Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)

[Lazybones]

Chapter 165

Xeeta found that she could not sleep. She was certainly tired enough after the long day’s travel, and she knew that the road ahead would only become harder as they progressed deeper into the mountains. It wasn’t the hardness of the stone shelf that served as her bed, or the throbbing in her legs and backside from two days spent in the unfamiliar confines of a saddle. She’d slept through worse, had had to learn to take her rest where and when she could find it.

It wasn’t the Demon, which had been quiescent of late. She had not had the need to use her magic since the fight in the sewers of Severon. She had grown in power since the Silverpeak Valley, and there were times when she worried that there would be a price to pay for that. But that wasn’t what was keeping her up tonight.

She finally rose from her bedding. She could see Bredan sitting near the fire, staring into the flames. For a moment she considered him, and why she was here. She didn’t have to come with them back to Severon. She’d decided not to remain in the Silverpeak Valley with Rodan, but there were plenty of other places she could have gone, especially now that she had the magical amulet that concealed her dark ancestry. But her new companions—her new friends—had been there for her when she had needed someone. And Bredan most of all. At first, she’d thought it just simple compassion, a sentiment that she’d been trained to exploit, growing up in and under the streets of Li Syval. A weakness.

But it had been more than that, she now knew. Bredan possessed empathy, and it was a trait that did not make him weak, rather the opposite. And some of it had apparently seeped into her, for as she covertly watched him she could sense and understand some of what he was feeling.

She crossed the room, her bare feet not even making a whisper on the stone floor of the waystation. Konstantin was just a vague shadow in his bedroll, a low hill compared to the mountain that was Quellan. A low, growling snore came from the cleric, but he didn’t stir as she passed.

Bredan hadn’t moved from his intense vigil. Xeeta didn’t want to startle him, but as she hesitated he shifted slightly to make room for her.

“I have always been fascinated by fire,” she said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the others. “Even before my powers began to manifest. Such beauty and destruction, bound together. A power that is neither evil nor good, just… raw, primal.”

Bredan didn’t respond. After a few moments Xeeta went on, “When the magic began to grow in me I was confused, and afraid,” she said. “They called in the Demon, the ones who had created me. They were excited by it, excited and pleased, for not all of the ones they bred possessed that gift. They made me to be a weapon, shaped me to be one, under their control. But the Demon could not be controlled. And after a while, after a long while, I could not be either.”

He slowly turned his head to look at her. “You chose to be something more than what they made you,” he said. “I don’t know if I will have that choice.”

“You’re still who you are,” she said. “You’ve changed since we first met. We both have. But that hasn’t changed.”

“I’m afraid,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

They sat there together, sharing the warmth of the fire as the night deepened outside their shelter.

In the morning, the dwarves were waiting for them.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 166

Glori didn’t sleep well. Her dreams had been troubled, battles from the Silverpeak and before overlaid with new dangers that remained vague but terrifying. She woke early, and despite feeling drained she dressed and went for a walk in the gardens.

The natural beauty of the place helped still her nerves somewhat. It was quiet, the surrounding city still asleep. As the sun started to rise colors bloomed around her, adding to the sense of calm and life that pervaded the place.

She wondered about Bredan and how he was faring among the dwarves. Then she remembered that he probably hadn’t even reached them yet. It had only been a few days, but she still missed him.

That thought led her to Quellan. She hadn’t really had a chance to think about him, or the complicated web of feelings that connected them. He’d been honest with her. She owed him the same, if only she could somehow unlock what her own feelings were.

Distracted by those thoughts, she didn’t realize she was no longer alone until a familiar melody shook her from her reverie.

She turned to see Majerion slowly approaching along one of the paths that wound through the garden. The source of the music was his golden lyre, which he was playing softly with one hand as he walked. The tune was one that he had taught her years ago, shortly after they had left the elven domain to begin their journeys back and forth across the surrounding lands.

For a moment Glori felt a thread of uncertainty. She had left her own instrument in her quarters, along with her armor and weapons. But after a moment she steeled herself. Everything that she needed to confront this encounter was inside of her.

She turned to face him and waited. He finished his song with a flourish as he greeted her.

“Glorianna,” he said.

“Majerion.”

“I have heard something of your exploits,” he told her. “Your dwarven companion was quite loquacious at last night’s dinner. I am impressed.”

“‘Loquacious’ is not a word I would have ever used to describe Kosk,” she said.

“Well, it was not easy. But I have a talent for getting people to come out of their shells.”

“Yes, I remember that about you.”

He tilted his head slightly as he quirked an eyebrow, another gesture that she remembered intimately. “You are angry about something, my dearest?”

“My dear… what makes you think you can call me that?”

“It has not been so long since we traveled together.”

“Since we… you abandoned me, Majerion!”

The elf bard looked genuinely perplexed. “I left only when I knew that you could take care of yourself. I thought you understood.”

“I thought you cared about me.”

“I do, my… Glorianna.”

“Not enough to stay with me, though.”

“My life was here,” he said. “You could not stay here, so I did my best to help you find a life outside, one where you could be happy. And from what I have heard, you have that life… a place in the world, friends, people who care about you.”

“So, I was just an obligation to you.”

“No. Perhaps at first, but I did honestly come to care for you, Glorianna. When your parents died, there were none others to step in. You and I share blood, through our fathers’ lines. The same ancestor, three generations back…”

“Among humankind, we wouldn’t even rate as cousins,” she said.

“We elves are different,” Majerion said. “It was my responsibility… but I do not regret those years spent.”

“I suppose you think I should be grateful,” she said.

“I do not know what else I could have done,” he said. “If there is another solution I did not think of, I hope you would tell me.”

“Obviously staying here was not an option.”

There was an edge to her words, but Majerion nodded seriously. “Of course not. You know that individuals of mixed heritage like yourself do not fit in to elvish society. Humans are only permitted to dwell in the outskirts of our lands, and are only permitted in Tal Nadesh under strictly limited circumstances. Your father knew this when he chose to leave, to take a human wife.”

“It must have been quite the blot on your family,” Glori said.

This time the elf could not mistake the scorn in her words. “It has nothing to do with my feelings for you,” he said. “The mixture is bad for both races. Humans have no more affection for elves than we do for them, as I am sure you have learned.”

“I’ve met plenty of tolerant people.”

“Certainly. As have I. But I have also witnessed pettiness, judgment, and rank racism. It was everywhere we traveled, and I tried to teach you how to confront it, how to deal with it. How to survive.”

“Life is more than survival.”

“I tried to teach you that as well.”

She shook her head. “Racism is not just a human trait.”

“Of course not. But that is the world that we live in. I could not change it even if I dedicated my life to that cause. But the reality of the separation of elves and humans is not just founded in attitudes that have calcified over time. There are real reasons why the two races cannot, should not intermingle too closely. What happened to your parents is illustrative.”

“What do you mean?”

Majerion hesitated a moment, but finally answered her question. “The disease that killed your parents… such pestilence is almost unheard of in places like Tal Nadesh. But such outbreaks are common in human lands.”

Glori just stared at him. “So it was… my parents’ fault that they died?”

“That is not what I was trying to say. And in any case, you were blameless. You did not choose to be what you are.”

“I see. Well. In any case, I thank you for your training.”

“Glorianna… I did what I thought was best.”

She was spared from having to come up with a response as she spotted Kosk approaching them from the direction of the guest cottages. From the look on his face, whatever news he brought was urgent.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Something’s happened to Javerin,” Kosk said. His eyes flicked briefly to Majerion, but that was all the attention he spared for the elf.

Glori felt a cold feeling in her gut. “Show me,” she said.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 167

Glori stared down at Javerin and tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

They had moved her to someplace different, a building not that different from the guest cottages except in size. There weren’t many elves about, but the place still had the feel of a hospital; something in the quiet ways the people moved or the general sense of calamity that hung in the air.

The elves had had to cut away most of the couch she’d been lying on when they’d found her. They’d cut away most of her clothes as well, though someone had been kind enough to lay a blanket atop her. Glori might have preferred it if they’d covered the wizard’s entire body, then she wouldn’t have to stare at the sight that spread out in front of her.

At first glance, it looked almost as if Javerin had fallen into a thorn bush and gotten tangled in the growth. Glori might have been able to stomach that, to keep the illusion simple and deny the reality. The elves had already described what they’d learned. But she forced herself to go closer, to see for herself.

Javerin hadn’t just fallen into a bush; the bush had fallen through her. Tendrils of growth penetrated the flesh of her arms, neck, and face, and Glori knew it was the same the rest of the way under the blanket. A ropy tendril even erupted from her half-open mouth, and a few tiny sprouts from it probed up into her nostrils. Only her eyes remained unblemished, though they stared straight up without any awareness within them. The healers had closed them earlier, but they’d popped back open again in a way that was utterly creepy.

The door opened behind her, and she glanced back to see Kosk enter the room. “The few elves I could manage to pin down all said the same thing,” he told her. “For all their vaunted magical prowess, they can’t seem to do much to help her. Can’t even cut the bloody parts that are outside of her.”

“That’s the first thing they tried,” she told him. “She went into convulsions as soon as they began, and started bleeding internally. Whatever it is, it’s embedded too deeply to cut away.”

“Quellan would know something,” Kosk muttered.

“The elves have clerics far more powerful than him,” Glori said. “And when it comes to plants and growing things, their lore rivals anyone’s.”

“For all the good it’s doing her at the moment.”

Glori stared down at the limp form lying on the bed in front of them and didn’t say anything.

“It’s going to be a long trip back to Severon without her,” Kosk said.

“The elves could send us back, if it comes to that,” Glori said. “But we’re not leaving without the key.”

“This was no accident,” Kosk said. “Or just a case of someone not liking a human diplomat showing up in Tal Nadesh. If you stay, if you take over her mission, you’ll be painting a nice fat target on your back.”

“I know that,” she said. “Is that a problem for you?”

Kosk spat a curse. “No, damn it. I’m just making sure that you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I knew when I agreed to come here,” she said. She glanced over at him. “Where’s Embrae?”

“She went to talk to the bloody council, or whatever they call themselves. I’m not sure how likely she is to move them. Thus far they’ve been generous with their sympathies and apologies, but they’re as stubborn as rocks otherwise.”

“We can be stubborn too,” Glori said. “Javerin said we have to play by their rules. But we’re not just going to go away. If necessary, I’ll make the Advisory Council or anyone else see that.”

“Fair enough. You going to stay here a while?”

Glori shook her head. “No. I guess I’ll go back to the cottages. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Kosk nodded. “I think I’ll go visit the gymnasium. I need to punch something.”

He turned to the door but paused when she called his name. “Kosk? I’m glad you’re here.”

“Just watch your back. And don’t touch any strange plants.”

“Right.”

It wasn’t far from the hospital to the guest cottages. An elven soldier accompanied her as soon as she left the building, keeping a discrete distance but not giving her a chance to leave his sight. For once, however, Glori was not troubled by the thought of eyes watching her, at least not the ones she could see.

She was just approaching her cottage when she caught sight of Embrae approaching briskly along another of the paved paths.

“I got us a meeting with the Advisory Council,” the elven monk announced.

“Good.”

“Has there been any change?”

“No. She’s in a sort of coma, the clerics said. They don’t think that will change until they can remove whatever’s growing inside of her.”

“I’ll go get Kosk,” she said.

“He said he was going to go to the gymnasium.”

“I know where it is.”

“Embrae… wait.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you come here?”

The elvish woman paused. “You’ve probably already guessed that I left against the wishes of my kinfolk.”

“That part is none of my business. That wasn’t why I was asking.”

“I know. I never wanted to come back here,” she said. “Leaving was a decision I made on my own and have not regretted. But Abbot Anaeus said that I’d left matters unfinished. That I would never find peace until I closed this chapter of my life.”

“Well, he couldn’t have anticipated this.”

“No. But somehow, what happened to Javerin… I shouldn’t say it.”

“It makes the rest of it easier to deal with?”

The monk nodded. “I’ll go get Kosk, and then meet you at the Hallowed Hall.”

“I’ll be there.”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 168

Armed guards escorted them to the doors of the council chamber, but they did not follow them in. Glori was barely aware of the doors swinging shut behind her and Embrae, she was so focused on the strange beauty of the place.

The room was round and spacious, with a vaulted ceiling that rose to a dome high overhead. It was hard to make out many details, for it was almost completely dark. Tiny globes that seemed to drift down from the ceiling glowed with soft, flickering light that reminded Glori of fireflies. There was a deeper blue glow around the perimeter of the room that evoked the last lingering vestiges of twilight. Together those two sources of light were enough to reveal a number of irregular platforms all around them. Those platforms had been shaped to resemble trees, down to the spreading “branches” that connected with each other and joined with the buttresses that supported the ceiling. Even the floor contributed to the illusion of a nighttime forest, the surface slightly spongy beneath their steps instead of rigid like hardwood or stone.

“What is this place?” Glori asked. It was just the two of them; Kosk had not been permitted to enter the inner chamber. Embrae had been upset, but the Council guards would not budge, even when she’d threatened to leave. Glori knew that was an empty threat, especially after all of the maneuverings they’d had to go through to get this audience. Finally, Kosk had told them to go on; he would wait for them in the outer chamber.

“This is where the Advisory Council gathers,” Embrae said.

“When will they get here?”

“They are here now,” the elf replied. “Look.”

Glori turned back to the near-darkness. Her keen eyesight—a gift of her mixed heritage—helped her to pick out details that she had missed earlier. The upper parts of the “trees” had been shaped into nooks that could have served as chairs. But instead of robed elves, all that she saw were vague, silvery orbs, glistening bulbs maybe two feet across. Not all of the tree-pedestals had them, but there were at least a dozen that she could see from their current vantage.

“They don’t actually meet in person?” Glori asked.

“Tradition,” Embrae said, interjecting a sour note to the word that had Glori considering her in a new light. “The elves love their political games. I remember them well.”

“Things have changed since your departure, Princess,” a voice said. Glori nearly jumped; the voice seemed to come from all around them, though it wasn’t any louder than a normal person speaking.

“Some of the faces behind the shaels may have changed, but the underlying truth hasn’t,” Embrae said.

Glori looked back up at the silvery spheres and didn’t need to see the faces behind them to sense the judgment there. “We did not come here to argue,” she said. “The Ambassador, she is in grave condition. The Arreshian authorities must be notified…”

“They have already been told,” another disembodied voice said. Distorted by whatever magic allowed the Advisors to communicate from wherever they were, Glori couldn’t tell if it was the same speaker as before or another, but she decided it probably didn’t matter.

“And their response?” she asked.

“They will send another ambassador when one becomes available,” the voice said.

“Another…” Glori stopped herself and took a steadying breath. “What about Javerin?”

“You know all that we know,” the voice said.

“That is not much,” Glori said. “Surely you must have encountered something like this before…”

“The Ambassador was ensared by a potent magic,” the voice said. “A kind of power unlike any practiced within Tal Nadesh.”

“So you’re saying that there is nothing you can do? Nothing at all?”

There was a long pause, and Glori had to resist the urge to shout into the darkness. She wondered if the Advisors could speak with each other without their audience listening in. Finally, a voice said, “There is one, perhaps, who can help.”

“The Druid,” Embrae said suddenly.

“Yes,” the voice said.

Glori turned to the monk. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Embrae looked up at the platforms, but when there was no response she signed and said, “At the core of the elvish kingdom there is a place that is left untouched by settlement or other interference—the Reserve.”

“I’ve heard of it, I know it’s a place that’s kept pristine,” Glori said. “Part of the elvish commitment to living in harmony with nature.”

Embrae glanced up at the silent watchers again before she continued. “Yes, that is the common view. What is not commonly known is that it is kept… pristine, as you said, for another reason.”

“Magic is a phenomenon of the natural world,” one of the Advisors said, the deep, sonorous voice filling the chamber. “It draws power from life. The Reserve is kept free of civilization to keep that power pure.”

“But you still tap that power,” Glori said.

“Yes,” the voice said. “Much as humans tap the power of their machines and dwarves the power that is deep under the earth.”

“And do you think this power is somehow tied to what happened to Javerin?” Glori asked.

“More that the power can possibly help your Ambassador,” the voice said.

“And the Druid, he’s what, the keeper of this Reserve?”

“He is the leader of a group of people called the ‘Tenders,’” Embrae explained. “They ensure that the Reserve is kept protected.”

“So, let’s get this Druid and bring him here, then,” Glori said. “Or take her to him, if you need to be inside this place to use the magic.”

“It’s not that simple,” the monk said. “The Reserve is truly separate from our realm. It’s isolated, there are no communities in or near it, no roads, not even a regular trail. It’s not easy to get to, and magical means of communication won’t function within it.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” Glori said.

“The Princess sought at one time to join the ranks of the Tenders,” one of the voices said.

Glori looked at Embrae, but the monk lowered her eyes. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “A road I ultimately did not choose to walk.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you can’t bring Javerin to the Druid, you can’t summon him remotely, and getting to him isn’t an easy prospect. Does that about sum it up?”

“Your conclusions are more or less accurate,” the voice said.

“You would not have brought it up if you didn’t think this was the only option,” Glori said. “Do you think Javerin will survive long enough for someone to get to the Druid and bring him back?”

“We will continue our research, but as you noted, there does not seem to be much else we can do.”

“Javerin is important, and I’ll do anything I can to help her,” Glori said. “But we have another mission, one that is more important than the life of any one person.”

“Yes. We know why you are here.”

“You cannot be ignorant of the troubles that are stirring in the world. Kavel Murgoth was involved in it, but there may be others as well. There is a dark power at work in the world, one that threatens not just the humans of Arresh.”

“We know of this power, and concur with the plan to access the Elderlore Libram.”

Glori blinked in surprise. Then why the delays? Unless… There’s something more, isn’t there.”

“Your two quests are related, Glorianna Leliades. For the elves’ portion of the Shattered Key also lies within the Reserve, in the custody of the Druid who dwells within the Green Tower at its core.”

 

[carborundum]

Aha! Assuming the tree-bomb was from this Druid, they've just doubled the price to access the Key.
The Council must know the Druid could be responsible though - "power not like any practiced within Tal Nadesh" indeed.

 

[Lazybones]

Let's just say that there are a lot of hidden wheels at work within elvish society. But for now we'll drop in and see what Bredan and company have been up to...

* * *

Chapter 169

The dwarves were a quiet, competent-looking lot, all warriors clad in plate armor with various axes, hammers, and crossbows hanging about their persons. They rode sure-footed mountain horses that stood several hands shorter than the mounts that the companions had brought from Five Spires. The only one who introduced himself was their leader, a gruff-faced figure named Trok. There were seven in all, a number that Quellan said held special significance for the dwarves.

Grimacing slightly as she settled once again into her saddle, Xeeta fell in with her companions as they resumed their journey. The dwarves spread out and surrounded them, almost like an honor guard—or just guards, she thought. They seemed to watch the surrounding landscape and their charges with equal scrutiny, and Xeeta had to school herself to keep her attention focused ahead, and to ignore the eyes she could feel on her back.

The road continued to climb as the day advanced, and the temperature dropped steadily even as the sun rose higher into the sky. Dark clouds gathered over the mountains to the south, but they remained too distant to threaten the company.

Bredan had grown quiet again, withdrawing once more into himself. Konstantin tried several times to start up a dialogue with Trok, but the dwarf made it difficult with his monosyllabic responses. But the wizard persisted, occasionally drawing Quellan into his conversations to fill the gaps. He was a natural diplomat, Xeeta thought. Certainly more so than the rest of them. She looked again over at Bredan. She wasn’t here because of the Libram, and didn’t really care if the quest that the wizards had set them upon succeeded or failed. She knew that it was all about power. That was a topic that she knew something about. But she didn’t need the power of a book or some other forgotten lore. Her power burned in her blood, her birthright, her curse.

They paused for a brief lunch at another rest station. The dwarves moved with the efficiency of warriors who had spent much time together, caring for the horses and moving their charges along. They seemed impatient, though none of them showed as much as an irate grimace on their faces.

It was midafternoon when they spotted their destination ahead. The small column emerged from a steep-walled defile to see another long ascent in front of them. At the top of the ridge stood a walled town, nestled against the shoulder of a white-capped peak. To their left the road dropped away to a steep plummet that concluded in a tree-lined valley hundreds of feet below. Xeeta instinctively shied away from that edge, but their escorts rode a scant arm’s length from it, heedless of the danger. She had a mental image of a sudden gust of wind knocking one of them over the edge, the dwarf rattling in his armor as he bounced down the slope.

To distract herself from those thoughts she focused on the town ahead. The wall was impressive, maybe twenty feet tall if she had her scale correct, but the area it sheltered did not look especially large. Only a few buildings were visible behind it, and certainly nothing that came close to the monumentalist structures of Severon.

“This is Ironcrest?” she said. “Doesn’t look like much.”

She hadn’t meant to be heard, but Quellan was close enough to make out her question. “That is just Hightown,” he told her. “Just one of the districts that makes up the dwarven city. Underhold is said to be breathtaking.”

That just raised more questions, but not wanting to show her ignorance she didn’t ask them. She would see for herself soon enough, she thought.

As they approached the walls of the town she could make out more detail. Her guess about the height of the wall had been, if anything, a bit low. The gates that the road ended at were generously banded in iron and looked thick. They were flanked both by arrow slits to either side and murder holes above, dark openings behind which vague shadows moved. Two protruding towers stuck out from the wall, each supporting platforms that bore heavy ballistae on swivel mounts. Xeeta noted how they tracked the party as it approached.

“Really laying out the welcome mat, aren’t they?” she asked. But this time her companions, distracted by their own thoughts, did not respond.

Their escort did not slow as they approached and the gates began to swing slowly open. Xeeta could see that they were operated by a heavy mechanism rather than muscle; she could hear the gears grinding together within the walls as they passed through. There were more guards inside, armed and armored much like their escort, but they made way to let them pass into the town.

Hightown was fairly unremarkable. It was laid out on a simple square grid, the streets straight enough that Xeeta could see all the way to the outer wall each time they came to an intersection. They continued straight on from the gate, down a central avenue lined by stores and workshops. The buildings were all made of stone, with steeply sloping wooden roofs designed to keep snow from piling up. The streets were busy but not crowded, and while they drew attention no one stopped what they were doing to stare. She saw that her estimate of the size of the town was more or less accurate; they had only traveled a few blocks when she could see the cliff face that marked the shoulder of the mountain against which the dwarven community rested. She guessed that there couldn’t have been maybe fifty or so buildings in the town altogether; one of Severon’s smaller neighborhoods could have swallowed it up with room to spare.

But the mystery posed by Quellan’s earlier comment was quickly solved as they passed through the last part of the town. The structures here were larger but still not especially tall. They had large doors on one ends and few windows; Xeeta guessed them to be warehouses. But her attention was drawn to the cliffs ahead, where another gate was just coming into view.

This gate made the entrance to Hightown behind them look humble by comparison. These doors were solid stone, and each stood a good fifteen feet high. They were embedded into the mountain, at the end of a short tunnel that could accommodate the massive portals with room to spare. Xeeta didn’t see any arrow slits or other defenses here, but she could still feel eyes watching them as they approached.

Trok reined in his horse a good fifty feet from the mouth of the tunnel. The dwarf waited until the others had all stopped, then he slowly raised his right hand and made a fist.

The mountain rumbled in response. The doors shook, then slowly began to swing open. Xeeta had thought the gears from the outer gate had been loud. This was like the thunder of an earthquake, even though they were far enough away that she could not see any details of the mechanism. Inside the tunnel proper it had to be deafening.

The doors only opened partway before the grinding came to a stop, leaving a gap of maybe six or seven feet between them. Trok dismounted, and his men followed suit. “Your animals will be cared for,” he said.

The members of the diplomatic party slid down from their saddles. Xeeta handed the reins of her horse over to one of the guards. Apparently, they would be continuing on foot from this point.

As they started forward, a figure appeared in the gap between the doors. It was another dwarf, his beard split into two long braids that covered a richly-embroidered tunic with silver trim and a fur-lined collar and cuffs. He waited for them in the entry, and as the companions approached a pair of lights began to shine from recessed niches inside the roof of the tunnel. They were bright enough that it was painful to look at them directly, and as they entered that radiance Xeeta felt something else, a slight prickling sensation on her skin that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She could now see other dwarves waiting beyond the gates, a mix of warriors and well-dressed officials like the one standing before them.

“On behalf of the Council of Elders of the Dwarven People of the Iron Crags, I welcome you to Ironcrest,” the dwarf said.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 170

“I am Dergan Steelhammer, Representative of the Council,” the dwarven official said. “I hope that your journey was not too arduous, Ambassador Konstantin.”

“The journey was not difficult, thanks to your hospitality, Representative Steelhammer” Konstantin said. He offered a slight bow and then turned to his companions. “Allow me to present Bredan Karras, Quellan Emberlane, and Xeeta of Li Syval.”

Dergan inclined his head toward them. Xeeta was watching the dwarf carefully, but he did not betray any particular reactions that would explain their interest in Bredan. “I bid you welcome,” he said. “The Council is quite eager to meet with you. Quarters have been prepared where you can refresh yourself prior to the meeting, but first I am afraid that I must ask Xeeta to yield her amulet.”

Xeeta blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I am sorry, but you cannot conceal your features within Ironcrest. The use of such illusions is illegal within the city. I assure you that none will take issue with your true appearance, and your device will be kept safe and returned to you when you depart.”

Xeeta looked at the others in alarm, not at the request specifically, but the fact that they’d detected it and seemed to know all about her already.

She started to reach for the amulet, but Bredan interrupted. “Is this how you treat all of your honored guests?” he asked.

“Bredan, it’s all right…” Xeeta began, but he held up his hand; he was not going to let it go. It looked for a moment like Konstantin would intervene, but the wizard ultimately held his ground. Maybe he agreed with Bredan testing their boundaries here, before they passed through these gates.

If Dergan was ruffled, he didn’t let it show. “The difference between civilization and barbarism is law,” he said calmly. “If I were to visit your country, I would expect to be bound by your laws. I am afraid that I have no authority to grant an exception in this case. However, I give you my word that when you pass these barriers, the full power of the Council will guarantee your safety.”

“I have heard such assurances before,” Bredan said. But he stepped back and turned to Xeeta.

“I have nothing to hide,” she said. Still, she felt a moment of apprehension as she removed the amulet and the illusion screening her features dissolved. But Dergan merely accepted the device with a nod of acknowledgement. He stepped back and gestured them forward.

The companions made their way past the giant doors. The tunnel continued beyond them, a perfectly smooth corridor through the rock of the mountain large enough to accommodate two wagon teams riding side-by-side. There was plenty of light, with periodic niches that glowed with a softer version of the bright spotlights that had framed the entry. The dwarves that were waiting inside formed another honor guard, escorting them forward. Once they were all inside Dergan came forward to lead them, walking alongside Konstantin. They spoke together quietly as they walked, the words overpowered by the solid thump of their escorts’ feet on the ground and the clank and clatter of the warriors’ armor.

Quellan sidled up to Xeeta, his bulk managing to make the imposing dwarf warriors seem slight by contrast. “I assume you’ve never been in a dwarf hold before,” he said.

She realized he was trying to distract her from the just-concluded encounter and the forced revelation of her true form. She didn’t need it, but for his sake she said, “There weren’t many dwarves in Li Syval.”

“Understandable,” Quellan said. “If my body was denser than water, I would probably not want to settle on an island.”

“I did not know that about them,” she said.

“It’s a weakness they don’t like to publicize,” he said with in an exaggerated whisper.

If any of the dwarves were listening in, they didn’t let it show on their faces. The tunnel seemed to be quite long, but Xeeta could make out something ahead, a widening into a broader space.

“I admit, I’m quite looking forward to this,” Quellan said conspiratorially to her. The cleric had a broad grin on his face, an expression that would probably be terrifying to someone who didn’t know him well.

They reached the end of the tunnel and found themselves standing on a broad jut of stone that overlooked a vast cavern.

The space extended for hundreds of feet both above and below them. It looked like the entire interior of the mountain, or at least a considerable portion of it, was hollow. The far side was only visible due to the hundreds of tiny lights, in an assortment of colors, that gave the place the look of a forest grotto buzzing with fireflies. It was an astounding tableau, one that held the three companions for a long moment. Even Bredan was overwhelmed and could only take in the view in silence.

There were plenty of details to study once the initial impact had worn off. The city itself was spread across many tiers, a fascinating vertical arrangement that looked impossible at first, until one noted the creative engineering that the dwarves had implemented to solve the problem. The tiers were connected by gantries that looked like cobwebs from a distance but had to be made of heavy steel. Bridges suspended by cables from above crossed over gaps, and lifts that rose and descended along thick guiderails provided a quick way of traveling between levels. Elsewhere wheeled vehicles that resembled mine carts were winched up ramps to deliver cargo or passengers to a higher destination. Most of the buildings stood atop flat shelves of stone, but others looked as though they had been carved from the very walls of the cavern, resembling birdhouses in the way they stuck out over the abyss.

“Uh, wow,” Bredan said.

“The books do not do it justice,” Quellan said.

Drawn forward by her curiosity, Xeeta stepped forward almost to the edge. There was no handrail or other safety feature, and the drop to the next tier had to be at least fifty feet.

“Careful,” Quellan warned.

Xeeta saw that the bottom of the cavern was a flat, shimmering surface, one that reflected back the faint glow of the many lamps that dotted the cavern walls. It was a lake, she realized. Tiny boats—or maybe not so tiny, given the distance—scuttled across the surface, heading toward still more buildings that surrounded the water.

She turned back to the others. Dergan was waiting for them with a knowing look on his face that suggested he had witnessed this reaction before.

“You now stand before the heart of Ironcrest,” he said. “Welcome to Underhold.”

 

[carborundum]

Wow. Someone needs to draw that.

 

[Lazybones]

There are many times when I wish my creative talents extended to art.

* * *

Chapter 171

Bredan felt wrung out, almost as if he’d fought a long battle. Maybe he had, in a sense, he thought as he and his companions left the council chambers. Konstantin remained inside, engaged in small talk with a few of the Councilors, but Bredan was just grateful that his role as diplomat had come to an end, at least for today.

The “preliminary meeting” with the Council of Elders had lasted nearly four hours. He knew that for a fact since there had been an elaborate, dwarf-made clock on the mantle above the huge hearth that had dominated one entire wall of the chamber.

His adversaries on the imagined field of battle had been seven elderly dwarves. Seven again—he’d heard earlier Quellan telling Xeeta about how the number was significant to them, but he hadn’t made out the details. He regretted not paying enough attention to the conversations on the way here, or asking questions about the details of dwarven government prior to their arrival. What he gathered was that these seven were high-ranking members of the dwarven elite, lords among their crafts organizations or something similar.

Konstantin’s role during the just-concluded meeting had been vital. The wizard seemed to get along well enough with the irascible dwarves, never getting flustered or impatient. The same could not be said for himself, Bredan thought. The dwarves on the Council had had questions for all of them, but their main focus had been on him.

They’d agreed in advance that they were not trying to keep secrets from the dwarves, but even so Bredan felt as though he’d been raked over hot coals. There were things he definitely was not going to tell the dwarves, things he hadn’t even shared with the Arreshian wizards, but it had been difficult keeping things hidden from those seven gnarled faces, from dwarves who dug for truths as ardently as a starving miner questing for precious metals or gemstones buried in the earth.

Bredan’s thoughts were on a meal, maybe a hot bath. He’d heard mention that there were hot springs on one of the lower levels of the city, springs that fueled pools where tired dwarves could soak and ease muscles tired from a long day’s work. At the moment he was even willing to put up with the inquiring stares that seemed to follow them everywhere in the city. Though in fairness, it was possible that those stares were more for his companions than for him. While the Council of Elders knew his name and wanted him for some still-undefined purpose, he doubted that the common dwarves of Ironcrest knew or cared who he was.

As they were leaving the complex of rooms that belonged to the Council they saw Dergan approaching with a younger dwarf clad in a long coat of mail at his side. “Ah, Bredan, Quellan, Xeeta, I am glad I found you here,” the dwarven official said.

“Ambassador Konstantin is still in the council chambers,” Bredan said.

“Actually, it was you I was hoping to find,” Dergan said. “Now that your meeting is over, I thought you might enjoy a tour of the city.”

Thoughts of food and steaming water almost caused Bredan to reflexively refuse, but he remembered what Konstantin had said about being cooperative while absorbing what information they could about the dwarves and their motives. Besides, he thought, all of them had been equally impressed by their first view of the city, and he was sure that Quellan probably had a long list of questions to ask of their hosts. “Sure,” he said.

“Excellent. This is Darik Broadshield,” he said, introducing his companion. “He is one of the Defenders. He can show you the many sights of Underhold and answer any questions you might ask.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I will take a pass on the tour,” Quellan said. “If it is possible, I would like to visit the Temple of Hosrenu…”

“Of course,” Dergan said. “I can take you there. Darik, take care of our other guests, please. Give them the full tour.”

“The full tour, you’re certain?” Darik asked. Something passed between the two dwarves, a look that held hidden meaning. “We don’t need anything special,” Bredan said.

“It’s no trouble,” Dergan said definitely. “It is important that you understand what we’re fighting for here. When you’re done, Darik will show you to the guest quarters.”

Bredan felt a vague sensation of unease, but it was too late to back out now. Still, he watched with some regret as Quellan left with Dergan. Maybe if he’d been the first to speak up… no, it was him that the dwarves were interested in, him that they wanted to see whatever was part of the “full tour.” And he still had Xeeta with him just in case there was something more behind that look the two dwarves had shared.

“All right, lead on,” he said to Darik.

“I understand you were a smith?” the dwarf warrior asked. At Bredan’s nod he said, “We’ll start at the forges then, they’re a sight. We’ve been refining metal here for over seven hundred years…”

Bredan prepared himself for more long hours of patient nods and practiced smiles as they followed their guide back into the dwarven city.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 172

The dwarven temple was on the lower levels of Underhold, on a jut that overlooked the lake fifty feet below. Dergan did not accompany Quellan inside, excusing himself to attend to unspecified business of the Council. The half-orc thanked him for his aid and went inside.

The interior of the temple was much larger than the exterior had suggested, its chambers burrowing deep into the rock of the mountain. The massive stone blocks that made up the vestibule were ancient, and Quellan could make out faint runes still etched into their surface. He was not especially familiar with dwarven history, but he guessed that this place probably dated back far enough that it might have served as a temple to the Stone Lord, back before the dwarves joined the other races in paying homage to the New Gods. The stylized book of Hosrenu carved over the interior arch looked much more recent than the rest of the place.

Quellan peered briefly through the arch into the nave of the temple. The manner in which it was laid out was a bit different than the other temples he had visited, but there was enough of the familiar to offer him a sense of reassurance. He almost stopped to pray—he could have used a moment’s peace right then—but the directions that Dergan had given him led him to the rear of the temple behind the altar, where a much humbler arch led to a recessed door. He went to the door and knocked on it. There was no response. He tried the door and found that it was unlocked.

“Hello?” he said, sticking his head inside.

This chamber was more familiar to him, with its racks of books and multiple writing desks situated strategically throughout the room. A coal fire burned in a hearth fronted with a metal screen, adding a friendly warmth. Two doorways led to other parts of the temple, but the place appeared to be empty.

Quellan hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to trespass. He was about to go back when a voice from the main temple drew his attention back around.

“I never thought I would see the day when an orc entered the sanctum.”

The speaker was an elderly dwarf, his hair and beard a pale gray that was almost white, his features a complex landscape of crags and ridges. He was dressed in a simple robe that fell from his broad shoulders to brush lightly on the bare stone of the temple floor. The eyes that fixed on Quellan burned with an outrage that the half-orc knew only too well.

“I am here with the diplomatic party from Arresh,” Quellan said.

“So I am told,” the dwarf said. “I have heard that you brought a demon-spawn with you in the city. Is that true?”

“You did not mention my human friend,” Quellan said. “Perhaps you had something to do with why he is here?”

The dwarf gave him a hard look. “What do you want, boy?”

Quellan resisted the urge to sigh—“boy” was at least an incremental step better than “orc.” “I seek knowledge, elder,” he said.

The dwarf’s expression did not give in the slightest. “You know the words, but even a well-trained animal can be taught tricks. There is nothing for you here.”

Quellan allowed a bit of the anger he’d kept banked to slip free. “I am an anointed priest of Hosrenu.” The dwarf started to protest, but he said, “Beyond that, I am an emissary of the Kingdom of Arresh, with a seal of appointment from the High Priest of Severon.”

“Human authority,” the dwarf said.

“Yes, human authority,” Quellan said. “Authority that your Council of Elders has already acknowledged. Now, before either of us says something that we might… regret, allow me to present myself formally. I am Quellan Emberlane, Priest Initiate of the Monastery of Crosspath, under Abbess Laurine. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

For a moment it looked as though the dwarf would not reply, but finally he said, “I am Akhenon Loremaster.”

Quellan inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “Loremaster. May you learn something new this day.”

The dwarf waved his hand in irritation. “If you absolutely insist on disturbing my work, then we can at least have this conversation in the temple quarters.” He waved Quellan toward the door, as if the half-orc was the one delaying them.

Quellan kept his face carefully neutral. Progress, of a sort, he thought. “As you wish, Loremaster.” He preceded the dwarf into the interior chamber. The fire gave it a homey feeling that compensated somewhat for the decidedly chilly welcome from its occupant. “You operate the temple alone?” he asked.

“I have some young aspirants who help keep the place orderly,” the dwarf said. “I suppose you’ll be wanting something to drink.”

“There’s no need to go to any trouble,” Quellan said. “Whatever you normally offer to brothers of the faith will be fine.”

He couldn’t help but smile as the dwarf went off into a side chamber, growling to himself.

The room itself looked quite comfortable. Quellan walked over and examined some of the bookcases. Many of the volumes were familiar, though there were plenty whose spines were marked only with blockish dwarven runes instead of the softer letters of the Common language shared by the three dominant civilized races of the continent. Quellan resisted the urge to examine some of the books—that would be rude—and continued his circuit of the chamber.

His gaze lingered on a tapestry that hung on the wall opposite the hearth. It wasn’t that interesting—there was no historical or literary scene depicted, just a simple geometric pattern—but somehow his attention was drawn to it. He glanced at the far doorway, but all he heard was a soft clatter of cups as his host prepared refreshments. Even that sound was a little bit angry, Quellan thought.

He turned back to the tapestry, but before he could examine it a soft click drew his attention to another corner. There was another device there, a sphere resting in a stone frame that he’d taken for a globe when he’d first come in. But as he went over to it he saw that it was something else. The sphere was covered in a complex web of markings, which were being augmented as he watched by a slender stylus that dangled from a thin metal arm attached to the surrounding frame. The sphere appeared to float in a bowl made of glass or crystal that was filled with a viscous fluid. The sphere was rotating very, very slowly in that liquid, which coated the part of it that stuck out above the rim of the bowl with a glistening sheen. As Quellan leaned in close, fascinated, he saw that the stylus was leaving its marks not on the sphere itself, but on that thin layer of liquid. The rotation of the sphere was causing the marks left by the stylus to create a spiral orbit, one that was slowly contracting so that the marks never quite overlapped. For the most part those lines were straight, though he noted small bumps that appeared at irregular intervals.

“Don’t touch that!” Akhenon said from the doorway. “It’s extremely delicate.”

Quellan looked up to see the dwarf cleric standing there, holding a small tray that supported a couple of porcelain cups.

“Is this a seismograph?” Quellan asked.

The dwarf gave him a suspicious look before he nodded. “Yes. It senses disturbances in the underlying strata that surrounds Ironcrest.”

“Do you get a lot of earthquakes here?”

“Some. Come away from that, you’ll disrupt the readings with your clopping around.”

Quellan doubted that the thing was sensitive enough to detect footsteps—if that were the case, then every service in the temple would ruin the results—but he went over to the chairs by the fire where Akhenon took his drinks. The dwarf thrust a cup into his hand. Quellan smelled the steaming liquid then took a sip. It was incredibly bitter, but with the dwarf’s eyes on him he was able to avoid betraying a reaction.

Akhenon looked a little disappointed; he took a deep swallow from his own cup, ignoring the heat of the liquid.

“I am impressed that you are able to find fresh lilisqua leaves in these mountains,” Quellan said. He took another sip for politeness then put the cup down on the small table next to the chair.

“You know your herb lore,” Akhenon said.

“The Abbess at Crosspath encouraged her acolytes to pursue diverse fields of study.”

The dwarf didn’t venture an opinion on that. He settled back in his chair and fixed his hard stare on Quellan. The half-orc, used to such examinations, just say quietly and prepared to wait him out.

The Loremaster took another swallow of tea and put the cup down on the small table. “So, I believe we were going to talk about why you and your companions are here.”

“You know about the book,” Quellan said. “The Elderlore Libram.”

The dwarf priest paused at that, but only for a moment. “Yes,” he admitted. “We do not forget our history the way that humans do.”

“If they had forgotten, we would not be here.”

“I did invite you in here to engage in games of rhetoric.”

“Very well. Let us talk about Bredan Karras, and the key.”

Akhenon said nothing, just studied the half-orc under his furrowed brows. Quellan met that gaze with equanimity, and after a seemingly long interval that was perhaps ten seconds he started in surprise.

“You have it,” Quellan said. “You have it here.”

The dwarf’s eyes flicked aside, just for an instant, but that was enough to draw Quellan’s attention. He turned and looked across the room at the tapestry that had attracted his scrutiny earlier. He rose from his chair and walked across the room to face it.

Akhenon scowled but after a moment he too rose and joined the half-orc. The dwarf reached up to the silver holy symbol around his neck and chanted a brief incantation. The tapestry shimmered and disappeared, replaced by a steel door recessed deeply into the stone wall. It was a disk maybe five feet across, and it evoked for Quellan a memory of a similarly-shaped barrier in the shrine in the southern Silverpeak Valley, not so long ago.

“I am custodian of this Lorevault,” the dwarf said. “Within it are the rarer and most important of our histories and other books of knowledge and power.”

“You keep your histories locked up behind a steel door?” Quellan asked.

“We preserve our traditions,” Akhenon shot back. “And from what I have heard of you and your friends, you should know better than most that some kinds of knowledge are dangerous, and must be controlled.”

“I did not mean to challenge your perspective,” Quellan said. “And the key?”

“As I said, I am custodian of this vault, but it is not mine to open in this instance.”

“We are looking for partners in this,” Quellan said. “We don’t want the bring the Libram back into the world to gain access to its power. From all that I have heard, it might be better if it is kept sealed away for all time. “But recent events have suggested that the power that this book represents is connected to what has been happening in the world. The rise of Kavel Murgoth is one example.”

“Murgoth was defeated,” Akhenon said.

“Yes, though at a high cost,” Quellan said. “But that is not the end of it. Those that facilitated the goblinoid invasion are still out there. And we have learned that there are other groups as well who may be connected to these mysterious outsiders… and I use that word with purpose. I do not yet fully understand myself how it is all connected, but we cannot allow them to gain access to the power that the Libram represents.”

“So, you wish to fight them by making the book more accessible.”

“Whatever is happening, it has happened despite the seals that have kept the book protected—isolated—for all these centuries. For all we know, the Libram may be our only means of fighting back.”

Akhenon turned and walked back over this chair; after a moment the tapestry shimmered and reappeared. “The god is with you,” he said. “But it is not I who you need to convince.”

“You could help.”

“My seat on the Council is only advisory. You and your friends will get a chance to make your case. The first meeting today was just to take your mettle.”

“As was this one?”

Akhenon put the two cups back onto the tray. “I need to get ready for the third-shift services.”

Quellan offered a small bow. “Thank you for the tea, elder.”