The dwarves of the Ring Mountains were the first to arrive, numbering two hundred in all. From that mountain were many of Milan’s relatives, and of course Tegan and Telon’s cousin Timo. He was apprenticing there in his attempt to become a magician of sorts. Most of their traveling party was soldiers and all were armed and dressed in their finest uniforms. Both the hosts and the visitors used these rare events to impress, and everything they did would be done to the extreme. In fact, this competitiveness and eagerness to show superiority was another reason the dwarves had lessoned. They spent so much time trying to show how they were different (and better) than each other, that they forgot what they had in common.
“Milan!” King Dorir exclaimed, for it had been far too long since he saw his only daughter. He hugged her, lifting her off the ground like he had done so many times when she was a young girl. “You are so beautiful, and now a mother too! Where is my grandchild?”
“Napping, I promise I will bring him to you as soon as he wakes. I am so glad you are here, was your trip here safe?” Milan replied, as she then embraced her mother, Greta.
“It was tense, I think our travels were being watched,” Dorir said.
“By what?” asked a very curious Tegan, as he shook hands with Dorir.
“Not sure. We tried several times to circle around to see what it was, but never could spot it. I decided whatever it was, it was only watching us, so we carried on. Regardless, we are so excited to be here for this momentous occasion. May it be the beginning of another golden age!”
Greta was beautiful for her age, elegant, and graceful. She reached for her daughter’s hand and appealed, “Milan, please take me to Jedrek. I won’t be able to wait until he wakes to see him.” Milan knew she could not deny her mother, especially with her first grandchild.
All day long, dwarves arrived from the other three races from the Hills, Dragon Glades, and the Flats. The Flats were the most curious group of dwarves, as they had given up living in mountains long ago in favor of huts they built above ground by the sea. They were excellent fisher-dwarves, but were considered second class by many of the other tribes. Despite that, Moro considered their king to be one of his best friends and he spent a lot of time with them in their seaside village with his sons. Deyanira never went, and detested Moro had his sons go with him.
The Flats dwarves were the only group to attend that brought no obvious warriors or weapons. While the other tribes marched in ranks and rows with their king and his court dressed in their best and surrounded by their banners, the Flats Dwarves walked in no order. It was impossible to tell if they were dressed up at all, or who their king was. They only carried walking staffs, and sported rather unkempt beards compared to the other, more manicured, dwarf tribes. In short, they looked like a mottled band of hooligans.
Each tribe was shown to their quarters after being given tours of the city and fed a light meal, which was only an appetizer for the feast that was soon to come. Telon watched with delight as the visitors made many complimentary remarks toward the state of the city, as he personally oversaw all preparations made to Tunder Bin in anticipation of the day. Areas that he considered to be lacking were brought up to his standard to put on the best front for the many visitors. In the end, it was a chance for the ancient City of Tunder Bin to sparkle again, and few could find any poor remarks to make.
The races of dwarves were brought together, not only for the coronation of Tegan, but to pay the respects to the passing of King Moro and pay sympathies to Deyanira. This occurred in one of the lower halls called the ‘Tomb of Kings’. Moro rested for over a month in the entry to the tombs, as was custom during such changes in leadership. Following the visitation by the visitors, he would be placed in his final resting place within the tombs. Due to distances between the kingdoms, no one could make the visit twice in such a short time, so it was decided to have both events close to each other.
King Moro was placed in his granite coffin. Each king had a separate room in the Tombs that was theirs alone, and loaded with their affects from their distinguished life. Due to the massive injuries dealt him by the goblins, his coffin would remain closed. Across the top of the coffin lay a garment cover depicting important scenes from his life, and on top lay his battle axe, fully cleaned, and sharpened as though newly made.
Dorir and his wife Greta were the first to arrive. Deyanira welcomed the mourners with Tegan and Telon at her side for support. “We feel great sorrow at the loss of Moro, he was a great friend and leader,” Dorir said with a shaky voice as he and Greta took turns embracing Deyanira. Greta held her embrace, saying, “We are so sorry for your loss, Milan thought of Moro as a father.”
Deyanira was strong and graceful, for she loved Moro deeply. In truth, a big part of her had died with her husband, and the part gone was the most good. She found much less joy in the world now, and was often sad.
“Thank you, your presence means a lot to me and my family. Moro thought of Milan as a daughter, he adored her, as do I. We look forward to spending more time with you and sharing our great memories.” With that, they passed to take a moment over the coffin before departing. Greta placed a single red rose on the coffin before they left.
Next to visit was the King of the Hills, Kilgore. His wife was long passed, but he was accompanied by each of his six sons. While the blame for the issues between the tribes needed to be shared by all, Kilgore and his sons certainly caused more than their share of the problems. They were braggarts, elitists, and in all ways obnoxious. While the stories of their arrogance were limitless, it seemed to many they had done little to earn it. Few liked them, but for whatever reason Deyanira always encouraged alliances and trade with them. Tegan and Telon tolerated them, at best.
The Hills were a small mountain range whose peaks did not even reach above the snow line. Many years ago, a conference was called as the people of the hills wanted their home range to be called mountains instead of hills. That movement was quickly halted, much to the chagrin of Kilgore’s father.
The Hills were known for their many jewels with which they decorated their armor and clothes. Due to the jewels, they were one of the wealthier tribes, which made them even more difficult to endure. King Kilgore secretly hoped he could convince Deyanira to move with him to his mountains and perhaps she would see fit to become his wife. In his wildest dreams, he would find a way for him and his sons to rule the Ring Mountains and Tunder Bin.
Kilgore spoke softly to Deyanira as he pulled her in for a quick embrace, “I grieve for your loss and know it all too well. May you soon find happiness again to replace your sorrow.”
“Thank you for your wishes, old friend. Your being here makes me happy, enjoy your stay and everything we have to offer.” Deyanira’s hug ended in a kiss to his cheek, for she knew what he desired.
Each of the six sons were a bit on the hefty side, especially when compared to Tegan and Telon. Their interest lied far more in talking and eating than training. Their low fitness level could not be hidden as they struggled mightily to regain their breath from the long walk to the bottom of the mountain. They each shook the brother’s hands.
Tegan could not pass up the moment, “Lot of steps in a real mountain my friends!”
“Don’t worry, when you reach the peak, a large meal will be waiting for you. It’s only two thousand, seven hundred, ninety-three steps to the top! I have counted them many times!” Telon loved to jab them, and for many reasons they never answered back. Just hearing the number of steps stole the wind out of every one of their sails.
King Marku of the Dragon Glade was next. His region was cleared in his younger days of dragons, and he took the lead in many of these famous battles. He was a mighty warrior in his day, though that man was a feint memory of the man standing before them. Despite his frail condition, he was still a burly man and very gruff, as were most of the dwarves of this region.
The braided beards of the Dragon Glade dwarves were usually the longest, often growing below the waist. They were
the most distant and least seen dwarves, keeping mostly to themselves, even by dwarf standards. A representative of the Dragon Glade had not visited Tunder Bin since King Moro was crowned himself.
Marku’s people were dwindling, like all the dwarf tribes. They once numbered more than ten thousand but now less than three. Making a living off the Dragon Glades was a tough life at best. Blessed with neither the gold nor jewels, they had not the riches of the other mountains.
“You have my sympathy,” a very fragile Marku uttered. He was helped on both sides by two of his sons, both of whom were well respected by their people. He was also joined by his daughter, Gweneviere, who was quite plain and very portly. In all other ways, she was quite pleasant. His eldest son was ready to assume the throne when the time came, and was also a dreaded warrior. “I fear I may join him soon in the halls of our fathers.”
“We will all go in our time and yours is not yet up! Enjoy our hospitality, take rest, and rejuvenate in the great City of Tunder Bin,” Deyanira said. She felt as though she was trying to cheer Marku up, even though it should have been the other way around. She then thanked both of his sons and hugged his daughter. “Gweneviere, you look radiant! Have you ever met my son, Telon?”
Telon could not believe what was happening. To make a weird situation less awkward, he stumbled forward to meet her, taking her hand. He then quickly stepped back toward Tegan, hoping that would suffice. Deyanira hoped to complete an arrangement between the two before this visit was over, but knew it would not be easy.
Gweneviere smiled at Telon, deeply desiring him. She was led to believe by her father the feeling was mutual, thanks to Deyanira. Telon did not notice her look, concentrating his ire toward his mother.
Deyanira was beginning to tire on the day, as all the grieving was taking its toll. She still had to help crown the new king, as was her duty. Before that though, there was still one more guest to welcome, and it was her least favorite.
King Fiji of the Flats was the last to go through the tombs. Deyanira didn’t think much of him or his people, and he knew it well. Moro and Fiji were the closest of the kings, spending a lot of time together due to how close their kingdoms were, much to Deyanira’s dislike. She thought Moro above Fiji in every fashion, and could never quite understand the attraction between the two.
“Lady Deyanira,” began Fiji with deep respect. He could barely keep it together, “I am very sorry for your loss. My people and I are at your service in any way that may help your pain. Moro was my best friend, and closest confidant.”
Out of respect for her late husband, Deyanira resisted the strong urge to tell Fiji exactly how little she thought of him and the lesser dwarves of the Flats.
“My husband considered you a good friend, thank you for being here,” it was the best she could muster under the circumstances. There was no hug for Fiji but Tegan and Telon shook his hand and thanked him, sharing none of Deyanira’s feelings and only admiration for men of the Flats. They both spent many summer nights with their people and had many friends and tremendous memories of being there with their father. They knew they owed a lot to Fiji, and it was important to them that he knew it.
Deyanira departed for her quarters to prepare for the coronation. The two sons thanked the kings and their families and then they too were off to get ready for the events of the evening, but not before passing Kilgore and his sons on the steps. Tegan and Telon could only shake their heads as they passed.
Chapter 9: The King is Crowned
This night would be the largest gathering in over a century in the city of Tunder Bin. In all there were over eight thousand dwarves in attendance, and each would have a night they would never forget.
The Great Hall was set with tables of food and drink, much of it brought from the five tribes of dwarves. Each tribe had its own area of the room to lay out their food and to show off their wares that were for sale. This was a time to see what every tribe had to offer. It was also a time to trade, buy, or borrow goods with the one another.
There was singing, music, plays, jokers, jugglers, acrobatics, games for the old and young, storytellers, lots of eating, and many drinking games and challenges. One spot that was special for the dwarves was an area for contests in the making of metals. This is when the best swords and tools were available to all of Lemuria. Many from outside the dwarf kingdoms inquired to Tegan about being able to attend to purchase or trade for the arms, but he would not allow it.
Another favorite spot, at least for the little ones, was where they watched the knife throw. Large melons were launched and men would take turns seeing who could throw the most knives into the melon before it shattered on the floor. The children loved to see the melons explode as they crashed to the ground, their insides splashing across the barren stone walkways.
In the middle of the room there was a challenge area also. Dwarves from each tribe could challenge men of another to wrestling contests. The contests were extremely violent, so the dwarves loved to watch them. They lasted until one was knocked out or gave in. More often than not, they ended in a knockout, as the mere suggestion of submission was abhorred by all.
One of the dwarves of the Ring Mountains, an unusually large dwarf called Bearo, drew on his courage to challenge the biggest person in the room. After several drinks to solidify his resolve, he marched right up to Erol, with many of his friends watching intently. Standing before Erol he looked straight up toward the ogre, and poked him in the gut, just above his belly button. Erol had not taken notice of the dwarf and looked down toward Bearo, unsure of what Erol thought his intention was.
Having gained Erol’s attention, he announced, “Ogre! I challenge you to a match!” Bearo had a huge smile on his face, knowing he had bitten off more than he could chew.
Erol considered the challenge, thinking it would be fun. “Just you?” he asked, not trying to insult the challenger.
“Of course!” Bearo answered, not liking the snickering he heard behind him.
“I accept! Thank you for the entertainment,” Erol answered as he walked to the middle of the challenger area.
Bearo prepared to battle the ogre, winding his arms up to loosen them. Jaric stepped to the middle, consulting each side to measure their readiness, before yelling, “Begin!”
Bearo charged Erol, hoping to catch him unready. This tactic failed.
Erol picked up the smaller foe, and easily set him down, pinning him to the ground with little effort. The crowd roared with approval, which infuriated Bearo! He quickly ran to gather aid, and returned with two other dwarves and challenged Erol again. This time it took Erol thirty seconds to pin all three dwarves by sitting on them. Two more times Bearo returned, the last with twelve dwarves all surrounding Erol.
Jaric again started the battle, of which the duty was greatly taking him away from his drinking time. Finally, the battle was even, as the dwarves took turns trying to find a weakness to exploit, one at a time dodging at Erol. They would grab a leg and get a good hold, only to have Erol pry them off and send them flying. Neither side could gain the leverage needed to claim victory.
The crowd greatly approved of the punch, counter punch, of the fight. They cheered loudly for both sides, and at time laughed at the crazy scene unfolding before their eyes. Eventually Telon, seeing this battle would not soon end, brought in a keg of beer. He changed the nature of the fight, as both sides raced to see who could drink the most in one minute, one ogre against twelve dwarves! The dwarf team claimed victory by the smallest of margins.
Tegan come out and announced, “We congratulate all on the marvelous battle, though it ended in a tie.” Then, raising his cup, “Here is to the dwarf team for out drinking, by the smallest of margins, the ogre team!” The crowd erupted again as the beer rolled off the beards of the dwarves. They congratulated themselves, and Erol, for the contest.
As the party began to die down, Mylar, one of Kilgore’s sons, came up behind Tegan and sarcastically mocked, “Maybe the great Lord of Tunder Bin has one fig
ht in him yet? Would he dare test himself against the great Mylar?”
There were few cheers, and an awkward hush came over the Great Hall, for this was very poor etiquette. Many knew the history between the two, this would be no friendly match. Kings, even those who would soon be kings, were not to be challenged in such a way. To do so in the king’s home halls, while accepting his hospitality, was extremely poor form.
Tegan turned slowly. He knew Mylar, and of his boastful disposition and extreme arrogance. “Mylar, I am glad to see you regained your breath from mounting the stairs. Great you say? Did you give yourself that name?” the crowd erupted at the sarcastic comment.
“Just give me the chance,” Mylar growled in a grim tone, “and I will show you the reason for the term.”
Tegan ignored the challenge, despite how much he would have loved the encounter. “Sorry Mylar, I will not accept your challenge today.”
“Of course, you won’t, and you should be sorry,” Mylar continued, hoping to bait Tegan into a fight.
Tegan smiled, “You mistake me my dear friend, I do not apologize for not fighting you. I apologize for who you will face in my place. You will fight Telon, and in a few moments, you will indeed wish I had been the one that accepted.”
The crowd thundered in anticipation as all knew this would be quite a battle. Though many years had passed since Mylar gave the young Telon his scar, the story was still told often among the tribes. Both Mylar and Telon were well-known for their fighting ability, as well as their immense dislike for each other. They had not seen each other in many years, the renewal of their acquaintance would certainly be memorable.
“Telon?” Mylar gasped, “Is he up for this challenge? He may have had too much to drink. I will end up fighting you in the end Tegan, so we might as well just start it that way,” as he finished Mylar turned to his people, very proud of his verbal jabs he repeatedly battered Tegan with. He drew a large laugh from the Hills contingent for mocking their hosts, unable to hide their jealously of the people of Tunder Bin. Tensions were rising in the hall between the two tribes, it would be far better to have it settled by two than by many.
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