain.

  The walls and floors had been worked smooth by Delver tools, and the ceiling had a slight arch to it. This corridor was not as large as the main one, being only wide enough for them to walk side by side. The ceiling seemed to tower over them. Bran estimated it was probably about ten feet high at its apex. Torches burned at regular intervals along the passage wa
lls.

  The silence grew uncomfortable for Bran, but he was reluctant to break it. Something in the way Ralk walked, striding slowly with his hands clasped behind his back and his head held slightly upwards, as if he were inspecting the workmanship of the chiseled ceiling, caused apprehension to grab Bran by the throat. He felt the hairs on his arms raise, and he cleared his throat to try to shake off the feeling.

  Ralk seemed not to notice his discomfort. He continued his slow measured tread, passing several corridors branching off both to the left and right. Finally, they came to an iron door. Ralk grabbed the ring and pulled. The door opened out towards them silently. Bran could see it was several inches thick, and he wondered what purpose such a stout door would serve so far inside the mountain. Ralk had not unlocked it, so it wasn’t there to ward against anything further in. Ralk saw the direction of his gaze and grunted.

  "I see that the door puzzles you. It was fashioned so that sound could not pass through it. What I have to tell you is for your ears alone. I must have your oath that what we discuss remains secret unto your death." His eyes seemed to bore into Bran’s head seeking the measure of his soul.

  "You have it, Axethane," Bran replied seriously.

  Ralk grunted and stepped aside to allow the new Axethane to enter first. Bran walked in to find himself in a large council chamber. The floor sloped down from the sides to a large, round stone table in the center. The torches on the walls illuminated the vast room with a warm glow. As he looked around, Bran heard the door close behind him and the bar fall into place. Ralk motioned him forward. He walked down the slope to the table.

  The table was made from the stone of the chamber itself. The floor had been carved out around it, and the top was worn smooth by use. Bran was afraid to speak. He felt his voice would disturb the sanctity of the place.

  Ralk stood at the table, staring at it as if he could draw wisdom and strength from it.

  "Long ages ago, the first Axethanes commissioned this chamber to be built," Ralk said in a low voice. To Bran’s surprise there was no accompanying echo.

  "The very first Axethanes were different from any others that followed. They were the greatest dwarven warriors who ever lived. As great warriors and strategists, they understood that wars would always be fought. Peace can prevail for only so long before giving way to war. Therefore, they did not want their knowledge and skill to pass from the land with their deaths. They knew their people would have need of them in the future when wars again threatened. With this realization, they called upon Kantwell, requesting the aid of Marion, the head wizard of that time. She came at their request and met them here within this very hall. They told her of their plight and asked if she could aid them in preserving their knowledge and skill. She told them that preserving knowledge was easy, but to preserve skill was not easily accomplished. Skill is in the hands and body, not the mind, and could not be passed on to another. They considered her words and asked if there was nothing in her vast power that could help them preserve their skill. Marion told them she would meditate on it and left the council chamber."

  Bran stared raptly at Ralk. Here was lore unknown to him, apparently unknown to all dwarves except the Axethanes. He felt great excitement at being taken into confidence by Ralk, but that excitement was tinged with apprehension at what it could mean to his life.

  "Axethane, was she successful?" Bran asked.

  "Aye, she was successful. Marion was the most powerful wizard in the lands, and she meditated on the issue for a full turning of the moon. When she returned to this chamber, she informed the Axethanes that she had discovered a solution. However, that solution would cost the Axethanes their souls. The only way to preserve their skills was to bind their souls to this world. They would never meet the Creator. They would never work His forge. They would remain here, as spirits, to aid their people when they were needed. They were stricken by her words. This meant that they would never truly rest. Even death would not release them from the horrors of war."

  There were tears in Bran’s eyes as he understood the sacrifice of his ancestors. "Axethane, our ancestors remain trapped in this world?"

  Ralk looked into Bran’s eyes and saw the grief there. He smiled sadly.

  "Yes Bran, they are trapped here. Now you know why this must remain a secret. To our brethren, the Axethane is a symbol of great strength and courage; a great warrior to rally around. If they knew the true cost, it would sadden them instead of uplift them in their times of need. To all the Axethanes that have come since, their strength and courage is even greater. Now that you know the cost, you can see their courage shining even brighter. That they would give so much for their people is the greatest honor they could do us. We Axethanes honor them by keeping their secret. You see, you were chosen by one of them. His spirit now resides within you. All of his skill and knowledge, as well as the skill and knowledge of all those he has joined with before, is now yours to command. You have been given a great gift, but the cost of that gift was high. You will lead in battle. The spirit of the Axethane will draw the enemy to you. You will fight more enemies than any other on the field. They will be drawn to you like iron to a lodestone. The more you slay, the more that will come."

  Bran had so many questions he didn’t know where to start. He stammered a few times and finally voiced his inquiry.

  "So…so I was chosen by one of the original Axethanes to do what? Give my life over to him so he can fight again?"

  Ralk placed his hand on Bran’s shoulder.

  "No. You misunderstand me, lad. He chose you because of your skill in battle and the fire in your heart. You fight to protect your people just as he did. The very notion that there are those who would harm your people ignites the flame of your rage to such a degree that even a forge fire pales by comparison. The Axethane does not control you. That is not his intent. He gives of his knowledge and places his skills at your command. When you are lost in the rush of battle, those skills will come unbidden to you. His knowledge will help you plan your battles. The Axethanes do not control, that would be possession and would go against everything they believe and for which they have striven. No, rest assured, your life is still your own. He is a passive spirit that has joined with your own soul. You have become him, and he has become you. Heed your heart. Do you feel any different now than you did a week ago?"

  Bran thought for a moment.

  "No. I feel the same as I have always felt."

  "Have you done anything you normally would not have done?"

  "No."

  "You see, your life is still your own. He does not intrude on your life. He enhances it through his knowledge and skill."

  "I am unworthy of such an honor, Axethane," Bran said heavily.

  "Of course you are. He would not have chosen you had you not been. Besides, such a statement is a testament to your worthiness." Ralk grinned.

  "What you are feeling are the same emotions I felt when I was chosen. You will come to accept this in time and, as you do, you will be able to hear the voice of the Axethane speaking to you; guiding and encouraging you when you need it, sharing his experiences and knowledge so that you may become an even greater protector of your people."

  "Thank you for sharing this with me, Axethane. I feel I have much to think about."

  "You are Axethane now, lad. You needn’t address me as Axethane. I am Ralk, just as you are Bran. Among the Axethanes, there is no formality. We are who we are and nothing more."

  "Axe…Ralk, will I ever find out which Axethane chose me?" Bran asked.

  "That I have no answer for. I have never found out which chose me and, as time went by, it became unimportant. All that matters to me is that I was chosen."

  "I guess I see your point. Ralk, one of our ancestors chose me to help our people. Me." Bran's face suddenly lit with awe.

  Tears streamed down Ralk’s face and were lost in his beard, but he was smiling hugely.

  "Now you feel it, lad. The gift. It is the greatest honor we could ever receive. Come,
we have to assemble your company."

  Bran was taken aback.

  "My company?"

  "Of course, lad. You are an Axethane, a leader of men. You will command your own company now."

  "Can I choose my men or will I be assigned them. I promised Kara I would look after Kale. I can’t be separated from him or she would never forgive me."

  Ralk roared with laughter.

  "Even in war, far from home, the women lead us. Fear not, you will be able to choose a few, and you will find that the rest will choose you."

  Bran laughed with him.

  "I hope I am equal to the task of leadership."

  "Of that, I have no doubt, lad. Remember, you are not alone anymore. Trust in the Axethane, and you will do fine."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael woke suddenly and sat bolt upright. In his grogginess, he could not remember where he was, and a sudden panic threatened to overcome him. He looked around swiftly and saw a man sitting at a desk a few feet away. He heard the whine of jet engines, and it all came back in a rush. He was on Micah’s jet headed to England.

  "How long was I out?" he asked.

  "Oh, about thirteen hours," Micah answered smiling.

  "Wow, I must have been really tired," Michael said as he stretched and yawned.

  "I told you the adrenaline crash would make you sleep. We are not far from my estate. We should be landing in about thirty minutes. When we arrive, I want you to go with Joshua to the house. He will get you some clothes. Where we are going, you will need more suitable attire. Jeans and tee shirts are not quite the fashion."

  Michael chuckled.

  "No, I guess they wouldn’t be. What are you going to be doing?"

  "I have some personal errands to take care of and some last minute instructions for Colonel Bastise. You will have a few hours before we leave. Have Joshua show you his paintings. He really is quite the artist." Micah leaned back in his chair and reached down to a small refrigerator. He took out a bottle of water and offered it to Michael.