The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5) (35 page)

On the dais, Dardanus sat on his throne with a wide belt of silver links trimmed with pale blue sapphires around his waist and a gold crown set with diamonds and sapphires on his snowy locks. In his right hand, he held a gold scepter tipped with a stone of fiery adamant.

The audience had already begun when Ascilius and Elerian stepped through the entryway to the hall. Walking around the edges of the dense crowd, they made their way slowly to the front of the hall where they could hear and see what was being said. Standing head and shoulders above every Dwarf in the room, Elerian had a clear view of the Goblin emissary. His tall, slender figure, dressed in black velvet, was standing before the lowest step of the dais on which Dardanus had his throne. The only ornament that he wore was a thin silver chain supporting a many faceted, blood red ruby.

“He is an Ancharian,” was Elerian’s surprised thought when he saw the emissary’s face, for he had expected to see an Uruc. Opening his magical third eye, Elerian beheld a red shade instead of the Ancharian, its unusual brightness suggesting an abundance of power, but its shifting, blurred edges concealed the finer details of the envoy’s face.

“He is a mage,” thought Elerian to himself as he closed his third eye. “Whether he is more than that, however, I cannot tell. There is no illusion here, but who can say what his true form may be if he is a shape shifter.”

The emissary now bowed deeply and respectfully to Dardanus. Straightening up, he began to speak in a voice that was melodious and pleasing to the ear, a voice that would sway opinions and soothe suspicions.

“Greetings to you Dardanus, king of the Dwarves from my master, Torquatus, king of the Goblins. I have come before you with an offer from my lord. Meet the two conditions within it, and he will withdraw all of his forces and war with you no more.”

“What does your master require of me,” Dardanus asked, his deep voice sounding harsh and unpleasant when compared to the honeyed voice of the Ancharian.

“First,” replied the Ancharian, “you must send out to his army the one called Elerian along with the sword and hammer that he and your nephew Ascilius forged in the city of Ennodius. After that, you must swear fealty to my lord, acknowledging that he is the rightful king of The Middle Realm.”

“And what will he require of me in return for my fealty?” asked Dardanus, his voice sounding to the ears of the throng in the room like the raucous cawing of an old crow.

“Only that his representatives be allowed access to the Caldaria and the city, so that they might report to him the state of the kingdom,” said the emissary smoothly.

“Say rather that they will report to him all the secrets of our defenses, to our eventual undoing,” angrily shouted Ascilius from where he stood on Elerian’s left.

“Peace nephew,” said Dardanus mildly, but in a voice that carried throughout the hall. “We have agreed to hear what this emissary has to say. Let him finish.” Taking his cue from Dardanus, the messenger resumed speaking in his low, pleasant voice.

“In addition to withdrawing his forces, as a sign of his good faith, my lord will release all of the Dwarf prisoners that he now holds, giving them as much treasure as each of them can carry to compensate them for their captivity. Refuse any part of his offer and he will slay your kin before your gates in the most hideous manner possible, after which he will continue to lay siege to your kingdom.”

A deep silence fell over the crowded room, for the message had raised both fear and hope in the Dwarves assembled there. Elerian could guess at their thoughts as easily as if they had spoken them aloud. If their king swore a seemingly harmless oath of fealty and gave up the stranger in their midst, they would be reunited with friends and loved ones long since given up for lost and gain treasure in the bargain, the last a tempting thought for any Dwarf. If, on the other hand, Dardanus refused the Dark King’s offer, their kin would die and a war they could not win would continue.

Again, Ascilius was unable to restrain himself and shouted out angrily, “It would be base treachery to give up one who has saved so many of our people in the last few days.”

“He should be honored then to save even more of our people,” shot back Herias who had stood inconspicuously up to now amongst the Dwarves closest to the emissary. Ascilius’s face turned red with anger. Before he could say anything more, however, Dardanus’s deep voice rang out.

“Herias, Ascilius, you both forget yourselves! Leave my presence at once!”

Herias reddened and left without a word, followed by Ascilius and Elerian. Out of the corner of his right eye, Elerian caught sight of a pleased expression on the Ancharian’s face when he turned to watch them leave.

“Whatever answer Dardanus gives him, his mission is already a success,” thought Elerian to himself. “News of Torquatus’s offer will sweep through the city and divide the Dwarves one against the other. If the resulting dissension is fierce enough, it may even tumble Dardanus off his throne.”

Once Elerian and Ascilius had left the hall, Dardanus turned back to the emissary, pretending not to see the triumph mirrored in the Ancharian's black eyes.

“I will need time to consider your offer,” he said thoughtfully. “You may retire to a chamber that has been prepared for you. I will call for you when I have made my decision.”

“As you wish,” said the Ancharian pleasantly. Turning gracefully away from the Dwarf king, he followed a guide who had appeared to lead him from the chamber. Dardanus also rose and left the hall, although most of his people remained behind, loudly debating the Ancharian's offer.

“This is not to be borne,” said Ascilius furiously when he and Elerian were alone in their rooms. I am ashamed that my uncle would even consider this offer after all you have done for us. I wish now that I had helped you to leave the kingdom immediately instead of dragging you here to Iulius. Know this, though, Elerian. If my uncle decides in favor of the emissary, I will find a way to get you out of the city even if I have to fight my way out.”

“I would not ask that of you, Ascilius,” said Elerian sadly. “I would not want your people who are held captive by the Goblins to die so that I might live.”

“Elerian,” said Ascilius impatiently, “cast these thoughts out of your mind. It is a grievous thing for me to see my people held captive, but if we accepted any part of Torquatus’s offer, it would work to our undoing. If he does release any captives, it will be those who have been twisted to serve him. Some may even be shape changers disguised as Dwarves. Even the treasure he offers is sure to have spells cast on it which will bend those who accept it to his will.”

“Must we watch helplessly then while he slays his captives before our eyes as he has promised?” asked Elerian uneasily.

“That is only an idle threat,” said Ascilius disdainfully. “Such a sight would harden the heart of every Dwarf in the kingdom against Torquatus, so that even if a thousand years passed, it would not slake their desire for vengeance.”

Before Elerian could make any reply, a heavy, imperative knock sounded on the door to their sitting room.

THE JUDGMENT

When Ascilius opened the door, a Dwarf dressed in bright chain mail was standing in the passageway outside.

“You are summoned at once to Dardanus’s chambers,” said the Dwarf solemnly. “Bring no weapons with you.”

As the messenger waited expectantly, Ascilius turned to Elerian grim faced. At once Elerian pushed the Dwarf out the door, fearful that he would do something rash.

“Let us hear what your uncle has decided before we take any actions that we may regret,” he whispered into Ascilius’s right ear as he continued to firmly urge his companion after the messenger sent by Dardanus. Too late, Elerian remembered that Acer was still concealed in his left boot.

“I will risk Dardanus’s wrath if the knife is discovered,” Elerian decided. “If I give Ascilius a moment to himself now, who knows what he will do?”

“If the decision goes against you, vanish,” whispered Ascilius as they approached the entranceway to Dardanus’s chamber, for two Dwarves armed with axes had replaced the door wardens outside the entryway to the king’s chambers, an ominous sign.

“I will not spill Dwarf blood to gain my freedom,” Elerian whispered back firmly.

“Just do as I say,” insisted Ascilius. “I can create a diversion without injuring anyone, giving you time to escape.”

The argument between Ascilius and Elerian ended abruptly when they entered Dardanus’s sitting room. The Dwarf king was seated in his chair in front of the marble fireplace, but no cheerful fire burned on the hearth today. Sleeping at his feet was his aged dentire. Eonis was also present along with his sons and Herias. The Ancharian was standing sidewise to the left of Dardanus. He favored Elerian with a hungry look when he entered the room.

Ascilius ignored the emissary, striding past him to stand before his uncle with a grim look on his craggy features. Elerian stopped a little behind and to the left of Ascilius where he could watch the Ancharian out of the corner of his left eye.

“I wonder what Dardanus will decide?” he wondered to himself, surprised that he felt neither anxiety nor fear about his own fate. His concern was for Ascilius, fearful of what the Dwarf would do if Dardanus decided to accede to the emissary’s demands. The sound of Dardanus’s deep voice suddenly interrupted Elerian’s thoughts.

“I have called all of you to my chambers to hear my decision regarding the offer brought to us by Torquatus’s emissary,” said Dardanus gravely. “If there is any dissension between us because of my judgment, we should settle our differences before it becomes common knowledge.”

An eager look now appeared on the Ancharian’s face. Clearly he expected Dardanus to decide in his favor, for he cast a greedy look at Elerian, as if he had already been made prisoner.

“I have known your dark master for all of my long life,” continued Dardanus, addressing the emissary. “If I have learned anything in all that time, it is that he cannot be trusted. While I am alive, the Dwarves will never have dealings with him. Return now to Torquatus with my decision and come no more before me on pain of death.”

Anger darkened the emissary’s face at Dardanus’s words, but before he could reply, Herias burst in ahead of him.

“Only a fool in his dotage would sacrifice our people for this stranger?” he said angrily. “It defies all reason!” 

“If you cannot maintain a civil tongue in your head then leave my chambers, Herias,” said Dardanus coldly, his face pale with anger at the insult he had received.

Herias flushed and his dark eyes turned hard as stone, reminding Elerian of a snake coiled to strike. As he turned away from his uncle, it seemed to Elerian that a pleased expression briefly crossed his face before being replaced with a sullen look more in keeping with his angry outburst.

“What is he playing at?” wondered Elerian as Herias stamped angrily from the room. Turning toward the emissary Elerian found that the Ancharian was smiling coldly, as if he found Dardanus’s pronouncement amusing.

“You will regret this decision,” he said mockingly to the Dwarf king. “Will your people support you do you think after we start slaughtering their friends and relatives one by one in the most horrible ways possible before your gates?”

“You have my answer,” said Dardanus coldly. “Leave me now and do not try my patience further.”

When one of the door guards came forward to escort him from the room, the emissary turned as if to go. Then, with startling rapidity, his shape began to flow like water, taking on the black, horrific form of a lentulus, its scarlet eyes burning with hate and anticipation, the silver chain that it had worn in its other form still gleaming on its broad, furred chest. Pushing Elerian out of the way, the guards sprang bravely at the shape changer with upraised axes, but with a lightning swipe of its clawed right paw, the lentulus tore out the throat of the nearest Dwarf. Choking on his own bright blood, he fell to the floor. The second Dwarf brought his ax down on the lentulus’s left shoulder where it joined the creature’s thick neck, but the keen blade, made of the best Dwarf steel, barely penetrated into the stony hide of the shape changer. Like a black snake, the lentulus’s thick tail whipped forward. The claw concealed in the sleek black fur at the end of the appendage flicked across the Dwarf’s throat, bursting the links of his mail and leaving a thin, red line in his flesh which suddenly gaped open like a bloody mouth, spilling out his life’s blood.

Elerian, who had just recovered his balance, felt his third eye open as the lentulus’s mouth gaped wide, his magical sight allowing him to see the crimson orb that flew from its jaws toward the entryway of the chamber. When the lock spell struck, it spread into a film of red light that covered the entire door, but it did not fade away when it had accomplished its purpose, for a thin tendril of crimson light joined it to the lentulus, continuing to feed it power.

“The doors are sealed,” hissed the shape changer, crouching on four legs, the steely muscles beneath its sleek hide flexing and contracting restlessly as if it could not decide whom to spring on first. “Take your last breaths now, for this chamber will run red with blood before I am done.”

Behind Elerian, Eonis’s sons thrust their father and uncle behind them, protecting them with their bodies, for none of them was armed. With a determined look on his craggy face, Ascilius took a position on Elerian’s right side, the fallen ax from one of the slain door guards clutched in his powerful right hand. Dardanus’s aged, snarling dentire crouched by his right leg.

“Open the doors and get the others out,” Ascilius said quietly to Elerian. “Teroc and I will hold the creature off for as long as we can.”

“Open them yourself,” replied Elerian quietly as, bending down in a swift, supple move, he drew out with his left hand silver-hafted Acer from the sheath concealed in his left boot. The argentum traced into the blade gleamed silvery white as Elerian held up the knife in front of him. With new hope in his eyes at the sight of the magical blade, Ascilius stepped back to give Elerian room to fight.

At the sight of Elerian’s magical weapon, anger distorted the black furred face of the lentulus, but there was no fear in its red, pitiless eyes. Its leathery snout wrinkled back, exposing rows of white teeth sharp as razors.

“The weapon you bear will slay you as soon as you touch it to my stony flesh,” said the lentulus contemptuously in a harsh, snarly voice. “No human has the power to slay me.”

“I am no more human than you are,” replied Elerian in an amused voice as he ended the illusion which disguised his true form. A cold light, fearless and terrible, shone in his gray eyes as he stood suddenly revealed before his enemy.

With a snarled curse, the lentulus started back. Then, recovering from its initial surprise at being suddenly confronted by an Elf, it spread its toothy jaws a second time. Elerian’s third eye sprang open, revealing the crimson orb that suddenly leaped from the creature’s mouth. An instant before the killing spell struck his chest, Elerian saw a golden film of light spill from the silver ring that gleamed on the second finger of his right hand, covering him from head to toe. When the shape changer’s spell struck that golden cloak, it was drawn at once into his ring without doing any harm.

Seeing that his spell had failed, the shape changer snarled in disappointment and dismay, for he had hoped to burst Elerian's heart with his killing spell. He sprang now like a striking snake, black, hooked claws gleaming at the ends of the powerful, stubby fingers that he reached out for Elerian.

Quick as thought, Elerian darted to his left, avoiding the steely talons of the creature, one set of which still dripped with the red blood of the Dwarf it had slain. Deftly switching Acer to his right hand, he caught the lentulus’s claw tipped tail in his left hand when it flicked at his throat. As it squirmed in his hand like a thick, muscular serpent, the lentulus suddenly reared up on its hind legs, towering over Elerian as it twisted its upper body toward him. Its huge left paw swept down, the speed of its strike making it a blur to the eye, but Elerian was quicker still, stepping and leaning back just far enough that the creature’s talons sliced though his tunic and shirt instead of the flesh beneath them. Before the lentulus could strike again, Teroc lunged forward, seizing its left wrist just above the point where it joined to the paw. Ignoring the dentire, triumph lighting up its fiery eyes, the lentulus darted its head and upper body down, its ugly snout spread wide to engulf Elerian’s face and head. Off balance, Elerian dropped his knife and desperately reached up his right hand, seizing the lentulus by the furred skin beneath its jaw before being borne over onto his back, the lentulus’s front paws planted firmly on the floor on either side of his body, Teroc still unsuccessfully worrying its left front leg with his massive jaws.

To the Dwarves in the room Elerian’s arm, for all its long, steely muscles, seemed too slender an instrument to oppose the huge bulk and corded thews of the lentulus, but the monstrous head bearing down on him slowed, nonetheless. It did not stop entirely, however. Straining his arm until the sinews creaked, Elerian watched helplessly as the gaping jaws of the lentulus inched toward his head, close enough now that the creature’s hot, foul breath washed over his face.

Suddenly, a broad hand knotted with muscles appeared beneath the lentulus’s hairy chin, cupping it and arresting its downward motion. The mighty thews of his right arm starting out like granite ridges, Ascilius, who had sprung on the lentulus’s back, slowly drew the head of the shape changer up and away from Elerian.

  Releasing his hold on the lentulus’s neck, Elerian groped on the floor for Acer with his right hand. The cool, ridged haft of the knife was suddenly pushed against his palm by Cordus who had run to retrieve the knife when Ascilius leaped onto the lentulus’s back. With inhuman speed and strength, Elerian thrust the knife into the throat of the shape changer which Ascilius had exposed when he drew the monster’s head back. Argentum gleaming silvery white, Acer’s cold steel slid easily through the stony hide and flesh concealed beneath the lentulus’s velvety black fur, its keen point finally severing the spine of the shape changer.

As Elerian drew deeply from his own power and the accumulated power in his ring to withstand the shock of the thrust, a scream so high as to be painful to the ears penetrated the room, issuing from the lentulus’s gaping mouth. Rearing up suddenly on its hind legs, it wrenched itself away from the deadly blade that had penetrated its seemingly invulnerable body, leaving the knife clenched in Elerian’s right hand. Mortally wounded, the creature shook off both Ascilius and Teroc in its death throes before collapsing onto the floor in front of Elerian, black blood flowing from its fatal wound to form a glistening, steaming puddle on the polished stone floor beneath its head.

Rising to his feet and stepping back to avoid the deadly blood spreading across the floor, Elerian staggered as a wave of weakness swept over him, for his knife had drunk deeply of his vitality. Drawing on the remaining power stored in his ring, he held his position, for having witnessed the deaths of other powerful mages, Elerian knew that the struggle was not yet over. His third eye suddenly opened, revealing a shimmering crimson shade in place of the body of the lentulus. A thin thread of scarlet light suddenly sprang from the ruby it wore on its broad breast, disappearing through a tiny portal which suddenly began to grow and expand to the left of the shade. The scarlet hands and arms of a second shade suddenly reached through it, seizing a hind leg of the lentulus. As the body of the creature was abruptly drawn into the portal, Elerian cast out several golden tendrils of light from his shade, using them to seize the scarlet shade of the lentulus which, despite its furious struggles, remained behind in his grasp as the rest of its body disappeared through the portal which suddenly vanished.

“You shall not escape me like Malevolus,” Elerian informed the captive shade as it took on the tall, slender outlines of an Uruc.

His escape route cut off, the Goblin now struggled to overcome Elerian, seeking to wrest his body away from him. Too late, he realized that the energy he expended was only strengthening his opponent by feeding the silver ring that he wore. Reduced to a tenuous scarlet shadow, the Goblin suddenly ceased to struggle in Elerian’s grasp.

“What shall I do with him?” wondered Elerian to himself as he continued to grip the scarlet shade of the Uruc. “I cannot take the rest of his power unless he offers it freely. Neither can I release him. He is too weak now to steal another’s life force, but if power were ever offered to him freely, he would grow strong again.”