Chapter VII:
Dwarves in the Marches
Zomara
For the next three days Natham and Whately were led eastward, into Marin Quendom proper. The laws of Marin required that any such travelers, especially those who had passed through Olger to the old Verder ruins, should be brought before the local governor, whose seat was in the town of Zomara. Whately was of a mind to refuse the march and go their own way, trusting in his own skill and the strength of Natham to withstand these soldiers if need be. He was not of a mind to become enthralled to yet another nation. Natham, however, insisted that they follow them, saying, that he feared nothing from them.
The Marin soldiers seemed grateful that they had no need to compel these travelers to make the journey. 'If such trouble we had with the golem and he so little, how can we pretend to compel them by force,' they soundly reasoned.
Zomara was a small village encircled by a crude wall of wooden pikes, which were hastily bound together and set facing outward. The lands surrounding the village were used for farming, but these were abandoned each night as the people shut themselves inside the walls for safety. For there were many dwarves in that region, and the people no longer felt safe in their own homes. In those days it was chiefly against these creatures that the swords of Marin were directed. They were, to the Quendom, like rats or some other invincible vermin. In the ancient wars they were driven once and for all from Olgrost. But their mountain strongholds were never taken. Even when their haunts were discovered they could not be driven from them. They were fierce warriors, as any tale will tell, and they became all the fiercer as the battles drew near to their own dwelling places. If at last the soldiers of Marin could succeed in defeating them in their own hiding places, they would retreat to such depths that no human could reach them. There they would hide among the Gaians, who send forth vapor and poison which only the dwarves can survive.
It should be said here that dwarves, unlike goblins, are not entirely bereft of reason. In fact, it is quite certain that they often reason better and faster than men. Their language, however, is simple and crude, only having room for quick commands and words of warning. They can learn the tongues of men, but they rarely find them useful. They do not make treaties; if ever they do they show no signs of caring for the agreements.
They are smaller than men, usually no more than three feet in height. But for that height they are at least three times stronger than a human being. Their weapons, which they forge in deep fiery places, are stronger than human weapons as well.
They adorn themselves with trophies alone. Fur, skin, leather, skulls and bones are their clothing. The only raiment they make for themselves is their armor, which as might be imagined, is also finer and stronger than the best productions of men or elves.
It is said in the Dadron schools that there are three parts of reasoning that are necessary for the whole: There is understanding, judgment, and Reason proper. In this last faculty the dwarves are extremely deficient, due to their sparse vocabulary. The consequence is that they do not pass their knowledge on to their children, except for that which the child apprehends by their own observation. They have no histories, save that which the elves have invented for them, they have no government, save for a crude, goblin-like lordship of the mightiest. This deficiency also explains why they relate so poorly to the other races of the world, and indeed to the animals as well. They will not hesitate to hunt a creature to the very last for the sake of a trophy or for sport. It seldom occurs to them that they might someday wish the animals were yet available to satisfy their hunger.
Where dwarves truly excel all other races, however, is in their understanding and their judgment. When they do reason, however, they do not err. They turn whatever new object they encounter about in every direction, taking it to pieces and remaking it again until they have no further doubts concerning its nature. When they speak to one another, their meanings are never misunderstood, partly because of the simplicity of their tongue, but mainly because of the care that they take in apprehending the meanings of the words they say. It is, on this account, very difficult for them to understand the complex and counterintuitive languages of men. They do not understand humor at all.
Their superb understanding, however, makes them masters of the elements and magicians of incomparable skill. They learn to make weapons that move on their own, bows that fire repeatedly, and even, in some rare cases, creatures of metal or wood that can move about on their own, or at the command of a rider. This is the nature of the dread golem that had slain so many Marin soldiers and so many hireling men ere the monster of Vestron arrived.
A bird can fly with ease at a great speed and land upon the slenderest twig. A beaver can build a dam the like of which no mortal or immortal builder can match. Even a tiny spider, mindless though she be, can make a web of unsurpassed beauty and utility. All this is by means of the understanding, which all moving things share to some extent. As the dwarves are masters of this faculty the precision of their hands and their thoughts is like the flight of a bird through the woods, irrational, yet led by perfect intuition. In battle, dwarven archers do not miss easily, nor do their strokes with the blade or their blows with the axes often miss their marks. To fight a dwarf with weapons alone, however diminutive he may be in stature, is like fighting a whale in the sea.
In battle, a golem-lord, which is what the Marin call the mobile inventions of the dwarves, is more deadly than any number of men. For the armor of such an artificial creature is harder than any hide, and instead of claws and teeth it carries weapons of iron, which are moved with amazing precision.
Their deficiency in reasoning, however, has long proved to be their downfall. However deadly they are in a battle, they are no good in a war; which is to say, that they have a mind for striking with arrows and spears, axes and swords, and they have the power and understanding to make creatures of iron, and weapons of great enchantment, but they have no mind for strategy, certainly not for the elaborate plots of human beings.
Dwarves had been seen wandering in the fields of Zomara at night lately, causing the people of the village to forsake their farmlands and huddle together behind their crude fortress of wood. For the most part the dwarves took only what they needed from the harvest and then crept away as silently as they had come. But they seemed to be increasing of late, and they were taking a greater toll on the supply of food and grain. Moreover, on several occasions the dwarves were reported to have been bearing battle axes and longswords. Thus Lady Hivilu, the elder of Zomara and governor of the southeastern marches of Olgrost, sent to Marin Fortress a request for aid. The young Marshall, Lyris, along with sixty other women and two hundred hireling men, was sent to her just three months earlier to put an end to the pilfering, and to make the lands safe again for habitation.
Of her mission and her difficulty she spoke to Natham openly. 'Refuge the dwarves took in a small cave, not more than a league to the south of Zomara. There they in safety sought to lie. Our trackers - that is, the hirelings, found their trail and they led us to their caves. At first we thought our work was finished, when by nightfall of the first day it seemed they all lay slain. But we were mistaken. Upon the morning of the second day, a golem appeared, one of those dread monsters of iron. Ten of our soldiers, the golem in its fury slew. More than thirty of the men that day also in bloody heaps fell. Yet for all our sacrifice, and all our labors, upon its armor not a dent was made. The third day we did better, with no soldiers lost and only seven hirelings killed. But in the end we were forced to retreat from their rocky haunts. The fourth day the golem came upon us while many were yet at rest, slaying more than thirty of our sisters ere a retreat was made. The stars alone can count the hirelings that in that day were cut down. Finally, bereft of hope and full of vengeful folly, we overtook the golem in the clearing and sought to make an end either him or of ourselves.'
'Are there many such golems in these lands?' Natham asked.
'They are rare,' Lyris answered so
lemnly. 'But when they appear, seldom do they appear alone, it is said. The dwarves can pass many generations without crafting any such devilish enchantments. But as they live for many lives of men, toiling away ceaselessly and unwearied in the darkness, it is all too often that they attain sufficient skill to create those monsters of iron. Thou hast slain the monster, and the golem-lord within his devil-armor has perished. But there will undoubtedly be more forthcoming, especially when the others discover the end of their comrade. To make a beast of iron, that breathes and moves, slays and wounds, is a task that cannot be performed in solitude. Such a dwarf-master must of necessity have his apprentices, his sons, his heirs, and his masters. If there are any among his kindred with understanding enough to have shared in his work, then we have much to fear.'
'Then we may expect to see more of these monstrosities?' Natham asked.
'Indeed, if tradition serves,' Lyris said. 'But first we must reach Zomara, where council and rest we can find.'
Whately followed behind them silently as they walked, shaking his head and marveling at Natham's words, '"We" may expect more of these? he murmured to himself.'
Whately watched Natham's every step with amazement in those days. The creature, who had only reluctantly involved himself in the wars of the Merkata, and even then only for his own ends, suddenly surrendered his services to these soldiers without reserve or hesitation, though no oath would he swear. He carried their burdens, lit the fires for their meals, kept watch in the lonely hours of the night, and even, almost gentlemanly helped them in the difficult places along the road. To Lyris alone, however, would he speak, and they spoke often. Even more amazing to Whately was the lack of fear this Marshall of the Quendom showed toward the strange creature that had come into their realm. 'Such a soul, one that is not horrified by the misfortunes of others, is a rare gem indeed,' he said to himself.
Zomara was surrounded on all sides by farmlands and orchards. The soil was rich and dark; seeds grew quickly there, and produced much fruit. As the travelers passed through Zomara, however, they saw nothing but empty fields, awaiting the rains and the full warmth of Spring. The gourds that grew there in the autumn were legendary, and for that reason the whole land was called at times Gordstlun, which is to say, 'Land of the Gourds'. The rich soil brought great wealth to the people of that land and to the people of Zomara in particular. It also brought the dwarves, however, and for the past several decades or so the conflicts were such that it became necessary to fortify the town and hire guardians to secure its food stores. These guardians were mostly untrained men from the woodlands to the northeast and the farmlands of the north. They were unprepared for the sagacity of the dwarves, who cannot be defeated without a sound strategy. For this cause, as was said already, the Marin soldiers were summoned to their aid. Against the Golem even strategies failed.
When at last the party arrived at Zomara, they found the gates shut against them. 'Rumor has reached the Lady,' the guards reported, 'of the strange beast with whom ye travel. Come in, daughter of Marin, and come in traveler, but leave the darkened one aside while counsel is taken.'
Natham stepped away from the party and took the horses' bridles from Whately's hand. Lyris' eyes were downcast as she entered the gates with the strategist. The sight of so few survivors sent a clamor of mourning throughout the village. Wherever Whately looked he saw despair.
Within the fort they were met by a kindly looking old woman, who introduced herself as Lady Hivilu, governess of Zomara and Gordstlun. 'Welcome traveler,' she said to Whately, 'it is an honor to greet you, Golem-slayer.'
The mention of this appellation took Lord Whately entirely off guard. 'I beg your forgiveness, my Lady,' Whately said with a clumsy bow, 'But it was not I that slew the Golem, but Natham, whom you have left without the city.'
This she seemed not to hear at all, continuing with her praises, 'Many lives and futures by his fell iron hand have been lost, but you bring us hope.'
There was little that the Governess of Zomara said in that hour that is worth recounting. In the end, when she was fully convinced of the veracity of Whately's tale, she granted him permission to walk within the dominion of Marin freely. 'Only, you shall keep the beast outside the gates of this wall; for my people have enough to fear from the dwarves. I will not terrify them further with the visage of that cursed one.'
Whately tried, politely, to protest, but it was of no avail. 'Then I must take to the outer fields as well,' he said. 'I will not rest on soft pillows, safe behind guarded doors while Natham the Purehearted, as he ought to be called, must remain in the bleak outer-fields of Zomara.'
Natham, in the meanwhile, was led to a small disused farmhouse about half a league to the west of the gates. The proper owners had taken refuge in the town, and were more than happy to lend their home to Natham, if only he should stay out of sight. There was a good amount of firewood piled on the floor near the front door, and a basket full of apples on a table near the fireplace. The soldiers who had led him to the house left him with a loaf of bread and a waterskin ere they happily took their leave, looking nervously over their shoulders as they vanished from sight.
'Even the Merkata bore more love toward you,' Duri said when the day had passed. Natham was sitting on a stool in front of a roaring fire. 'They at least could bear the sight of you without shuddering.'
'They were as scared as these,' Natham sighed, 'though they hid it better because their pride was greater. The fears of these she-warriors,' Natham said sternly, 'are of a different nature.'
'What do you mean?' Duri asked,
'That is difficult to answer,' Natham said, squinting in the firelight. 'There is something that has long troubled my mind. But a veil of darkness through which no light can penetrate obstructs my view. It is a memory, I think. As vivid as the present, but as hidden as the future. It is ever present in my mind, but no image or idea manifests itself. There is a feeling of disgust in that darkness; hatred and violence... Malice undiluted hides in the shadow of my memory. I see, though to a lesser degree, that same malice in the eyes of these she-warriors.'
'But surely they are simply afraid. They think you are some kind of brute.'
'I am a brute!' Natham thundered, 'What am I but a brute!'
'You are that which spares when he can, yet fights for those he loves without hesitation or remorse. You fight not for yourself. You never have and, I'd wager, you never will.'
Natham looked at the spirit with kind eyes and then turned his attention once more to the fire. 'There is a thought in the this darkness of mine that says, and says daily, that it would have been better if your mother had cast you into the sea, or if your father cut your head off even as it emerged from my mother's womb. This, perhaps, is why I fight not on my own account - For what do I deserve but a swift death. I feel, in these moments, the desire to burn; to see my whole rotted flesh melt away and vanish into smoke. In the eyes of these maidens, and chiefly in the voice of their Governess, I have felt this dark malice, though to a lesser degree. When they look upon me they wish my mother had so cast me into the ocean. They look upon me with eyes that speak, saying thus: "I wish death to you, for your own sorry sake."
'Do they all look upon you thus?' Duri asked thoughtfully.
'No,' he answered with a laugh, 'There is Lyris, that Blind-Maiden, as she ought to be called! Her eyes have in them no trace of malice. In the darkness of my thoughts as I see it reflected in the eyes of these she-warriors lies a pity to murder; such great pity have they for this beast that my end is wished as a solution. But in Lyris there is a pity of another sort; one that grieves for my ugliness yet does not wish me away. But in the voice of the guard of Zomara and in the order of the Governess I feel the same hate. This is why it grieves me not to be left without, for at least I am spared the pity of so many gawkers.'
It was quite late when Whately finally came to the house. Natham was resting in a corner on some straw, though Whately was pretty sure that he was not asleep. 'They have granted us leave
to come and go as we please in Olgrost,' Whately said. 'We can leave here whenever you would like and seek our fortunes in this wide land. We can go to Dalta City, perhaps, and see what remains of that ancient Fortress.'
Natham stirred and sat up, saying, 'But what of the dwarves?'
'The dwarves?' Whately said irritably. 'What do you care of the dwarves?'
'There may be more of those Golems,' Natham said soberly, 'Such weapons of death ought not be allowed to exist.'
Whately sat down near the fire and threw a fresh log upon it. 'When spring is fully here,' he said softly, three hundred soldiers of Marin will be sent from the west. These will wage war against the dwarves, with Lyris, Marshall of the Eastern Wilderness, as their commander.' Whately sighed and shook his head. 'If there are more of those monstrosities,' he said, 'Then not a soul of them shall survive.'
'Why would they send so few soldiers?'
'To my mind,' Whately said, 'It can only mean that they have need of the greater part of their strength elsewhere. It also means that what soldiers they send will not be their greatest heroes. There will be many hirelings, also,' Whately scoffed. 'But these, being mere men, they care neither to train nor equip. At least the Merkata gave to their warriors what armaments they required. I feel that the Lady of Marin almost thinks that in treating men with as much injustice as they formerly treated their women she is making them even. "Injustice, more injustice, and then finally, Justice" they think. But we are wiser than that. If I have my will, we will be far from here ere these warriors arrive.'
Natham was silent. It seemed in that moment that their two wills were contending, one against the other. They spoke no words for nearly an hour, both knowing the other's thoughts and reasons entirely. At last, Whately's will surrendered and he said, 'Very well, we will bind our fates with theirs. I had hoped to leave war behind and find a more peaceful life in this land. We might have a farm again, Natham, and make the land lush and beautiful, even as we did in that patch of sand they gave us in Ragnon.'
'You needn't come with me,' Natham said, 'I know that you do not love battle.'
'Nor do you,' Whately said as he tampered with the fire. 'But I swore many years ago that I would not forsake you, unless... I swore that I would never abandon you, nor leave your side. Nor do I want to, though you lead us to death's door in the land of the delvers. Feel no remorse for bringing me into more battles and wars, Natham, for that is what I have been trained to do. And if that is where you must go, then it is what I have sworn to do.'
Against the Dwarves
The beauty of the Eastern Wilderness was breathtaking. Green buds opened up into bright pink and white flowers, crowning every tree and hill in sight. It seemed that as the small army of Lyris marched, the ground came to life beneath them. The last frost was well past and the land was freed at last from winter's tyranny. 'It truly is a pity,' Lyris said as she marched beside Natham, 'that such beauty must precede our fell labors. I would rather have marched in the depths of darkness and ice and saved this beauty for our return. But to change the times and seasons is beyond the power of even the ancient elves.'
The past month had been spent entirely in training. Under Whately's instruction the soldiers of Marin had improved their skill considerably. Lyris marveled, saying, 'Such rapid improvements are, to our own instructors and strategists, unthinkable.' She pressed him to discover where he had studied the arts of war, but he refused to say anything further than that he learned in the 'best place to learn such things'. By the end of the month of Paschest even the hirelings had shown improvement, though no amount of training could acquire for them harder swords, longer spears or stronger armor. As was customary in Marin, there were at least three hirelings for every soldier, bringing the total force to nearly a thousand souls.
With this force Lyris waged her war against the dwarves of the Eastern Marches of Marin. With Natham ever at her side, she drove the dwarves from the forest and from the foothills to the south of Zomara. Wherever she marched and against whoever she fought, she could rely upon the might of Natham to uphold her. Many times he came to her rescue and to the rescue of the whole army. He gained in that time the names Golem-bane and Iron-slayer and many others besides. All the while Whately continued to train the hirelings in the arts of warfare until at last they surpassed the skill even of the Marin soldiers. The result of this was that they soon became a force of unparalleled ability.
For that whole year the Monster of Vestron served the Quendom of Marin, though his assistance was never formally acknowledged by the Queen or even in any significant way by the Governess of Zomara. Whatever accomplishments he made were ascribed to Whately and Lyris. But with all of this he seemed content. When the sky was clear, and the night not too cold, Lyris would come to him and the two of them would gaze at the stars above. Natham would tell her the names of each of them (as Whately had long ago instructed him). He would tell of their comings and goings, their histories, prophecies and their romances.
'How are stars born?' she asked him one night.
'That is a mystery,' he answered. 'But among the Knarse it is said that the stars are the souls of the righteous, set above the earth to guide and guard those who yet remain.'
'Then the stars are born only when men die?'
'Only when righteous men die,' he answered, 'or so the legend says.'
'But why, then, do we not see more stars appearing?' Lyris asked thoughtfully.
'Perhaps,' Natham answered solemnly, 'it is because there are none righteous.'
'What about you, Natham?' she asked, turning her eyes away from the starry veil for a moment. He looked at her also, but seeing her great beauty and the light of the stars shining in her eyes, he looked away.
'There are no righteous ones,' he answered. 'Who does not live but for their own sakes? And even he who does not live so lives only for those for whom he cares. The dwarves live for the dwarves, the Merkata for the Merkata - indeed, the Marin live for the Marin. But why oughtn't we live for the oxen and the lambs as well as for the men of our own country? Who knows that the soul of man is worth more than a goat's spirit? We know not, therefore we are not virtuous. The highest a man can be is pleasing to his own eyes.'
'What does that mean then?' Lyris asked with sadness in her voice. 'Do you live for naught?'
'I hope not,' he answered. 'But I cannot pretend to be greater than I am. I must leave my cause and my fate in the hands of the powers above. Like others, I have that for which I fight, but I cannot pretend that I am privy to some special knowledge that tells me that I am right for doing so. I will maintain for myself no illusion.'
Lyris was silent for while, 'What do you suppose it is like to be a star? If such a thing can be thought.'
'The legends say that when a righteous man dies he is given heavenly milk to drink, such as you can see on the horizon where the deep blue of the night is brightened by so many stars. This fills his body and purifies it, until no vestige of his former self remains. A pure spirit, he ascends to the heights to speak the truth to mankind. He becomes the guardian of those souls that long for virtue. In the day that such a man dies, a new star appears where before there shone nothing at all. He teaches mankind virtue, if mankind is capable of hearing. He tells us of truth and constant obedience. As anyone can tell you, the stars err not from their movements.'
'I think that you will become a star some day,' she said with a kind voice.
'To be righteous you must have knowledge,' he answered calmly, 'and I have only the lack thereof.'
'But all of this doesn't stop you from fighting for Marin.'
'I fight not for Marin,' Natham said with sadness.
'Then for what do you fight?'
But Natham answered nothing. The night wore on and they at last bid one another farewell, each departing for their own tents.
The war continued, this time the dwarves were driven from the foothills of Mount Arzi. Three golems fell there. The dwarves began to fear the monster, e
ven inventing a new word for him, an act which they only rarely performed. From their word 'Gher', which the learned believe to mean 'war' or 'warrior' they added 'zi' which signifies 'master' or 'giant'. 'Gherzi,' they began to shout at the sight of him, and the warriors would scatter, disappearing into the hills and caves of the Zoar mountains.
The cunning dwarves lay many snares for the soldiers of Marin, and the army of Lyris fell into many traps and ambushes. But always the monster would trump the sagacity of the dwarves and steal for Marin the victory. They fought on month after month, drawing ever nearer to the dwarf stronghold of Thlux, which was called 'The Invulnerable Realm' by the men of southern Olgrost.
It soon became clear to the leaders in Marin that if they were ever to be victorious against these subtle creatures, they must subdue this stronghold, which was carved into the very rocks of Mount Zhagib, which lay to the south east of Zomara. A messenger was sent from Marin with new instructions for Lyris, and several hundred soldiers, including fifty mounted warriors. They also hired almost five hundred warriors from the southern lands of Marin, where the men were strong and as yet somewhat independent. 'But all of this is nothing with which to sack a Fortress,' Whately lamented. Prepared or not, however, the army of Lyris began its southerly march - to Mount Zhagib and the dwarf stronghold of Thlux.
They found battle on the first day of Florhus in the twenty-eighth year of the fourth millenium of Tel Arie. The sun was warm upon their shoulders, the breeze was cool. All the smells of summer and the songs of birds floated through the air. But amidst this splendor a great force of dwarf archers lay hidden. As the army marched between two stony ridges, they fell into an ambush. The sure arrows of the dwarves slew thirty hirelings and twelve soldiers in their first volley. Whately shouted, 'Shields! Shields! To the ridges!'
The army was better prepared for the second volley of arrows, but still the perfect aim of the dwarves slipped many arrows past their imperfect defenses. Natham, upon hearing the first arrow fly, charged up the eastern ridge, an ascent that he alone had the strength to manage. When he reached the top of the hill, those dwarf archers quickly came to know the might of the Vestron Monster. Six of their hairy little bodies he flung from the ridge in one great heave. In vain they let their arrows fly at him. His skin was too thick, even for their powerful crossbows, and his skill with Admunth rivaled their skill with the bows. He charged the archers and made an end of any that dared to stand their ground. It takes a great deal to startle a dwarf; it is said that nothing can make them retreat. But in that day such prejudices were set aside and the dwarves really and truly fled in fright. They came at him from all sides with their spears and their swords, but Admunth erred not, and his mighty spear pierced through their armor two at a time.
Things were much harder on the western ridge. Seeing Natham charge to the east, Whately ordered the warriors up the other side, deeming the strength of the monster sufficient to deal with them. The archers, however, were so quick with their arrows and so perfect with their aim that for a while no one could come close to the top without falling to the ground with an arrow through their throat. Finally, Lyris and some of the soldiers of Marin, locking their shields one with the other, marched up the hill toward the dwarves. Arrows clinked against their armor and the shields. An arrow pierced the slender shield of Lyris, halting but an inch from her cheek. The dwarves knew then that their security was waning. They called for their spearmen and axe-wielders in their simple and harsh tongue.
The difficulty of reaching the top of the ridge scarcely seemed worth the effort, as instead of deadly arrows they were met by deadly spears and axes. The dwarf-forged weapons cut through the armor of the hirelings like paper; even the armor of the Marin soldiers was not good for more than a few blows. Lyris found herself surrounded almost the moment she came within sight of the dwarves. They charged without hesitation, cutting down three of her fellows. In a rage, she thrust her spear through one of their faces, making sure the first charge of the dwarves was not made without cost. Before they could strike again, she tossed her spear into the heart of the greatest of them and drew her sword. With this she and her companions made short work of the axe-men. The spears of their enemies, however, proved a greater difficulty. The dwarves could throw these from a great distance and with surprising force. It was better to dodge these than to block, a last lesson for many of the hirelings and even a few Marin soldiers, who learned too late that the shields of men are no match for dwarf iron.
With the archers fled or slain, the battle turned in favor of Marin. Natham stood alone on the eastern ridge with all his foes lying slain on the grass. On the other ridge, the soldiers now had complete mastery of the field. The dwarves accordingly took to flight. They disappeared into the many hidden places in the southern landscape. Many caves, crevices, pits and brambles were littered about the area and into these the dwarves flew with haste. In the end, the dead numbered sixty soldiers and over a hundred hirelings.
When the army was reordered, the dead laid to rest in mounds, and the camp set with guards and watchfires, Whately sought out the Marshall Lyris in her tent. Natham stood nearby and was beckoned to enter with his master. 'These dwarves had news of us,' Whately said as he entered, 'for all our planning, they were well prepared.'
'Indeed,' Lyris said, 'Dwarves cannot easily be taken off-guard; at least not the dwarves of Zoar. It is said that they can sense an army from twenty leagues away.' She then turned to the monster and spoke in a kind voice, 'I thank you, Natham, for you have once saved the lives of many soldiers.' Natham bowed his head. 'The dwarves have built unto themselves a stronghold in the Zoar mountains, no more than ten leagues to the south. It is the will of Queen Marin that this stronghold be taken forever from the hands of these fell creatures.'
'To take a stronghold she will need to send many more soldiers,' Whately said. This force is sufficient to guard a town, but not to sack a dwarf-city.'
'The Queen has her mind elsewhere,' Lyris said cautiously, but disapprovingly. Her mind wanders beyond our shores and into the west.'
Whately shook his head, 'Morm nu desc, vir nu scin,' he said. 'Which is to say, as it is said in Titalo, "The dead teach not, the living learn not"
'I understand your heart,' Lyris said, 'yet we are the servants of Marin, to question her authority is not our right.'
'Tell me more of this stronghold,' Whately said as he shook his head, turning their thoughts back to the coming conflicts. 'What are its weaknesses, and is there any hope of coming against it unexpectedly.'
The stronghold, according to Lyris, was built into the solid rock of the Zoar Mountains, in the north face of Mount Zhagib, Thlux in the dwarven tongue. The northern side of the fortress was smooth as marble, save for two rows of windows that guarded the fortress from above. There was a stone highway built there that led from the north up into the mountain, splitting at the fortress and then wrapping around the east and western walls of the stronghold. There were two great gates of equal size on the east and western sides of the fortress; one was used as an entrance only, the other, as an exit. For efficiency's sake the dwarves allowed no exception to this; weapons, food, spoils and other provisions and prizes were brought into the fortress through the western gate only. Everything and everyone that wished to leave the fortress was compelled to do so through the eastern gate. The fortress was narrow enough from east to west that one could enter the city through the western gate and leave through the eastern in under an hour. How long the fortress was from north to south, however, was unknown. 'It might be no deeper than it is wide,' Lyris said, 'but then it might also go by secret tunnels all the way to Dominas in the south.'
The windows on the north face of the stronghold were too high for any archer to reach. In each window there was room for two archers as well as for one of their dreadful repeating crossbows, which they were certain to have in abundance at their fortress. On the east and western sides there were many towers built. At the tops of these there were catapults and other dead
ly weapons of war that the dwarves had crafted. No doors or ladders could be found on those towers; their entrances were all subterranean and hidden. Beyond this, it was unknown what other preparations these dwarves had made for themselves.
'The Queen is mad,' Whately said irately, when they had left the tent of Lyris. 'How can she send these young soldiers, these women, to such certain death!? Not to mention the poor souls they call "hirelings"'
To this Natham said nothing, though it was clear that he was in full agreement. When they came at last to their own tent Whately sighed, lifting his eyes to look upon the stars. 'I suppose there is nothing else to be done though. We are embarked, and naught but treachery could save our skins alive now. But what is a treacherous life worth? It is not worth much to me.'
That night, as he lay in his tent, Whately's mind rushed to and fro, reviewing everything Lyris had told him regarding the dwarves and their stronghold. For some reason the words, 'they can sense an army from twenty leagues away' kept presenting themselves to his mind. He fell into a deep but troubled sleep, dreaming of nonsense. But as the morning dawned and the horns of Marin woke him from his nightmares, he returned without difficulty or confusion back to his thoughts from the previous night. Even as the sun dawned upon the world, an idea and a plan dawned upon him.
The taking of Mount Zhagib took place in the following manner:
On the fifth day of Solest, seven soldiers and fifteen hirelings left the camp with enough provisions to last them several weeks. Two weeks later, another party left, this time with eight soldiers and twelve hirelings. Another party left the following week; again, the number of soldiers was varied. This process was continued throughout the summer and into the fall until the entire army save for Natham, Whately, Lyris and a few others had departed.
Each of these parties wandered wide and far from that land, only making their way toward the dwarf stronghold little by little, and as wanderers rather than assailants. Here and there, they were discovered and there were battles. But by the end of the summer only twelve soldiers and forty hirelings had been slain. Two of the smaller bands had either perished in the wild or deserted the army altogether. Those that remained safe and faithful provided for themselves as they could, receiving help from Zomara as it was available. This assistance, both in weapons and provisions, was delivered to them by Lyris and Natham so that the faithfulness of the Marshall and the might of the Monster could give them encouragement as well as food.
Thus they crept, little by little, yet always sundered, ever closer to the stronghold of Zhagib. Finally, when the month of Ornus came and with it the threat of snow and ice, Whately sent a messenger to all the exiled warriors: 'The time to march against Zhagib draws nigh. On the fifteenth day of Ornus, we will pour into the vale of Thlux by night.' With his messengers Whately sent more detailed commands for each individual group.
When the appointed day had come, the warriors of Marin with Whately and Natham stole into the land of the dwarves from several directions. When the morning sun arose on the following day they leapt out from their hiding places and charged into the stronghold. The dwarves reacted swiftly, sending hordes of armed warriors against them, but it was too late. Their great defenses did them no good. Natham charged into the center of the stronghold like a raging bull, casting the dwarves aside like dust. At his right side rode Lyris, mounted upon a great white horse, and at his left rode Whately on a brown horse.
In the main hall of the stronghold a great battle was fought. At first the soldiers of Marin and their hirelings dominated the conflict, driving the dwarves into their secret passages and chambers, slaying all that could not thus escape. The horses were a terror to them.
It was only a short time, however, before the dwarves gained control of themselves and began raining arrows down upon the invaders from the upper levels of the stronghold. Under this barrage the army of Marin rushed through the main hall and passed under a great stone arch into the hall of the Dwarf-lord. The archers made short work of the horses; Whately and his beast alone escaping their keen eyes. Lyris was forced to abandon her fallen steed and continue on foot with her shield above her head. Two groups, each consisting of thirty soldiers and eighty hirelings, were sent into the winding halls of the fortress to seek out those dwarves who yet lay hidden, and to make an end of the archers that were still devastating their mounted warriors.
In the chamber of the dwarf-lord, however, the army was to face its fiercest fight. Two Golem-lords stood on either side of the Dwarf-lord, who himself was clad in such armor as to bend any blade, deflect any arrow, and notch any axe. Upon his helm there stood two massive spikes of iron, the points of which were plated with gold. A man would scarcely be able to lift this helm, let alone wield it in battle atop his head. The dwarf-lord, however, moved about with ease and made short work of the first enthusiastic warriors that entered his chamber. The blade of his battle-axe cut through their armor as though it was paper.
Whom he did not slay was slain by the Golem-lords. The greater of them had in one hand a great sword, the blade of which was taller than a man, and in the other he carried a mallot of iron. The smaller Golem carried above his head a great spear, such as one might fashion to slay a dragon. In front of this smaller Golem was a great shield of many plates of iron, covering the Golem almost completely, save for a small slit through which the golem-rider could see his prey. All these weapons were soon stained red with blood. About the feet of these golems marched innumerable axe-men and sword-men. Many of the hirelings, indeed, many of the trained soldiers of Marin as well, were so encouraged by their progress in the main hall that they did not hesitate to challenge these mighty foes. They were cured of their enthusiasm swiftly and painfully.
The hordes of dwarf fighters were held at bay by Lyris and the soldiers of Marin. Whately rode about the large chamber on his horse shouting orders and dueling dwarf warriors, but mostly avoiding the impregnable golems and the dwarf-lord, whom he wisely acknowledged to be invulnerable to any strike he might make against them. Natham challenged the golems immediately. He charged through the dwarf warriors mercilessly, scattering them and breaking their lines to pieces. The confusion into which they were thrust made them easy prey to the soldiers of Marin and the hirelings. In the center of the chamber a battle the likes of which few can imagine took place. In his initial charge, Natham forced Admunth into the face of the dwarf-lord, sending him, armor and all, rolling across the floor, clanking and clattering across the stone tiles. In an instant the golems fell upon him with all of their weapons. Tucked beneath Admunth he was safe from all their pummeling, stabbing and slashing. When the blows relented he rose to his full height once more and took aim at the shield-bearer. His mighty spear pierced the shield, but did not harm the rider. The golem continued to smoke and rage, stabbing at Natham with its pike. Natham's left arm was swift, sure, and mighty; the blow was stayed. The other golem took its turn next: He swung his hammer down upon Admunth, rattling the shield and rending the air with a sound like a thousand camp bells.
The dwarf-lord by that time had arisen and was now wreaking havoc on the soldiers of Marin. Whately attempted to pierce his armor with a spear, but all he managed to do was shatter his spear against the invulnerable dwarf armor. With the back of his fist the dwarf-lord knocked Whately off his horse. The old warrior rolled on his back and rose to his feet just before the dwarf's second blow landed. Knowing himself to be outmatched he stepped away, hoping to lead the dwarf-lord away from the others until Natham could challenge him.
The golems, in the meanwhile, were beginning to steam and putter with a fury, as though the battle was pushing them beyond their abilities. They were trying very hard to come at Natham from opposite sides, but Natham kept himself always at an angle from them both, as though he were the third point of a shifting triangle. Slowly, however, he allowed himself to move closer and closer to the golem with the sword. In an instant the golem with the spear thrust its mighty weapon at the monster, hoping to break through the m
ighty shield. But Natham took a sudden step back and the thrust passed in front of him. With incredible speed he grabbed hold of the golem's iron arm and added the strength of his own arms to the fierce attack of the golem. He forced the golem's spear through the armor of the other golem, piercing the rider through the chest. A scream rent the air and then the golem fell to the ground in ruin, smoke and blood. The spear of the first golem was still lodged in the heart of its fallen comrade. Natham rushed around the remaining golem and thrust his spear through its flank. In a moment it also fell to the ground in a ruinous clash of iron on stone.
He lost no time in seeking out the dwarf-lord, who was cutting down hirelings and soldiers with ease. Whately called out for them to flee from him, but in their rashness they rushed to meet their deaths. Natham rushed to Whately's side, 'Step away from this one, master Whately,' he said urgently.
'That is exactly what I was hoping you came here to say,' Whately said panting. It was only a few moments before the dwarf-lord also lay dead. He took a swing at Natham with his axe, which became lodged in Admunth. The dwarf-lord attempted to retrieve it, but Natham grabbed him by the horns with his hidden arms. He dropped Admunth with the axe still lodged within it and with three arms he hurled the dwarf-lord across the stone floor. The dwarf-lord spun and bounced across the stone, leaving puddles of blood where he struck. He came to a rest at the foot of his own throne. He made some weak motions with his arms and then moved no more. Some enthusiastic and dishonorable hirelings rushed to the fallen warrior and relieved the body of its precious armor.
With the lord of the dwarves fallen and his guardians in smolders, the rest of the stronghold fell easily. The dwarves vanished into the deep places and hid among the earth spirits while the Marin soldiers slew all that remained above. 'This is no use,' Whately complained when they had finished the battle. 'They can come against us in the night from a thousand holes, and we have no means to defend ourselves. And who knows what they might bring up from the deep. Who knows what fell inventions they store in the dark places of the earth.'
'What then shall we do?' Lyris asked him. 'For we have been bidden to take the stronghold from them forever, that they might trouble the land of Marin no longer.'
'If that is your task, my lady,' Whately scoffed, 'then you are doomed to fail. You have not the means to secure this fortress from the dwarves; nor will you ever have the means to fight them in their secret places. Do you not yet realize of what firm material these creatures are fashioned? Do you not smell the blood of those who fell to their cunning archers and their fell king? Do you not see the powder the golem's made of the bones of your warriors and mercenaries?'
Lyris' countenance fell. 'What do we do then? For I will not return to Marin to tell My Lady that I have not finished what I have been commanded. For my grandfather was Ollitov, and I will not bring shame upon his memory.'
Whately sat down on the edge of a stone dais and untied his boot, emptying the dust from inside. 'If we wish to fulfill your Lady's command, we must destroy the fortress entirely. We have, I imagine, no more than a week before an attempt is made to recover this place. Whether the army will come from without or from within these tunnels I cannot tell. But we have no means to seek them out and no means to withstand them if they come to take back what is theirs. This very instant we must set about the utter destruction of this place. That only will keep them from returning.'
'Then let it be as you have said,' Lyris replied.
Skatos Ereg
That evening Duri woke Natham from his sleep and led him along empty halls toward the southernmost passage of the Stronghold. There was a guard posted there, for they knew not where the passage led. The guards greeted the monster warily but did not question him or waylay him as he followed after his invisible guide. Down long halls they walked by torchlight until the air grew cold and heavy. Through many strange passages Duri led him, twisting and turning through a great labyrinth of tunnels until at last they came to a great hall. At the end of this hall there was a great door of iron with a lock the likes of which only dwarves can make. 'I trust your strength will be sufficient for this trinket?' Duri laughed.
Indeed, Natham knocked, with a single blow, the door from its frame. The crash echoed in the depths and made all the men and women who lay sleeping both above and the dwarves who scurried about in the hidden places below pause and put their ears to the wall in fear. When Natham lifted the torch he saw that the room into which he had been led was a great vault of treasure and arms. 'I brought you here,' Duri said, 'because when the men find it they will most certainly spoil it. But I know that you can be trusted to take only that which will be of the most use.'
Natham's eyes danced about the room. In the firelight he could see many torches hanging upon the walls. These he lit until the whole room danced and glimmered. More gold he had not seen in his entire lifetime. But his eyes were drawn away from all this wealth to a dark corner of the room. Here the torchlight failed, almost unnaturally, and a shadow was cast upon everything in that area. He moved toward the darkness and found therein a chest of rotted wood. Turning his back on the wealth of the dwarves he opened the chest and removed a bundle of tattered cloth from inside. The torches fluttered and dimmed as he lifted it, and his own light blew out as though a great wind had been released from that chest. The cloth bundle was bound with a single red string which was sealed on one side with the image of some dreadful god or monster.
He broke the seal and opened the wrappings. Within he found that ancient weapon of which so many tales speak: Skatos Ereg it was always called in Olgrost, and it was feared by all creatures and spirits. Duri himself seemed to fear it, though he could not understand why he should fear the devices of a mortal.
An eager arm came forth from beneath Natham's cloak and claimed the sword for its own, drawing it back beneath his clothing. The torches at once sprang to life and the darkness which had covered that corner of the treasure room was lifted, revealing the broken old treasure chest to the light. Quietly he crept back to the upper fortress and once more passed the guards, this time without even a word or greeting.
The Brother
The dwarves had not given up on their stronghold as it seemed to those above. Below the earth, in hidden chambers, they regrouped and rearmed themselves, calling for their allies and their kin. In four days their numbers were restored and they were ready to march to war, though not so much as a whisper ascended to the upper realms where the soldiers of Marin still panted from their laborious battle.
On the fifth night after their coming to Mount Zhagib, the Marin soldiers were awakened by great shouts and screams. The dwarves had come. The army of Marin gathered and formed lines, but when they saw their foe, nothing could stop them from fleeing. The hirelings turned and fled without delay, thinking to themselves, 'I have come here neither for honor nor for love of Marin, but for pay; which will avail me nothing in the grave.' The soldiers by and large remained in their positions, but it was not long before even they were driven back. Lyris sounded a retreat and the soldiers took to flight. Thlux, it was clear, would not be surrendered to the dominion of men through one bold victory alone.
The horns of Marin blared and every man and women forsook their patrols and their encampments, fleeing to the central hall, making haste to the gates. But there they discovered what doom awaited them. There in the pathway stood seven golem-riders and a host of armored dwarves with their dreaded crossbows. Under a barrage of arrows the first groups of hirelings fell. The soldiers hid beneath their shields, forming lines and keeping their distance. Beneath a constant volley of arrows the golems advanced, pounding the warriors of Marin with hammers, cutting with swords, and piercing with spears. 'Master!' Natham shouted. 'This is my hour! Take the soldiers and lead them through the eastern gate.'
Whately's heart sunk as he nodded and called the warriors to his side. In one great movement the soldiers of Marin followed Whately and Lyris through the eastern gate, trampling to the ground those dwarves
who withstood their flight. As she disappeared through the arched gateway, Lyris looked back and caught the eyes of the monster as he raged. Death hung upon his eyes, and the Marshall of Marin could see the end of his resolve. He meant not to return from that place alive. Her heart sank, and a tear washed down her dirty cheek.
'Gherzi!' the dwarves roared with delight 'Dhus!' they cried, which means to them both 'death' and 'revenge'. Natham rushed around the golems, with Admunth ever in front of him. He charged through the archers like a bull through wheat. He trampled the dwarves where they stood, the many dozens of arrows they had driven into the invulnerable shield acting like piercing horns. Hundreds of dwarves he slew in that hour, and several golems also. But in the end they surrounded him near the eastern gate and cast heavy chains around him. They bound his left and his right arms with great irons, the sort of which are forged to raise their enormous gates, not to shackle mortal men. His legs too they bound and his shield they pulled away. When all this had been done, one of the golems struck him in the face with his iron mallet. Natham's eyes were shut and his head hung down upon his breast.
Cheers rose up among the dwarves. They chanted 'Dhus! Dhus! Dhus!'
Another golem approached, this one bearing a great plume of iron spires upon its head, signifying the nobility of its rider. He was the one the dwarves call, 'Erekks' which is to say, 'Over-Master'.
He lifted his spear to strike their great enemy in the heart, but his stroke never fell. In that moment a slender javelin slipped through the eye slit of the invulnerable golem-mail, killing the rider instantly. Lyris stood just outside the city gates, with another spear ready to let fly. 'You shall not die alone, savior of Marin!' she cried out to Natham. But the monster said nothing, his head hung low as if he were dead. The golems raged and the dwarves rushed toward her. Soon she found herself in a ring of enemies, eagerly awaiting the smell of blood and the splattering of red.
One of the other golems took her into his fist and threw her against the wall. Her armor clattered and she fell to the ground, panting and groaning from the pain. The dwarves rushed upon her like vultures with their swords drawn and their axes raised above their heads. But they were all stopped in their tracks by a roar, the likes of which no mortal ear had ever heard before. Every eye turned, Lyris' also, and looked at the bound monster. His head yet hung low, and no sign of life was seen in his face. Yet another roar rent the air and every heart was filled with terror. With a great effort the mighty chains that bound his left arm were broken and the shriveled limb was let loose. Next the right arm was torn free and then the legs. The broken chains hung upon him like the tattered strings of an old garment of cloth. The monster rose to his feet. His left arm grabbed fiercely at the lump atop Natham's left shoulder and pulled the cloak aside. When the cloak fell to the ground many dwarves took to their heels. For beneath that cloak there was a blackened and scarred head with sharpened teeth and a powerful jaw. So hideous it was that Lyris wept at that instant, hiding her face in her arm.
The roar echoed through the hall again, this time unmuffled by the thick cloak under which he had for all these years remained hidden. He fell upon the golems with a fury that even those heartless beasts of war could not imagine. He tore their iron limbs off of their frames and wielded their gigantic dwarf-forged weapons against them. In that hour he made an end of the golems, and of perhaps many thousands of dwarves as well. He stood over the wounded Lyris like a lioness over her cubs. There he would have stayed, fighting and slaying until either the dwarves in their great numbers at last overtook him or until he, in his great rage, made an end of the dwarves of Zoar. But as he fought, biting, tearing and ripping his foes to pieces, he heard the voice of Whately calling from the east. 'Judan!' he called, 'It is not your hour!'
In that instant, Natham awoke and wrested control of his body once again from his infuriated brother. He lifted the wounded Marshall and carried her gently through the archway of Thlux and left the dwarf lands unhindered. Lyris was very weak as he bore her over the rocky terrain toward the east and then along the northern road toward Olgrost. With a great effort she removed her helmet and let it fall clattering upon the stoney path. She looked again upon the two-headed beast that had once more rescued her. She lifted her left arm and put her soft hand upon the scarred face of Judan. Her kind hand reminded Natham of another kind hand, long forgotten. In all his life, this was only the second time a mortal hand had touched the face of his afflicted brother. Tears filled her eyes and she fell into a deep sleep in his arms.