Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Bowing, slowly Andrak withdrew, and then flew upward through the solid stone and across the barren wastes above, fleeing along the thread of his journey southward unto his holt. While behind, a great darkness sat on a throne and thought upon a plan laid ages past, a scheme that at long last seemed to have a minuscule chance of fulfillment, could the strong or cunning or fortunate survive; and Rūcks continued to scurry about the banquet table, endlessly laying out a meal that no one would ever consume.

  Another week fled, and then another, and closer came the duo, until at last the Kammerling indicated that they were nigh, that they had come unto the mountains of Xian, for the closeness of the pair was unmistakable in the beat of the intangible aura.

  Once again the dark Apprentice called upon his vile Master, and came away in evil glee, for Modru would unleash elemental fury down upon these fools who sought to take that which Andrak warded.

  And within but a single day a shrieking wind drove roiling dark clouds howling down upon the mountains, making the very stone shudder in the blast. Snow and ice hurtled ’cross the ’scape, whelming, scouring, obliterating.

  Inside his dark fortress, Andrak paced, the juddering wind moaning and groaning across the turret above, shrieking ’round corners and about the tower, screaming in fury, snow and ice hurled aslant down through the air, hammering into the bulwarks, driven into great drifts.

  And Andrak visited the chamber of the Kammerling, watching the tocsin beat of the invisible nimbus. And still the twain came onward. And Andrak’s anger was great, and he stalked through the whispering shadows and distorted stone corridors of his holt, and none dared cross his path.

  Hours howled by, night fell, and the Mage again checked upon the pulse of the hammer. And lo! its cadence said that the twain yet lived, and came closer still.

  Shrieking in rage, Andrak rushed down through the churning murk and tittering shadows, down spiralling stone stairs past angled edges, and slammed out through a dark wooden door made of an arcane black timber, coming unto the open bailey. And he fought against the pummeling wind, bending into its blast, and struggled a few steps across the cobbles and pitched up a ramp unto the battlements, lurching ’cross the banquette to clutch at the stone of the merlons and peer out into the blackness, hurtling ice stinging into his eyes. And he ranted in the howling darkness, shouting, raving . . . but the raging wind and hurling ice took his words from him and shredded them and flung them crashing upon the mountains, and no one heard his voice yawling in the night.

  And gnashing his teeth, grey foam spuming from his lips, his eyes bulging, his face black with wrath and covered with rime, his robes whipping about him, back into the depths of his holt he wrenched. Back into twisted chambers filled with clutching shadows and obscene whisperings. Back unto the place where the accursed Kammerling lay.

  And he looked with hatred upon the token, and cursed the day that it was brought to him by that preening Drake, even though it was his Master’s plan all along. And even as his inner eye stared down at the abominable object, he began to laugh. Wildly. Hideously. The halls ringing with his ghastly mirth . . .

  ... for the pulsations had ceased entirely.

  CHAPTER 29

  A Voice in the Storm

  Late Fall, 3E1602

  [The Present]

  The Sun shone down upon Elyn and Thork, but little warmth did they gather from its light. Around them grey mountains reared upward, the stone barren and bleak. To the north and east stood one crest above the others, ebon as the night. “Yon lies our goal,” whispered Elyn, pointing.

  “Nay, Princess,” responded Thork, his voice grim. “If the Wolfmage be right, it is but a way station along our route. Andrak’s holt is what we seek, and within, the Rage Hammer. This Black Mountain contains but a map to guide us to our destination.”

  They stood and looked for long moments more; then, still leading Digger and Wind, down through the col they continued, the way turning northeasterly, heading for a winding vale below that led toward the dark ramparts ahead. Night fell ere they came down from the heights, and weary, they made camp in the curve of a mountain wall.

  As they sat huddled with their backs against the chill stone rampart, no fire warmed them, for there was no wood to burn among this sterile rock. It was then that Elyn came at last to the conclusion that she and Thork had been working toward for many weeks.

  “Prince Thork”—her voice was soft, yet filled with determination—“I would bespeak my mind.”

  The Châkka warrior turned his face toward her, and in the pallid moonlight, his eyes glittered as would polished jet. And even though her features were shadowed by the Moon behind, still his own sight was such that he could see her clearly, her pale face like a lambent beacon shining from within, her clear vision sharp as that of the red hawk seen in days gone by. “Say on, Princess Elyn.”

  Taking a deep breath, Elyn continued: “These past weeks we have ridden across half the face of Mithgar, I ween. And when we started, enemies we were. Yet I have found you to be most honorable, most noble, one that more than once I trusted my very life unto. No better companion could I ask at my side, and no better defender at my back.

  “Yet our Nations are now enemies to one another, though it was not always so in the past. We fight because of a treasure stolen, a treasure now stolen again. We fight because of Pride and Greed. We fight because on one side a Prince of Jord was killed, and on the other, a Dwarven King. We fight because of Men and Dwarves slain in War, some by the hand of each other, some by the breath of a Dragon.

  “I say that the time has come for this madness to cease. Not only because the trove is once more in the claws of a Drake, but because our two Folk have no business warring against one another. Over these past months, by your deeds and words, by your steadfast actions alone, you have shown me that my hatred of Dwarves was misplaced pride and grief, just as I hope that I have shown you the same.

  “We in Jord misunderstood your motivations, just as you in Kachar misunderstood ours. It was not greed that drove you to ask for the return of your treasure; it was not thievery that caused us to refuse. We honestly thought that you had abandoned it, not thinking upon the span of a Dwarven life. You honestly thought we had stolen it, not thinking upon the years of Man.

  “Let us make a pact, we two, that all we do henceforth shall be in the cause of peace between our two Realms, for such honorable foes as we, should instead be friends.”

  Elyn fell silent, waiting for his reply. But it was not long in coming. “I could not have said it better, Princess.” Thork’s voice was laden with some deep emotion, yet what it was, neither he nor Elyn could fathom.

  Elyn reached out and took Thork’s hand, holding the gnarled fingers against her cheek, and tears wetted the back of his hand. And slowly, hesitantly, with his other hand he gently brushed the tips of his fingers across her face, stroking away the droplets, the streaks.

  Elyn released his hand, and he took his touch back unto himself, and sat in silence for a while. Yet at last he spoke of the trove, for he knew that still it lay at the center of the War between Jord and Kachar. “There is this, though, my Lady: Should we succeed against Black Kalgalath, what of the treasure then? Our two Folk will ask how should it be divided. This I propose: that it be divided in twain, each taking half, no more. And to prevent argument as to which gets the better of it, your Folk shall divide it into two equal shares, and my Folk shall choose which share to take home.”

  Elyn’s silver laughter suddenly rang outward, and she reached out and gripped his two hands and squeezed them in delight. “An old trick, my Dwarven Warrior, yet one that will surely assure fairness.”

  They spoke at length concerning how each could bring this truce about, how each could convince their respective monarchs, King Aranor and DelfLord Baran, to see reason in this plan. Surely a Châkka Prince and a Jordian Princess, companions in adversity, could prevail. And all the while she held his hands, and the icy dark seemed somehow warmer.

&nb
sp; The wan light of the dawn found Elyn and Thork ready to move onward, for they had not slept much in the frigid night. Weary with fatigue, on down from the col they rode, Wind and Digger plodding as if worn too. Northeastward in the distance stood their first goal, a mountain as dark as jet. And as they rode down toward the twisting barren valley below, the Sun rose up into the sky, its rays seeming somehow chill. And still the silent grey stone of the high bleak mountains of Xian frowned down upon them, as if they somehow intruded where none were meant to go.

  At a morning stop, Elyn looked long at the ebon peak. “It is said by my Folk that Black Mountain is reaching for heaven but is rooted in Hèl.”

  Thork grunted but made no other response, and Elyn looked to see what distracted him. The Dwarf was staring up and to the east, where a vast ice field pressed down within a great long slot between two far-reaching walls of lofty mountains. “What think you is that dark blot clutched within the grasp of the ice?”

  “What blot?” Stepping behind the Dwarf, Elyn’s eyes sought to find what Thork referred to.

  “There”—Thork pointed, and the Princess’s gaze followed his outstretched arm—“just leftward of the crag.”

  Down within the ice was a dark object, made small by the distance. “Most likely a boulder, Thork. What else could it be?”

  Thork stared for a moment more, then turned and took the feed bag from Digger’s muzzle. “In the Sky Mountains where dwell distant kith, Châkka have found great hairy beasts frozen within glaciers: long curving tusks; large flaps of ears; flat bottomed feet; and strangest of all, great, flexible snouts. Beasts much like those that are said to dwell in the Lands across the Avagon Sea, but larger, much larger, and covered with a thick matting of fur.

  “A fable is told among Châkka youth that upon a time these creatures did serve the Winter King, honoring him in all things.

  “In those days, Summer, Winter, Spring, Fall, all dwelled within the land at one and the same time.

  “Yet there came a day when the Winter King thought to steal the Queen of Summer and take her off to his icy Realm. In this deed, the great beasts would not follow, for it held no honor. And they did battle with the Winter King.

  “And the Seasons saw this mighty strife, heard the trumpeting of the great creatures, felt the rumbling of the earth beneath their giant stompings. All knew that these beasts were noble animals and rushed to aid them. And round and round the Seasons raced, shoving, chasing one another, striking and smiting, for they knew not which side to take.

  “But of a sudden, the battle ceased, for the beasts were slain, dying valiantly, protecting the Queen of Summer. And all mourned, for they loved the creatures dearly. Even the cold Winter King shed frozen tears, and locked the beasts away in fields of ice, preserving them so that all could see the great wrong he had committed.

  “And since then the Seasons have not dwelt together, and instead march in an immutable progression across the Land, Summer as far from Winter as can be, guarded by Spring on one side and Fall on the other.

  “It is also told that in the last days, these creatures will rise up again, and battle the Winter King once more, but this time they shall prevail.”

  All the while that Thork was speaking, Elyn’s eyes gazed upward at the distant spot within the glacier, and a great sadness filled her chest. And when he fell silent at last, she turned unto him, tears glittering in her eyes, and quickly embraced him, but said nought. Then she stepped to Wind and readied herself for travel, and did not see that Thork’s dark eyes glistered with sadness as well.

  Two more days they fared down within the folds of the harsh grey land, drawing nearer and nearer to the ebon spire, and the closer they got the more Elyn fretted.

  “Thork, it isn’t as if we can just walk up to this mountain and knock for entrance.” Elyn’s eyes twinkled as she lowered her voice and took on an officious tone: “Boom, boom. Let me in. I’m on a mission. I need to look at your map.”

  In spite of himself, Thork broke into laughter, and was joined by Elyn’s giggles. “Nay, Princess,” he chuckled, “that we cannot do.”

  Suddenly sober, Elyn asked, “Well then, Prince Thork, you are a Dwarf and know of these things, these delvings of mountain strongholts; what should be our plan?”

  Wind and Digger plodded forward many steps ere Thork replied, and all the while the Dwarf eyed the dark looming incline. “Upon the slopes of Mountains there are some locations better than others for the placement of gates: defendable, sheltered from the wind, good access to roadways for the movement of goods in and out, safe from rock-slides—these are some of the things I would look for, were it a Châkka gate, although I have not told even the half of it. Secret gates are another matter, for they must lay in a place suited to their purpose—a sally port, a secret escape, whatever—and are all but unfindable unless you know exactly where to look . . . or have a map.

  “But as to the Wizardholt within Black Mountain, I know not whether the same rules apply; I know not whether a road there be, if it matters about the wind, or if slides would dare tumble down those slopes. And if it be a secret Wizard gate we must find, then I say we should turn our backs right now and go elsewhere, for I would deem the cause to be a hopeless one.

  “Nay, first we shall look for that with which I am familiar, and trust that Wizards build to account for the same things we Châkka do, for if they do not, then sheer chance alone must guide our steps.

  “And if it be sheer chance we find we must rely upon, then I judge it will be a long search, for yon Black Mountain is vast and could hold a thousand gates, gates that are not hidden, and still could we search for weeks and not stumble across even one.”

  Onward they plodded, the hooves of the steeds ringing upon the rock, echoes chattering down the grey canyon they passed along, and Elyn eyed the great black mountain towering upward in the near distance. But Thork’s eyes were elsewhere—upon the path they trod—and of a sudden he drew Digger to a halt and leapt down and knelt and studied the stone. Elyn, too, reined to a stop and dismounted, studying the path as well. Thork’s eyes looked up and caught hers, and he grinned fiercely. “This be an ancient roadbed, Princess, fallen into ruin, but a tradeway nonetheless, leading mayhap unto the very Wizards’ holt itself.”

  “Ah, my Dwarven Warrior,” laughed Elyn, “well did the Wolfmage title you, when he called you the ‘one to guide.’ ”

  “I know not how well named I am by the Mage of the Wolfwood, my Lady,” responded Thork, rising to his feet, “but this do I ken: that it was the Wolfmage who set us upon this route between thumb and first finger of those distant peaks behind us; I deem he well knows how to reach the Wizards’ dwelling, and guided our steps aright.”

  All the rest of that day, the two pressed northeasterly, drawing nearer and nearer to the great black slopes. And the deeper they rode into the mountains, the more certain they became that they were upon the correct path, for frequently could they see sign that once this was a road. Ancient pavestones running in unbroken stretches for up to a furlong; a hundred yards of stone curbing along one stretch upon the right; a collapsed bridge over a shallow stream; stone slopes carven away to provide passage alongside sheer rises: by these indications and more did they see that this once was a well-travelled route, a path of commerce.

  Now the land began to rise, and they rode up and over ascensions and down again into the folds of the land, slowly gaining elevation. And as they topped each crest they could see far and wide, peaks rising up beyond peaks, to the limit of the eye’s seeing. But always the dominant view was of the great black mountain in the foreground reaching upward toward the sky.

  And now the stone about them began to darken, and the deeper they rode, the deeper the shading became. “It is the reach of the Wizards’ Mountain,” noted Thork, “lunging outward to touch even this.”

  The cold high Sun passed across the sky and fell beyond the distant mountains, and darkness came upon the land. And once again the two made a fireless camp, settli
ng in for the night among the cold dark stone. His back to a tall black rock, Thork glanced up at the moonless, starless sky, and huddled deeper into his fur cloak. “Princess, this is a harsh unforgiving land we pass through, today and yesterday and yesterdays agone; yet tomorrow I deem it will be even worse, for deep within my bones I feel a winter storm brewing.”

  For a moment Elyn shivered uncontrollably, but she did not know why. And a chill wind sprang up, sweeping down from the north.

  The great howling storm whelmed down upon the range midmorn of the next day, catching Elyn and Thork upon the open slopes. A thundering wind tore at them, hurling shrieking whiteness before it, and they could not see farther than a few yards. Shards of ice blasted Woman, Dwarf, horse, and pony alike, thrashing upon them, clawing at them, lashing as would iron-tipped scourges, slashing crystals hurtling into eyes and face, burning with cold. And the wind was as a mighty force hammering at them, causing steeds to stumble and reel, and riders to sway and bend low in the saddle to keep from being swept off. And horse and pony struggled forward into the yawling white, yet they were afrightened by the screaming wind, and often balked. Elyn dismounted and led her grey, and so too did Thork lead Digger. And they came to a standing black rock and attempted to shelter in its lee; but the cruel wind shrieked and spun, whipping at them with its harsh eddying.

  Elyn leaned her head close to Thork’s and shouted to be heard. “Thork! Mountains are your domain. What now?”

  Thork’s black eyes captured hers, and placing a gloved hand behind her head he pulled her face near his and called out above the shrieking wind: “Behind is no shelter, of that we are certain. We cannot stay here. We must press onward, for ere the storm struck I saw in the high distance a fold in the land, a fold where we may find refuge. But it is long from here, and we may perish in the attempt. Yet would I rather die struggling than to yield without a battle.”