“He’s alone.”
Flashing him a dazzling smile, Lalith reached out and scratched him behind the right ear. Jinx almost purred like a kitten. “That’s right my pet and now we can implement Clotho’s plan.”
A moment later she stopped her scratching and picked up several bowls of multicolored powders. Casting a handful of each powder into the pool, she began to chant. Focusing all of her attention on the sleeping form of Mortharona, she called his name softly.
“Mortharona, Mortharona.”
Jinx watched as the image of Mortharona began to twitch in his sleep. Jinx could feel the magic Lalith was invoking. It made his skin tingle and felt almost as tangible as the wind.
After several moments of tossing and turning, Mortharona rolled over onto his back and froze, stiff as a board.
Then his mouth flew open and hundreds of tiny black spiders began pouring out.
The spiders quickly climbed off the bed and moved into the darkness. Each spider knew what its goddess expected of them and moved quickly to do her bidding.
Watching, Jinx rubbed his hands together in excitement. They both knew Clotho’s invasion of the Dwarven Kingdom had begun. And the best part was that the damn dwarves didn’t even know it… yet.
Chapter 13
Looking around, Khlekluëllin studied his new surroundings. The dwarven guards had left him without a word, leaving him to investigate the small chamber. Of course, the first thing he did was to poke his head out the door. Khlekluëllin wasn’t surprised to find a couple of fierce looking dwarven guards posted outside. Turning back, he investigated his new chambers thoroughly.
The main room was lavishly decorated in elven tastes. Not exactly his tastes but they were obviously elven. The mahogany furniture was intricately tooled with the designs of ivy and holly. The large feather bed that occupied the center of the room was covered with a beautiful quilt painstakingly sewn with a golden Ankh, the ancient symbol of Aurora.
The walls were decorated with finely woven tapestries depicting ancient battles. One tapestry showed elven archers, axe wielding dwarves and the barbaric highlanders in their hybrid form doing battle with several large and grotesque spider-like creatures.
Khlekluëllin made a mental note to study the tapestries more, if he ever got the time.
Opposite the main door was a second portal which lead to a smaller room that was obviously a washroom. An underground stream ran through a wash-basin carved out of the back wall. Without wasting any time, Khlekluëllin stripped off his dirty robes and bathed himself. The water was ice cold but that didn’t matter to him, he was filthy. He hadn’t been able to bathe for months, not since before they were captured by Blackfang and the Dark Alliance.
After Khlekluëllin felt clean, he picked up his tattered robes and held them at arm’s length. Now that he was clean, its odor assaulted his nose.
“And to think, these rags were once my finest attire. It’s a shame, I always liked this outfit.” Throwing the rags into the corner, he glanced around.
“I wonder what I should wear to meet the king.”
Moving back into the main chamber, he studied the room once again. A mahogany armoire sat in the corner. “What’s in there?”
Opening the cabinet, he found several robes made of silk and a mirror mounted on the inside of the door. Pulling out the garments, Khlekluëllin studied them. Although they were all cut in an ancient elven fashion, they were still in excellent condition and made from the finest silk he had ever seen. Pulling on a pair of black pants, he threw a few kicks into the air and nodded his head.
“Good. Baggy and loose, just the way I like them. What else is in here?”
Rummaging through the clothing, he pulled out a white silk shirt with billowy sleeves and a short collar. Pulling it over his head, he made a mental note that it was in a size or two too large.
“A little big, but it’ll do.”
Pushing aside the rest of the clothes, Khlekluëllin’s hand froze as he reached the last few items in the armoire. The first was a midnight blue silk robe with the stitched designs of a rampant dragon curled around a sword. Khlekluëllin mentally compared it to the tattoo on his left forearm, the symbol of the Order of the Dragon. Pulling out the robe, he could almost feel the time and love that had been put in to making this robe.
Not knowing why, he closed his eyes, raised it to his nose and breathed deeply. His senses were overwhelmed with the fragrances of home. He could smell the ancient malloran trees, the fields of daisies and for a brief moment, he could almost feel the warm summer breeze on his face. Opening his eyes, Khlekluëllin stared at the ancient robe for several minutes.
Taking several deep breaths, he concentrated on the robe.
Using his magesight, Khlekluëllin wasn’t surprised to find that the robe had a magical aura. Each aura appears as a different color surrounding the enchanted item. The color and strength of the aura denotes which types of magics were used in its creation. What did surprise him was that it held two different auras, a slight purple and a brilliant yellow.
Thinking back to his studies, he seemed to recall that purple auras denoted spells of abjuration or protection; while yellow auras denoted an enchantment based on the element of air. Still using his magesight, Khlekluëllin glanced at the rest of his outfit. The pants, shirt and robe all radiated the same purple aura but none other than the robe, radiated the yellow aura.
Slipping on the robe, he smiled. With baggy sleeves and a loose fit, the robe was nearly a perfect fit. Reaching into the armoire, he pulled out the last three items, a pair of boots and girdle of black leather and surprisingly, his own sword.
Slipping on the boots, Khlekluëllin had to smile. They fit like a glove, soft, supple and extremely comfortable. Picking up the girdle of black leather, he strapped it around his waist and attached his scabbard to the proper harness. Resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, Khlekluëllin gazed at his reflection in the ornate looking glass that hung on the door of the armoire.
Considering all the battles, lack of proper food, lack of sunlight and the stress of the last four months, Khlekluëllin was pleased with his reflection. With the exception of several new scars and the loss of a few pounds, he looked pretty much the same as he had nearly a year ago when his family had left the Elfholm in search of the ancient scrolls of Eldath. Not that he shouldn’t. With an elf’s life span lasting somewhere between five and seven hundred years, barring untimely deaths due to battles or accidents, one year is but a drop in the bucket of life.
Stepping back, Khlekluëllin drew his blade. As the Dawnsword sprang to life, he took the ancient blade through several passes. A brilliant white light radiated from the ancient blade illuminating the room. His long bluish hair and baggy robes flowing behind him, he moved about the room with the grace of a dragon in flight. After several moments, he struck a fierce pose.
Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, he spoke to himself. “You know Khlekluëllin, you look pretty damn good. Almost like a replica of Eldath.”
A deep voice interrupted him. “That’s what I was just about to say!”
Turning quickly, Khlekluëllin shifted into a defensive stance with his sword at the ready.
A large dwarf dressed in a simple vest of chainmail stood in the doorway. His once brilliant red hair and beard were streaked with gray.
In accordance with the dwarven custom, his waist long beard was tucked into his belt while his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His weathered hands were placed on his hips, while his stance was wide and a large mithril belt buckle emblazoned with the symbol of Bromios stood out broadly along his midsection. Four stout dwarven guards could be seen standing in the nearby shadows.
Sheathing his sword, Khlekluëllin bowed his head in greeting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I was late.”
Waving his hand to dismiss Khlekluëllin’s apologies, the elderly dwarf stepped into the room. The guards made to follow but another wave of his hand stopped them in the
ir tracks. It was obvious that he was used to command, he just radiated confidence.
“Don’t ‘cha worry, laddie. You’re not late. I just hate the formalities of court. Don’t you?”
Khlekluëllin nodded. “Yes, indeed. That was one of the reasons I chose the way of the blade and spell.”
He offered his sword hand in the greeting of warriors. “Greetings, I am Khlekluëllin Amarth, Bladeweaver in the Order of the Dragon, a warrior of Aurora and the eldest son of Queen Circe of Elfholm.”
Nodding his head, the elderly dwarf grasped the offered forearm; his grip was surprisingly strong and firm.
“Padric Grimaxe, the warrior-king of Darkmoor and loyal servant of Bromios the Maker. Well met.”
Even without his introduction or the dwarven guards, Khlekluëllin would’ve realized that this was the king. He had a regal quality about him. Besides, there was a certain family resemblance to Rjurik.
“Well met indeed. I would like to thank you for your hospitality since our arrival to your kingdom.”
Stroking his beard, the elderly dwarf smiled. “Your brother doesn’t seem too thrilled about our hospitality.”
“I agree but you must understand that he was tortured more than I while we were imprisoned in the Halls of Haldar.”
The king raised his left eyebrow, while his tone betrayed his surprise. “I see you know the proper name of the fortress. I’m impressed.”
“I listen and learn. Might I inquire about the condition of my friend Rjurik?”
Padric turned and nodded his head for Khlekluëllin to follow.
“As you know, Rjurik was severely injured in his escape. But according to him, it was your quick thinking that allowed the three of you to escape in the first place. And, it was you that cauterized his wound before he bled to death. I’m curious, what possessed you to trust a dragon?”
As they passed Padric’s guards, they fell in behind quietly. Matching the king’s stride, the four guards were almost like shadows; always there yet often forgotten.
Khlekluëllin just ignored them and kept his attention fixed on the king and where they were going. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through his still wet hair.
“Well, my father had always preached that you must seize the opportunities presented to you. He used to say, ‘An opportunity you pass up is one you’ll never make up.’ When I realized that Hal was also a prisoner, it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides there is the old adage, ‘the enemy of mine enemy is my friend.’ Actually, Rjurik and Mortharona will tell you that I was against trying to break out of the dungeons.”
Stroking his beard, Padric raised a bushy eyebrow. “Why?”
“Simple. I knew that in our weakened condition the chance of escaping while Blackfang’s army was still in the fortress would be somewhere between zero and none. There was no way this side of the Abyss, we would’ve been able to outrun or outfight his army. There were just too many of them.”
“I see. That was very wise. Why not just escape by yourself?”
Khlekluëllin snickered. “And leave my brother and friend behind? Not in this lifetime!”
Cocking his head to one side, Padric’s tone turned inquisitive. “But what if the opportunity had come up and there would only be enough time for you to escape?”
Khlekluëllin knew he was being tested but it didn’t matter, the truth would be what the dwarven king wanted to hear. “Then, I would’ve missed that opportunity. Just as if the chance had arisen to kill Blackfang while we were captives, I wouldn’t have taken it.”
Stopping in his tracks, Padric turned to face the taller elf. “Why in Bromios’ name wouldn’t you kill him?”
Khlekluëllin fixed his blue and gold flecked eyes on Padric’s emerald green ones. For several minutes, they stared deep into each other’s souls with neither of them speaking.
Finally, Khlekluëllin answered. “The moment Blackfang was dead, so were we. Only his love of torture and pain kept us alive for those long months.”
Padric looked him over once again, almost like seeing him for the first time. Nodding his head, he began walking again. “You know, you are a lot like Eldath.”
Khlekluëllin bowed his head slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But I don’t understand what do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said, you’re a lot like Eldath; wise beyond your years, talented but tempered, skilled but not boastful.”
“But how could you know what Eldath was like, he died nearly a millennia ago?”
Without breaking his stride, Padric glanced up at him and winked. “I’m a lot older than I look.”
Khlekluëllin was silent as he pondered the gravity of those words. A moment later, they stepped out of the seemingly endless tunnels that twisted, turned and interconnected with a dozen other tunnels, into an immense cavern and Khlekluëllin froze at the sight before him.
The cavern was easily twice the size of the one below the Halls of Haldar but that’s where the similarities stopped. Where those caverns were dark and deserted, these were bustling with life and brightly lit by hundred, nay thousands of torches and lamps. Three of the cavern walls were covered with tunnels and ledges. Dwarves of every size shape and hair color scurried along these ledges doing their daily chores or business. They moved from level to level by a series of wooden lifts strategically placed around the cavern. Each tunnel or ledge had access to one or more of these lifts and they seemed to be in constant motion while hundreds of dwarves waited patiently for their turn.
As amazing as all this was, Khlekluëllin took it in with a glance. But his gaze froze when he reached the fourth wall of the cavern. The whole cavern wall was an intricately carved statue of Bromios the Maker. He was depicted standing with his legs wide apart, straddling a huge pool of water. A fleet of dwarven warships and fishing vessels were docked nearby. The statue’s left arm was at his waist holding an immense warhammer while his right hand was outstretched over the pool holding the largest star crystal he had ever seen.
Even without using his magesight, Khlekluëllin could tell that it was enchanted since it seemed to glow with the light of the sun.
Khlekluëllin’s voice stuck in his throat. “It’s...it’s beautiful.”
Padric’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “It was a gift from Aurora, through her favorite son Eldath. Somehow, it mirrors the sun’s course over Terreth.” The king indicated the whole cavern with a sweep of his arm. “So, even down here in the belly of our kingdom, we can enjoy the warm glow of the sun.”
With a slight bow to the statue of Bromios, Padric continued down the ledge to a waiting lift. Pulling his eyes away from the enchanted crystal, Khlekluëllin had to trot to catch up with the king. Reaching the lift, he took his place next to the king just as the lift began to descend. He felt a little queasy as the wooden platform dropped several floors in a manner of seconds.
Absentmindedly biting his lip, Khlekluëllin closed his eyes and let the sensation flow over him as his thoughts drifted back to his flight on Hal’s back. The sensation was very similar, only this time they were going down and Khlekluëllin couldn’t feel the massive strength of Hal’s body under his legs. A wave of regret washed over him as he thought of the magnificent blue air dragon. No, regret wasn’t the right word, loss. Yes, that was it, loss. He was amazed at how attached, how right it had been when he was with Hal. It was as if part of him was missing now that the dragon wasn’t nearby.
Part of his mind heard a question directed to him. He shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
The old dwarf just laughed.
Khlekluëllin looked around at the other dwarves, who were also laughing. Khlekluëllin raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?”
Slapping him on the back, Padric roared. “From the look on your face, we couldn’t tell if you were going to spill your guts or pass out.” The king thumbed a finger at one of his guards. “That’s when Aaron here asked if you had water in your veins?”
Kh
lekluëllin turned his sights onto the dwarven guard in question. Aaron stood about two and a half feet shorter than his six foot three frame but outweighed his meager one hundred and ten pounds by a good two hundred pounds of what appeared to be solid muscle. A jagged scar cut across the right side of his face and from the way he moved and the fact he was one of the king’s bodyguards, Khlekluëllin knew he must be a mighty warrior. He also knew from his many conversations with Rjurik that the dwarven people believed that a true warrior’s blood was thick. To be accused of having water in his veins was a grave insult.
Realizing he was being tested again, Khlekluëllin returned the grin and let his voice take on a harder edge. “I’m not sure. But if you’re feeling bold, you could attempt to find out.” Nodding to the king, “With your liege’s permission, we could easily find out whose blood is thicker.”
The other dwarves on the lift, including the king laughed loudly at Khlekluëllin’s response.
“Of course, that offer is open to any or all of you bearded gnomes.”
The other three dwarven guards abruptly stopped laughing and dropped their hands to the hilt of their swords. To be called a ‘bearded gnome’ was probably one of the worst insults you could give to a dwarf.
Khlekluëllin knew that the only thing stopping them from attacking him immediately was that he was the king’s guest. Not wanting to place his life in the hands of the dwarven king, Khlekluëllin shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and the beginning mantras of a spell began to run through his head. He was ready to spring into attack should the occasion arise. Moments passed and still no one on the lift moved. The lift came to an abrupt halt at the lowermost level and still no one moved.
Suddenly, Padric busted out in laughter and slapped the slender elf on the back. “My cousin was right; you do have balls of solid rock.” As he turned to exit the lift his four bodyguards hesitated, as did Khlekluëllin. After a couple of steps, Padric looked back. He could see the tension and distrust between the tall elf and his bodyguards. “Okay, Aaron you cast the first insult and was insulted in return. You shall choose the location of the match.”
Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf Page 9