The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (39 page)

“Oh, mind ye’ there now, the mountains, outside and within, boast a swarm o’ nasties we fight all the time Azenairk. Ye’ got the cannibalistic Mogi giants to the south, green salisan lizard folk to the north, ogre from Bloodskull right west in the Misathi here, deep giants and sky giants, hells I heard ye’ even had a dragon followin’ ye’ here, ain’t seen one o’ them ever, thought they be all dead. Last war was with the ogre, bout’ fifty years past now. Yer’ father came up with Boraduum for that one he did, Vundren rest him. Fazurand sent soldiers too. Now talk about a deep city, Fazurand has rivers o’ molten ore and caverns o’ crystal they say. We here though, are always ready for a war, father Thalanaxe.”

A soldier approached Zen and Drodun, eyed the rest suspiciously, then whispered into Drodun’s ear. The conversation looked serious.

“Aye, very good then. I will be in with em’ in a moment.” He turned to Azenairk.

“What is it then?”

“Seems our king wishes to meet the travelers that braved Deadman’s Pass and a dragon, King Rallik that is. Ye’ be famous already me friends. Come on now, and mind yer words, our king he will pick a fight over anything, Vundren bless em’ both.” Drodun turned toward Castle Vairrek.

“What about your other king…” Zen paused.

“Therrak? He wishes to meet ye’ as well, but…” Drodun paused.

“…but what?” Saberrak huffed.

“King Therrak wishes to meet those that brought a dragon and an army from Willborne upon the Misathi close to his kingdom. I was told he is not pleased much t’all.” Drodun turned and walked ahead, waving them to follow.

“Great, one king hates us and the other thinks we are brave. Now what?” Saberrak looked down to Zen.

“And one other there wishes to see ye’, me higher up is all.” Drodun interjected quickly as he went toward the castle.

“Oh by Vundren’s beard, a High Hammer in the king’s courts, this may get a bit complicated then.” Zen furrowed his brow, rubbed his bald head, and turned to his friends.

“What does that mean, Zen?” Saberrak did not understand.

“It be all in Vundren’s hands now,
just do not say anything about---“

Zen was cut off. “It will be fine. You men worry too much, let the ladies dazzle these men to their knees and flatter them until they drool.” Gwenneth raised her chin, ran her fingers through her dark hair, and walked with Shinayne to Castle Vairrek.

“Yes, I am sure o’ that, but
do not mention a word of---“

Zen could not finish again. “Together, my dwarven priest, we will be strong as always.” James slapped his shoulder plate and urged him forward.

“I know, I know,
but try not to speak about where---“

“Come on father Thalanaxe, best not keep the kings a waitin now!” Drodun yelled it back over as they went under the last arch of Blackbridge.

“
Saberrak, do not let anyone mention the box, the key, the dust, the deed, or anything about Kakisteele or where we are heading. Not a word, please
.” Zen whispered it so that other passers by would not hear.

“Very well, but why?” The minotaur was confused.

“Just trust me on this, tis’ trouble we do not need.” Zen breathed deep, composing his posture, pulling his beard, and said a silent prayer to his God of the mountains.

Zen walked in behind the rest, only Saberrak lagging behind near him as they entered. It was silent here, on guard always Zen had noticed. Not like Boraduum where family squabbles, formal courts on mining lines, and disputes over which family had expansion rights and which did not were common every day. The church oversaw as witnesses there, high priests and bishops to give direction, patterned more after the human churches of Alden generation by generation. Here, it seemed the High Hammers of the Fazurand Temples still held a seat in the monarchy. Agarian speech was just as common as Dwarven in his home, unlike here where some understood, few spoke it, all clinging to their old traditional heritage. Zen knew that Marlennak was still unchanged, he saw it everywhere though he had never set foot here until this morning. It saddened him to see a people so unknowing of the outside world,
yet perhaps
, he thought
, it is better this way.

He felt the box in his pouch, still there. He smiled, shaking his head.

Father, I am in Marlennak now, and it is as you said, a splendor to the eyes it is indeed. Me friends are sure and strong, tell Vundren he has protected me well, though I am sure he already knows. I am honored to do this, for our family, forgive me for doubtin’ ye’. I have to go now, kings to meet and likely a High Hammer o’ the temples. Tell God I could use a bit o’ help here, to make it out quiet and all. I love ye’ father, I am on my way.

Exodus III:VII

Castle Vairrek, Center of Marlennak

The silence vanished once the great stone doors pushed open. Even the guards grimaced as a storm of noise rattled their ears inside black iron helms. Lantern light of yellow mixed with fires of orange, wooden chairs slid by the dozens, stone tables were pounded, and steel of every forged sort clanged with the howls, yells, cheers, and raucus that was the throneroom with two thrones. The ceilings bounced the commotion from the high reaches of at least ten dwarves tall, forty or fifty dwarves pointed and tried to yell their words louder than the next, and green marble floors held up animal rugs and tables of engraved steel mugs galore. Two thrones of golden square slabs, golden steps leading up to their cushioned seats, sat opposing each other north to south on the far walls. The hammer and moons rose from the back of each throne, sculpted of gold as well, yet those symbols were the only items not making noise or motion in the chaos of the castle.

Drodun raised his hand as he walked in first, nothing happened. He took his battle axe off his hip, then a shortblade from the other side, and then a belt of throwing hammers from under his robes. The priest set them down on the left center table, where hundreds of weapons were covering the fifty foot length, and piled two or three high. Drodun reached for a mug from the right center table, and raised it to both kings in their thrones. The noise carried on as if he and his visitors did not even exist. He drank the black mead, then slammed the steel mug down on the stone table.

Silence, sudden deafening quiet from every dwarf inside. All eyes were on him, and his guests, only breathing could be heard. A small dwarf, only two feet at best yet with a full grown beard, ran up and grabbed the mug. The gnome, one of many if one were to look down and around, ran off holding it over his head and out a side entrance to fill it.

“Yes, aye, speak then father Drodun Anduvann o’ the Cracked Wall. Ye’ bring yer’ King Rallik the visitors that braved the pass and the dragon then, do ye’?” Rallik, king of the south and of the mountains acknowledged the priest. His gray beard was braided long and low, his robes of dark reds over black armor were edged in white fur and rubies, and his dark eyes seemed to glimmer with a bit of excitement. His mustache hid any smile on his round face, yet dimples under his crown of golden mountain peaks gave his joy away. He lifted his black shining warhammer and let it thud beside his throne as he was done speaking.

“Naah, nay! Ye’ have broughten those that angered the old wyrm from Willborne n’ woke her up, is what ye’ did! And don’t be forgettin’ the Mogi, sure we will have the lot o’ them to kill of as well. Stirrin’ trouble in the pass, all I be seein’ here.” Therrak, king of the north and the city, hefted his gold engraved double edged axe, letting the domed tip of the shaft hit the floor at his throne, he was also done speaking. His brow furrowed, thick red curly eyebrows over a brushed and frazzled matching beard, and black polished full armor of ornate decoration. His crown sat atop his helm, speartips from a golden band, his cape and gloves were green leather, and his eyes squinted tight at the visitors.

Drodun motioned with his thick neck, his head turning to his guests, trying to get them to come close to him. They were hesitant in the grandeur of the thronesroom and sudden silence with all eyes going from north king to south king and finally to them. Saberrak stepped up to Drodun, the rest behind the minotaur.

“Yer’ weapons, ye’ need to put em on the table there, all o’ ye’. Tis a sign o’ peace and goodwill it is. And if ye’ want to speak, ye’ have to drink n’ slam it, lest no one here will hear ye’. Tell the others.”
He whispered up to the leaning horned warrior.

Saberrak nodded, pulling off his two greataxes and stacking them onto the table to his left. The stack wobbled. He looked to the others, raised his eyebrows, and stood back behind their representing priest once more. Shinayne unstrapped
Carice
and
Elicras
, her matching elven blades, then another longblade that was across her back, and then a curved knife from her hip. As she placed them gently on the piled table, James placed his broadsword and a dagger and his enchanted shield on with the rest, followed by Zen who put his warhammer and shield down ontop of them all. The pile shifted, slid, and the crash of a hundred weapons and shields hitting the floor around the visiting dwarven priest sent noise once more to every corner of the room. The disbelieving company began to yell, harassing, commenting on who would have dared knocked all the weapons over in such fashion.

Baah, baah dammit!

Naah, nay, fool!

What the…my blade..awww!

Don’t scratch me…axe!

Damn foreigners…me shield, what the!

Azenairk turned three deep shades of red, one after the other, as he began picking up the weapons of his friends and the many dwarves here.
Thank ye’ Vundren, thank ye’ father, for the humiliation, so kind o’ ye’
,
Thank ye’ Vundren, thank ye’ father, for the humiliation, so kind o’ ye’
Zen repeated it over and over in his head, not daring to open his lips right as of now.

Saberrak and Shinayne helped, then James joined in the cleanup. Drodun stood, red in the face a bit as well, with Gwenneth by his side. She carried no steel, no weapons, so she waited with her chin raised to the dwarves that stared and glared. She winked every so often, just to catch a few eyes, which she did indeed. She thought her time should be better spent at distracting, diversion from the accident, and a bit of social recovery. She walked forward, staff in one hand and raising the other. All eyes were upon her as her friends finished the last of the stacking.

“Great Kings of Marlennak, I am---“

“
Baah, naye, nay!
Hudekk ans verder vaud!
She has to drink, first! Tradition!” The heckling from all the dwarves, including the kings, was deafening.

“
Ye’ have to drink first, Lady Gwenneth
.” Drodun whispered and pointed to one of the dozens of mugs with thick black mead.

“I have to drink that? All of it?” She looked to the bits of foreign objects, small as they were, floating on the surface of the liquid. All eyes upon her again, now she realized what the smiles she had been receiving were for.

“Aye, then slam it down, hard
.”

“Very well, simple tradition. Sure tis not that bad.” She smiled, arrogantly, more stares and smiles as the silence reigned again. Her friends finished just in time to see her take the mug, a little gnome waiting in anticipation of his refilling duties.

She lifted it, it was indeed heavy with one hand, larger now that she had it up to her lips. It smelled of licorice, roots, mildew, grass, dirt, and spirits. She nodded to those around, even her friends, and drank. Down her chin it dribbled, her face going from arrogance to squinted suffering rather quickly as dwarven smiles grew larger. It tasted worse that it both smelled and looked, much worse. Bitter, strong, like wine that had been filled with everything a dank cavern and a farm had to offer. She felt small pieces of things go down her throat with the black wash, she felt it trying to all come back up. She stopped halfway, eyes watering, but she could see the nervous looks of her friends, Drodun, and the smiles of the dwarven men. She could tell they would be pleased to see her stop or vomit, as if they were waiting for it. She mustered what strength of stomach she had, and finished the mug. Her breath echoed in the empty handled container, she waited to ensure it stayed down for the moment, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Gwenneth slammed the mug to the table, taken just as fast by the gnome. She noticed another two miniature dwarves waiting with towels and a small mop, both looked disappointed. Everyone else looked amazed.

“Great Kings of Marlennak, I am Lady Gwenneth Lazlette of Vallakazz. I wish to offer my deepest thanks and gratitude for the daring rescue of Marshall Tannek Anduvann and his Southern Outguard Scouts. Your city, father Drodun here, and your people have been nothing but kind and with warm welcome. It is an honor, and great pleasure, to meet you and be safe in your marvelous kingdom.” Gwenneth bowed, deeply, trying not to vomit the mead. Drodun translated as she had been speaking for those that did not understand Agarian. When he finished, all clamored and pounded the table, as she had hoped.

“
Nice words there m’lady, nice words indeed, ye’ done this sort o’ thing then before, have ye’
?” Drodun whispered to her ear, feeling relieved that the bit of mess had been recovered and that she kept down the mead. No human lady had ever done that before, she was the first.

“Yes, I was at noble court and teaching classes on the arcane at my academy by the age of fifteen. I was raised in rooms, well,
similar
to this you could say.” Gwenneth stepped back, next to her friends, all who looked at her with appreciation, especially Zen.