Bakkian Chronicles, Book I - The Prophecy

by Poole, Jeffrey

  Watching the proceedings with a smile on his face, Maelnar waited for everyone to finish selecting food before taking some for himself. Deliberately taking his time selecting several pieces of meat, as well as some of the fruit, he watched as all the humans eagerly consumed the meal before them.

  Holding a piece of skewered meat on his small dagger, Steve opened his mouth to ask a question.

  Instantly cutting him off, Sarah jumped in. “If he asks what type of meat, don’t answer, okay? Better he doesn’t know.”

  For the second time Maelnar spewed ale down his chest. Glaring at his goblet once more, he pulled his beard free from his belt to sop up his spilt drink. Chuckling more to himself than anyone else, he looked at Sarah. “That is the second time I have snorted my ale. I like ye, lass!”

  The dwarf got to his feet to brush the rest of the dark liquid off his tunic. Wringing out his beard over a thick rug in front of the fire, he smoothed it back into place and re-tucked it into his belt. With a sigh, he sank back onto his cushion to study his guests.

  “Ye have no doubt noticed,” he began, “the size of this cavern. We stumbled across this place nearly two millennia ago. Most was already hollowed out, leaving us with a minimal amount of work to make it habitable. But what we were shocked to discover was that this is not a natural cavern. Something else had already cleared it out for us.”

  Intrigued, Rhenyon leaned forward. “Who, or what? Do they want to reclaim this space? If so, we are unable to get involved with what is clearly a dwarven affair.”

  “Nay, nothing like that, lad.” The dwarf pulled out a long wooden pipe from inside his tunic and started packing tobacco into it. “The prior residents have long vacated the area, leaving behind numerous hollowed out caverns, tunnels, and so on. This cavern was the central junction point to their community. That is why this cavern is as large as it is.”

  “Are the past occupants and your present problem linked?”

  Striking his flint repeatedly to get his pipe lit, Maelnar nodded. Steve leaned forward and held out his right arm, with a single flame lit on the tip of his right index finger. Nodding appreciatively, as though it was perfectly normal for a human to have a lit finger for which to light one’s pipe, Maelnar puffed until his tobacco was lit. Inhaling deeply, he continued.

  “Let me ask this of ye, before I continue any further.” He blew a series of smoke rings into the air, each smaller than the previous one until he had what resembled a bulls-eye floating above the table. “Does the layout of this cavern and the many connecting passageways remind ye of anything?”

  Steve nodded. “Reminds me of an anthill I once saw in school, one that had a clear sheet of glass on one side so that you could see the inner workings of the hill itself.”

  “And an ‘ant’ would be - ?”

  “Oh, sorry, it’s a bug. On my world they come in a variety of sizes, from tiny to about an inch long. Individually they are typically harmless, but where you find one you usually find several thousand more.”

  “Aye, that is an apt description.”

  Sarah straightened. “This is a huge anthill, isn’t it? Some type of insect colony used to live here? Is that what you’re telling us? And now they’re back?”

  “The guur that once called this home have been extinct for many thousands of years.”

  “What happened?” Rhenyon asked. “Have they somehow returned?”

  The dwarf looked suddenly old. He took a deep breath.

  “We have been able to determine that this cavern and the surrounding tunnels are many thousands of years old. Naturally we assumed they had long been vacant. And they have been.” The dwarf fell silent.

  “So what happened?” Steve prompted.

  “One of our exploratory diggers came across a fossilized guur egg.”

  “And it hatched?” Steve whistled. “Talk about a long incubation period.”

  “Nay lad, I said it was fossilized,” Maelnar corrected. “The egg was unable to hatch. It was petrified.” Did this human not know the meaning of ‘petrification’? “Therefore it was harmless.”

  “But clearly it did hatch, correct?” Rhenyon asked.

  Maelnar nodded.

  “How?”

  “We dwarves typically do not have jhorun, and are quite proud of that fact,” Maelnar explained. “Yet every generation one or two are born that are cursed with one. As it happens, this digger was one who, unfortunately, had a jhorun, and a unique one at that. He had the ability to restore a fossilized object. If ye found a piece of petrified wood, then he could restore it to a chunk of wood.”

  Sarah was nodding. “He restored the egg. So it hatched.”

  “Aye, lass, that he did. His actions may have been involuntary, but the damage had been done.”

  “How long ago did the egg hatch?” Pheron wanted to know.

  “Perhaps two hundred years.”

  Rhenyon whistled. “So this ancient insect hatched. How was it able to procreate being the only one of its species left?”

  “Because the egg hatched a female,” the dwarf explained. “Without a male, she cannot lay viable eggs. However, a female guur can create drones by segmenting a part of itself off. Fortunately, the female can only undergo this metamorphosis no more than twice a month.”

  Steve whistled. “If this bug can produce, say, twenty-five drones a year, and it’s been alive for two hundred years, then we’re talking roughly five thousand bugs running around. How long do they live?”

  “We do not know what their natural lifespan is, but we continually come across dead specimens deep in the tunnels. Without a live specimen to study, we are unable to say how long they live, only that some have been dying off. Either that or something else has been killing them and leaving their remains where they could be found. Personally, I believe they are dying of natural causes.”

  “Great. You’re telling me that we have fewer than five thousand bugs.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure, not a problem.”

  “We have led numerous attacks on them, trying to keep their numbers down. We estimate we have destroyed at least a thousand of their numbers.”

  “Leaving, what, at least four thousand? So you expect us to eradicate thousands of these bugs for you? Am I the only one who thinks this deal is a wee bit lop-sided?”

  The dwarf smiled. “I know there are not that many. However, ye only need to dispatch one.”

  “The female?”

  Maelnar smiled. “Aye. The female. She is the one that we cannot find because we have been unable to venture too deep into the tunnels.”

  “What about the rest of them?” Sarah asked.

  “Without the female to keep the guur population up, the drones will eventually die off.”

  “These drones, they can’t reproduce?”

  Maelnar shook his head. “Nay, they cannot.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad,” Steve began. “We just have to find –”

  Sarah held up a hand. “I have a question.”

  “Yes, lass. Go ahead.”

  “Why couldn’t you go deeper into the tunnels? Does something happen if you do?”

  The dwarf sighed. “The guur have demonstrated signs of intelligence. They have led several of our scouting parties into traps designed to prevent them from retreating. If we go too deep, retreat no longer becomes an option. So we must be careful.”

  “So these things are smart, is that what you’re trying to say? And when were you gonna tell us this?” Steve demanded.

  “Fear not, lad, we will tell ye all we have learned about the guur.”

  “But they’re smart!” Steve repeated, frowning into his tankard. He took a drink and leaned back on his cushion.

  Not having any problems whatsoever about exterminating bugs, no matter what size they were, Sarah took her husband’s hand.

  “Is this going to bother you?”

  “Here’s the way I see it. These insects were believed to be extinct, and up until now, or whenever they showed up again, they were.
Is that right?” He looked at the dwarf, who nodded. “Then,” Steve rose from his sitting position and started to pace, “you’re asking us, well, me, to send them straight back into extinction. How can you ask us to do that? Don’t these things have a right to exist?”

  Maelnar also rose to his feet, prompting the rest of the group to follow suit. “The guur,” he began, “lived for many thousands of years. For unknown reasons they died out. If our digger had not touched that egg, we would not be having this discussion. These creatures had their chance, and now their time is over. If the guur are allowed to remain unchecked, then they will continue to kill us whenever they have the opportunity. Their numbers and their territory continue to grow each year.”

  “They have killed some of you?”

  “Aye, lad, they have.”

  “How many?” Sarah wanted to know.

  “Nearly three hundred over a span of several centuries, with the most recent just a few days ago. A digger broke through to a small cavern being excavated by a single guur. Before he could retreat, the guur attacked.”

  “One bug killed him? Are you serious? How big are these things?”

  “Nearly three feet in length, from tip to tip.”

  Steve whistled. “Great. Bugs of nightmarish proportions.”

  Rhenyon approached, his men flanking him on either side. “How do we find these creatures?”

  “We can tell ye where their lair is rumored to be, but I advise against a direct frontal attack. Their numbers are too great.”

  Pheron put a hand on his captain’s shoulder. “I have an idea, sir, which might help us out here.”

  “I am all ears, lieutenant.”

  Pheron walked over to Steve, pointing to his harness. “How many of those power crystals do ye have, sir Steve?”

  “I counted a while back. There are twenty five of them.”

  “May I see one, please?”

  “Hot or cold?”

  Remembering the encounter in the tunnel where Steve and his wife had experimented with the discs, he smiled. “Cold, please.”

  Retrieving an uncharged mimet, he passed the crystal disc to the lieutenant, who took it, clenching it tightly with his right hand. Concentrating furiously, Pheron was silent for several minutes as the other soldiers looked at each other, trying to figure out what he was doing.

  The lieutenant finally opened his fist and looked at the mimet. He could feel a faint trace of his power within the disc. He handed it back to Steve. “Try to draw some of my jhorun out.”

  Suddenly understanding where Pheron was going with this, Rhenyon smiled, nodding his head in approval.

  Looking down at the disc, Steve sent his jhorun to investigate. Sure enough, he could feel a faint sliver of power emanating from within the disc. Pulling the jhorun inward, he felt the unfamiliar power mix with his own.

  “Yeah, I can do it,” Steve confirmed.

  “Excellent idea, lieutenant,” Rhenyon said, clapping him on the back.

  “What idea?”

  “Steve,” Sarah took his hand, “they are going to help you out. Since you’re the best equipped to deal with these things, they are offering to charge up your mimets for you.”

  “Oh. Oh! Cool!” Steve took off his harness, opening pouches to withdraw all the mimets.

  Dividing them up evenly into piles, Rhenyon handed three to each soldier, taking several for himself as well. “Start charging these things,” he ordered his men. “We are going to give sir Steve as much power as we can should he need it.”

  Steve gave a worried look to his friends. “You’re still gonna come with me, right?”

  “Aye, sir Steve,” Rhenyon confirmed. “Ye will not suffer this fate alone.”

  “How long does it take to charge this up to full capacity?” Rhein asked, studying a crystal disc intently.

  “It takes me around four hours if I concentrate.”

  “And yer jhorun is much stronger than the rest of ours,” Rhenyon observed. “It will probably be several days before they are all charged.”

  “May I make a suggestion then, lads?” Maelnar approached the group of humans. “Remain here for a few days. Be our guests. Charge yer crystals and we will tell ye all we know about the guur.”

  ****

  Rhenyon calculated it would take six days to charge all twenty five mimets, including an extra day for everyone to regenerate their own jhorun. In that time Sarah, Steve, and the others took the opportunity to explore the city of Borahgg, becoming acquainted with not only the huge variety of blacksmiths offering their wares but also with the people themselves. Every dwarf they encountered was very friendly and more than willing to demonstrate their specialties, whether it was silversmithing, the art of gold-plating chalices, crafting jeweled daggers, or any number of other variations.

  Steve even learned the nuances of tempering steel used in the axes worn by practically all dwarves. The friendly proprietor had offered him the chance to put in a few blows. After whacking the red-hot piece of metal several times, and with his ears ringing, Steve handed the heavy hammer back to the smiling blacksmith. Picking up the unfinished shield, the shop owner studied the marks that Steve’s blows had left. Nodding appreciatively, he invited the human to help him for the day, as he was far behind in his work.

  As the dwarf went to retrieve a second smock for his new apprentice, Steve eyed his companions.

  “What the hell? How the hell did this happen? Do I have a sign on me that says ‘please put me to work’? Breslin, what are you staring at?”

  The son of the Strathos was staring at Steve in open-mouthed shock. “Ye were invited to stay!”

  “He must want some help. You’d think there’d be others he could ask. He’s gonna regret choosing me, that’s for sure.”

  “Ye do not understand, lad,” Breslin whispered to Steve. “Master Kharus here apprenticed directly under my father. Do ye have any idea how many people would pay a king’s fortune to study under him? Stay and ye might learn something.”

  Sarah gave him a fleeting hug. “Catch up with us when you can, alright?”

  “Where will you be?”

  “We have been invited to share the midday meal with the Council at the central plaza,” Rhenyon answered. “Ye can meet up with us there.”

  Steve’s new boss arrived just in time to catch the last bit of the conversation.

  “Tha’ be jus’ fine, lads. I will have him back to ye in time for yer meal.”

  Grasping Steve by the arm, he steered the reluctant human into the heart of his workshop.

  Still smiling at Steve’s misfortune, Rhenyon led the rest of the group back into the street to continue exploring the city.

  ****

  “So what can I do, Kharus? What would you like done?”

  “Ye have demonstrated a remarkable knack for shaping the metal. Here,” the dwarf plopped a long piece of unfinished steel on an anvil in front of him. “This will need to be heated, in the furnace there. Heat it as hot as ye can get it without melting it. Ye will need to fold the metal in half, much like ye would fold a piece of parchment.”

  “Okay, I can do that. You just need to fold this thing, that’s it?”

  “The more times ye do that, the stronger it becomes. I typically will fold the steel around a hundred times for a standard sword.”

  “A hundred times? Wow. Okay, I think I have it. Heat, fold, and then whack it flat. And then keep repeating.”

  The dwarf nodded.

  Steve hefted the hammer. “I can handle this. Saw this on the Discovery Channel once.”

  “Eh? What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I will be over here if ye need anything.” The master blacksmith watched as the ungainly human picked up the piece of steel, eyed the roaring furnace, and then looked back at the length of metal. What was this? The metal was heating in his hand! It’s already glowing red! And he is not using any protection! Wizards be damned!

  Seeing Kharus’ amazed expression, Steve
grinned. “I thought this was part of the reason why you wanted my help. Fire and heat don’t really faze me too much.”

  In mere seconds the metal was hot enough to bend in half. Steve picked up a heavy hammer and pounded the bent blade flat. He smiled at the amazed dwarf, only now he noticed that his instructor was indicating the metal should be dropped into a large trough of water. Hissing angrily, the metal rapidly cooled. Understanding that he was tempering the metal as he went, Steve retrieved the steel and repeated the process.

  He had lost count how many times he had heated the blade, folded it over, whacked it flat, cooled it, and started over. All he knew was that his arms were killing him. Seriously. When he made it back home he was joining a gym.

  Kharus was smiling profusely as he kept an eye on his pupil. He had already managed to layer the metal well over sixty times. Ordinarily, that many layers would have taken him close to a week. This human would make a formidable blacksmith!

  Time for the midday meal was approaching. Noting that the layer count was now well over a hundred, and his pupil was wheezing, the sympathetic teacher finally indicated it was time to wrap things up.

  “Where do you want me to leave this?” Steve asked.

  “Jus’ drop it in the water there, lad.”

  Steam hissed as he dropped the hot blade back into the water for the umpteenth time. His arms, back, legs, hands, hell, every part of him protested angrily. He probably shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard, but he was surprised to discover that he was actually enjoying his time as a blacksmith. He had actually crafted a very serviceable blade for a sword. It just needed a little shaping and sharpening. But other than that, it looked pretty good!

  As Steve washed his hands and face in a basin near the back of the cottage, Kharus inspected his work.

  “Impressive! Most impressive, indeed! Ye would make an admirable apprentice! I thank ye for yer help.”

  Steve shook the proffered arm. “You’re welcome. Boss.”

  Kharus snorted, peeling off his smock. “Come, lad, I promised I would have ye back in time for the midday meal.”