“Forgive me, highness,” Dirk bowed again. This time the gesture lacked any sarcasm, “You are safe in these lands. None under my command will hinder you in any way. I invite you to be our guest. Come, rest, replenish your supplies, and start your journey anew refreshed and ready to attack the trail. Our queen may have some good advice to assist you in your goal.”
“Words,” Glord scoffed. “What do we know of you? Nothing. How does my queen know you can be trusted?”
“My word is all I have. Warrior to warrior, I promise to defend your queen as vigorously as you would,” Dirk replied plainly.
Glord’s scowl was all the response he intended to give. Perrin touched his arm, “My loyal general, my protector, we need supplies. Let us be mindful of the risks but see where this road leads.”
Chapter 38
King Maomnosett
The courtyard in front of the palace at Alhouim bustled as grongs grunted at dwarves chained together in single file. The dwarves shuffled along in teary silence, none daring to look at anything but the ground before them. A few had made the mistake of glancing around at something other than the dirt before their boots earlier in the day. Grong clubs made examples out of them, and the rest learned quickly. Dragging along dead kin chained fast by wrist and ankle is a lesson not soon forgotten.
Trogmortem milled about with the grongs. None of them served any purpose that day aside from terrorizing their victims with ugly sneers and violent growls. One dwarf trying desperately to remain unnoticed by the massive trogmortem looming over him made the mistake of jumping slightly when the monster howled down at him. One small bite later, his head was sliding down the trogmortem’s throat, and his soul was drifting back to the Lake.
There were giants in the courtyard that day too. Not more than a handful, six including Ott. They remained aloof. None of them cared much about taking Alhouim back from the dwarves and re-establishing Maomnosett. Most would have preferred to return home across the Great Sea, but not Ott. Maomnosett Ahm’s father wanted revenge. His desire had nothing to do with honoring his son. That pathetic worm had been felled by a mere lad. The fact that particular lad was special—born of the Lake and all that—meant little to the fierce giant. The only crime for which Ott held the dwarves of Alhouim to account was dishonoring his name. There was no worse crime than that, and every dwarf would understand the folly of their ways.
Ott sat upon one son’s throne in the exact spot his other son’s throne had sat. Both had fallen to mere men. The former bested by a general of Havenstahl, and the latter felled by the lad of the Lake. Taken together the two amounted to nothing more than a sad legacy of failure. Worse than that, Ahm’s sons had followed their father to the Lake in a failed attempt to redeem his honor by taking back his city, and Bok’s son had defected like a coward spouting nonsense of equality with lowly men and dwarves. Ott would restore his name, mend his tarnished legacy on the backs of the vile dwarves who had betrayed his son and supported a bastard born of a Lake.
The throne the new king of Maomnosett sat upon was a work of art. Bok may have been a failure, but the throne he had designed for his conquest of Havenstahl and Alhouim was magnificent. The massive thing was carved out of solid brindlewood—brindle trees are monstrous, the tops of the tallest soar more than four hundred feet above the ground—and etched with glorious renderings of mighty giants trampling men and beasts beneath their feet.
The remnants of the former dwarf king’s throne, along with his wife’s, lay splintered about the new king’s feet. When Ott saw how the dwarves of Alhouim had treated Ahm’s former throne, he thought it only fitting to respond in kind. When he had first walked into that courtyard and saw his son’s body cast in Prang and hanging from the wall immediately behind where his throne had sat—his missing head, stolen by the lad of the Lake, had been replaced with the head of a tubber and the broken remnants of his throne fastened to the wall surrounding the grotesque statue—it was more than he could stand. Had it merely represented a slight against his son, Ott may have ignored it. However, it was more than that to him. To the new King Maomnosett, the callous treatment of his son’s corpse represented another slight against his great name.
Chi-Ta, leader of the trogmortem, approached. Slurg, the grong’s choontah, accompanied him, dragging a teary-eyed and defiant Gleeanna along by a thick rope fastened around her neck. The queen of Alhouim struggled against her bonds and shot deadly glares at her captors. She saved her fiercest look for the vile beast who had captured her city, broken her throne, and chained her subjects like beasts being prepped for slaughter. Though it was not Ott who had killed her husband, good Doentaat, she laid the blame of his death at the giant’s feet along with the rest.
Ott’s voice was deep and terrible, “You have a fiery spirit. Perhaps your dead king would stand in chains beside you if he harbored a similar blaze in his heart.”
“Coward,” she spat. “Loose these bonds, and I’ll show you just how fiery is my spirit, you vile thing.”
The giant’s humorless chuckle sounded like rocks being ground up in metal gears, “I never met Doentaat, but I imagine him to be a titan among dwarves. He would have to be to suffer the likes of you. If my own wife acted in such a disrespectful manner, I would leave her body out to decay in the blazing sun while the crows had their fill.” He flashed a patronizing smile and added, “I wonder. Did he ever show you the back of his hand, or was he weak?”
Gleeanna’s face twisted into something dark and terrifying as she lost more ground against the tears she so desperately tried to hold back. “If he were here,” the words were difficult to understand as they sloshed out of her mouth amid throaty sobs.
“If he were here, what?” Ott’s laughter filled the courtyard. “Would he defend your honor and challenge me? I wish he could have stayed alive long enough for me to kill him myself, highness. I would have made a show for you. What would you have done, standing there helpless, watching your husband’s life bleed from his body as his eyes grayed over? Would you cry? Would you stomp your feet like a helpless child angry at their parent’s demand but helpless to control their own destiny?”
It happened so fast, Slurg had no time to react. Before the grong choontah knew what was happening, Gleeanna’s foot was stomping on his, and her forehead was pounding into his snout. The shock was great enough to loosen his grip on the rope in his clawed hand leaving Alhouim’s former queen bound but almost free. She charged headlong toward Ott. Three steps were all she made before her head was off her body and bleeding all over Chi-Ta’s hand.
Ott’s face drooped into something close to sadness, “Chi-Ta, why would you do that? Why would you steal from me the satisfaction of sending that wily sprite back to the Lake?”
“Forgive me, highness,” Chi-Ta dropped his gaze away from the giant’s as he dropped Gleeanna’s head to the dirt. “I reacted.”
Before Ott could press the conversation further, the remaining dwarves in the courtyard raised such a ruckus any words which passed his lips would have remained unheard. He set his jaw tight and nodded toward the ruckus. Neither the trogmortem king nor the choontah of the grongs had to think too hard about what the gesture meant. Both moved toward the bound mob of angry dwarves and began barking commands to their respective troops. Several intimidating howls, a few slaps from the backs of massive trogmortem hands, a few strikes from heavy grong clubs, and two dead dwarves later, the roiling mob began to calm.
Ott’s voice boomed throughout the courtyard, “You will be freed from your bonds, allowed to move about my city and resume your lives. Tomorrow is a new day. You will go back to the mines. Your lives will be no different than they were provided you obey my law. Look to your former queen,” he paused as the crowd quieted completely. The few moments which passed seemed to drag on for days before he added, “Any dwarf who dare challenge the rule of my city, the rule of Maomnosett, will find a similar fate.”
Alenaat was among the group tethered together with chains. The shock of seeing hi
s queen’s head plucked from her body like the head of dandelion and then carelessly tossed to the ground to roll in the dirt was more than he could stand. The queen had pretty, amber eyes. After her head had stopped rolling, those wide eyes—frozen in shock, rage, and sorrow—stared at Alenaat. There were few in Alhouim the young dwarf could consider friend, but the queen had always been kind and treated him like more than the waste everyone thought he was. He had never stood up for anything in his life, but right in that moment he had no other choice. Tears filled his eyes as he shouted, “Coward.” His voice rang out through the courtyard.
All eyes turned to see him, body shaking, tears pouring down his face, his skin red with rage. Boonda the bald was bound to Alenaat. He touched the young dwarf’s arm gently and shook his head, desperately trying to stifle any additional words from pouring out of the angry fool’s mouth, but it was too late. Alenaat would have his say regardless the outcome.
“You sit there above us looking down like we ain’t nothing more than beasts slithering across the dirt on our bellies, like you are so much better than us lowly things,” his tears dried as furious rage chased away sorrow and helplessness, “but you ain’t no better. Look at you, sitting there smugly watching your beasts spilling blood on stolen land. This is our land. That queen you so carelessly killed had been true and fair, full of life and love for all her people.”
Ott’s eyes narrowed, but Slurg interrupted before he could respond. “Big pine. Good spot for this one.”
“Go on,” though it was difficult for Ott to disguise his irritation at the interruption, the choontah had his attention.
“Pine sacred,” Slurg continued. “Ahm hang dwarves.”
After a few moments of reflection, Ott recalled a visit his son had made shortly after taking the city so many years prior. “Yes, the sacred pine. Ahm told me of that. He took that token of dwarf heritage and turned it into a punishment for unruly dwarves. What a wonderful idea. Apparently, my failure of a son was not all bad after all,” he chuckled dryly before adding, “Hang him from that pine and leave him until the creeping things of the forest are fed and full from his decaying flesh.”
No one else in the crowd could overcome the shock or find courage enough to shout out in Alenaat’s support, but he harbored them no ill will. After a lifetime of not doing much of anything to help any but himself, it was better for him they remained quietly agitated. The gasps he heard were enough. He needed this moment to be his. It was his time to care about something, to stand up for something, to be more than what they thought of him.
The determined dwarf remained calmly defiant as four grongs came up to free him from his chains and dragged him before the king. He lost no more tears, though his eyes sparkled with confidence. He looked up at the false king, the vile usurper, and boomed, “You can hang me from the Sacred Pine, desecrate that holy ground with my blood, send my soul back to the Lake, but you can’t kill Alhouim. My kin will see me strapped dead to that pine, and there will come a reckoning. Be it today, tomorrow, or years from now, you will pay for your crimes against us.”
Ott chuckled dryly. A small part of him admired the dwarf’s boldness. “Not on this day,” he smiled. “Take him away.”
The rest of the courtyard remained silent as Ott watched the four grongs drag the defiant dwarf back through a sea of sad-eyed dwarves. Despite the dire warning, Ott knew the lesson he was giving would not soon be forgotten by any in attendance. He had broken their spirit, and they would obey.
After the gates closed behind the small group bound for the Sacred Pine, Ott turned his mind to more pressing matters. “Chi-Ta, have any of your scouts returned with word of viable routes to attack Havenstahl?”
“None very promising,” Chi-Ta shook his head. “The northern gate of the city sits atop a sheer cliff with nothing more than a small trail doubling back and forth up its face. Perhaps a small force would have success given the element of surprise but attacking with any kind of numbers would prove foolhardy. The main road up to the southern gate is the only path allowing attack in any kind of numbers, and that path boasts a drawbridge spanning a deep cavern. Slurg may have a better report. Many in his command know these lands well.”
Slurg’s head began shaking before Chi-Ta had even finished speaking, “Diversion at main gate. Attack north gate.”
“Wise words,” Chi-Ta nodded toward Slurg. “We could send a large force around Mount Elzkahon, bang the drums and attract attention. That should pull their forces to the main gate to defend. Meanwhile, we could send a small, elite force to traverse that trail and infiltrate the city through the back gate. We could easily scale those walls. We will need some form of signal to coordinate the effort.”
“The men of Havenstahl will provide that signal,” Ott smiled. “They will blow their horns and sound their alarms, call their wayward forces home. Move forward with that plan. We need time to regroup in this place. I want a plan to execute an attack by the time that is done.”
Ott watched Chi-Ta and Slurg depart after offering customary bows. His command would keep them busy. The truth was his next steps were not clear. Taking back Maomnosett had been his goal all along. Havenstahl had only ever been a stop along the way toward that goal for him. Brerto wanted it conquered and broken. They had certainly broken the great city with the help of Kallum, but it remained unconquered. Both gods had remained unseen since the battle at Fort Maomnosett. If Brerto wanted the city so badly, why had he failed to return? Havenstahl posed no threat to his throne. Why bother?
Chapter 39
Patience
Geillan slept soundly suspended between four obelisks flashing with bright light so rapidly the room seemed at once bathed in light and shrouded in complete darkness. No longer a babe nor even a small lad, he had grown to near a man. Ijilv gently traced his fingernail along the young man’s flawless skin and whispered, “Soon you will wake and burn Ouloos to oblivion, my sleeping Dragon. Nothing in this land will withstand your might. You will redeem this vile creation with fire.”
“You would unleash this abomination on Ouloos to destroy everything we have built?” Kallum’s voice echoed in Ijilv’s head.
“Do not forget, you are a guest here. You should only speak when spoken to,” Ijilv chuckled. “However, I will entertain you only because it torments you so. You built nothing. You took a perfect thing and bent it to your will, tainted it toward your desire, and now you can watch me undo the damage you have done.”
“Guest?” Kallum scoffed. “I am a prisoner in your head, a plaything for your ego. Toy with me at your peril, brother. I will find a way to free myself from these bonds, and you will crumble before my glory.”
Ijilv laughed as he continued to caress Geillan’s cheek. How many years had he waited for this moment, for this time when he could bring his mighty brother so low and knock him from his pedestal? “I had hoped for rage and threats, dear brother, and you do not disappoint. You are one with me now. Never again will you exist outside of me. For all your posturing and threats, you are nothing more than words. Thank you for this gift.”
Ijilv waited for a response, but none came. Kallum’s pain was not the goal, merely a satisfying result of the acts required to achieve that goal. Of all his brothers, the great eagle was by far the most pompous, ceaselessly seeking to elevate himself above the rest. Being trapped under the control of one of his kin was the worst fate for him, even worse than being scattered. At least then he was unaware.
“Maelich grows increasingly difficult to contain,” Moluam’s voice distracted Ijilv out of his revelry. “He is learning how to control his subconscious. I fear he may destroy me within his mind. Please, let me wake him.”
“Nonsense,” he offered the slightest of smiles. “You must remain brave and vigilant. You know what is at stake. Now is not the time to make rash decisions based on fear. The work we are doing is too important, and it requires patience. See your mission through. Guide the lad of the Lake to his destination.”
“He is
a Dragon,” her voice quivered slightly. “He could burn me out of existence.”
“It is a dangerous game you play with him,” Ijilv agreed, “but it is a game you must control. His mind is cracked and scarred. He is deep in this delusion he has concocted for himself. That delusion was born out of the darkest places in his psyche, fueled by anguish and pain.”
“But we meet in his head,” the control Moluam had over her tone cracked. “He is learning to control his unconscious thoughts much more quickly than he is remembering. I want to show him Ymitoth.”
Ijilv’s eyes went wild with color as his voice raised loud enough to shake the very bricks of the circular room surrounding them, “You will do no such thing. I forbid it. It is far too soon. Waking him so abruptly might break him completely. We need him strong when he wakes, deeply hurt, but strong.”
She quickly averted her eyes from his horrible gaze as she relented, “I sense you may feel differently if it were you meeting the lad of the Lake in his own mind, but it is wise counsel. Though my fears have not diminished, I will stay the course.”
“Perhaps visit him without showing him a dead friend. Convince him you are a guide to more than heartbreak,” the volume of his voice had dropped as quickly as it had grown.
Moluam gave him no more words. She simply bowed her head and vanished. He would have preferred more time to convince her, to steel her will against the fear. It may not have done any good. She was wise to fear Maelich. The time would come when he finally broke free from his illusion. A poor reaction on that day could crack Ouloos to its very core.
“I feel a great swell of pity for you if he reacts unexpectedly, brother,” Kallum chided.
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