Raina said to Dal-Draydian, “I want you to look into the eyes of the one that brought you your demise, Dragon.” The blue headed behemoth swung its scaly face in front of her. It’s silvery glistening eyes sparked with electrical charges. The elf continued, “I am Raina Sheldeen, the great mystic of the Elves.”
Dal-Draydian snarled at her. “My hate for you, Elf, is beyond measure. If there is a way, I will find you, even under the veil of the underworld.” The dragon then reeled back in pain, lurching, contorting, and diminishing in size as the final blue stone cracked and it crumbled into dust.
El’Korr sat, back against the wall, embracing his longtime friend. Rondee’s blood soaked both of the warriors, gushing from the wild dwarf’s chest and waist, where the horns of the beast had punctured his body. His wounds partially closed, and opened up again, as his body phased in cycles between the material plane and the ghostly one. The healing El’Korr had summoned again and again could not overcome the wild magic within Rondee, as it burst out in fits about them. The loss of blood was very great. King El’Korr whispered, holding back tears, “I can’t heal you this time, my friend.” The faithful Rondee phased fully into his physical being for the last time, coming to rest in his king’s arms. El’Korr said quietly to God, “Take good care of him. I expect him in tip-top shape upon my arrival.”
Dragon flesh folded into itself, wings snapped off and fell away, sizzling out of existence. The tail ignited like a fuse and disintegrated along with appendages. Popping of bone curling back within itself echoed in unison with its gurgled cry. Within seconds, a brilliant flash of light caused everyone to look away and then faded, casting the chamber into a low resonating glow from the four elements at their stations.
A high-pitched birdlike screech alerted the group, and Rozelle, in her new hawk form, swooped down and grabbed hold of the unconscious Trillius falling downward into the slow moving portal to the underworld. Rozelle snatched hold of the gnome with her claws and flapped her giant wings, bringing them both to safety on the outer walkway. She instantly morphed back to her true self and held Trillius close to her bosom. Trillius’ eyes were closed, but he was breathing. She looked up with tear-filled eyes and pleaded, “Somebody help him.”
The battered and scorched heroes gathered around as Xan kneeled, whispered his incantation, and then laid hands on the gnome’s chest. The healing was administered, however, Trillius still did not awaken. Xan stood and waited. Rozelle looked around frantically as the heroes watched.
“There is nothing more I can do,” said Xan.
Rozelle, crying, kissed Trillius. She reeled back, suddenly startled when Trillius opened his eyes and stared back at her.
Trillius chimed, “Well, if that is how a gnome needs to garner a kiss these days then I will have to play dead more often.”
Xan and Rozelle couldn’t help but chuckle; Trillius was back to himself once again. The gnome said, “I had an amazing dream of riding a five-headed dragon all over Ruauck-El and then I found myself inside a huge room filled with mounds of treasure as far as my eyes could see and chests laden with gems strewn about. It was truly heaven.”
Again, they laughed and then Xan said, “Nice to have you back.”
Trillius looked around at all the unfamiliar faces, “Where are we, and who are all the new people?”
Spilf approached with panic in his voice, “Where is Bridazak?”
Each of them scanned the room. Xan stepped forward and replied, “He is gone.”
“What do you mean gone? Gone where?”
“I’m sorry, Spilf. He sacrificed himself to kill Manasseh. He has returned to the Lost City. He is now with God and our loved ones. We will reunite with him in the future, when we are called home.”
Spilf was confused, but the others bowed their heads in acknowledgment of the tremendous loss. Abawken pulled Raina close to him in a grieving embrace. Bridazak, who had been the carrier of the Orb of Truth, was held dear in everyone’s hearts; none more than Dulgin and Spilf, who had fallen to his knees at the edge of the chasm, shoulders bobbing as the grief of his friends loss was unbearable. Dulgin laid his hand on Spilf’s head and said in Dwarven, “Kawnesh di lengo mi diember faustuuk.”
Xan saw El’Korr holding Rondee and was about to rush over when El’Korr raised his hand and nodded silently, indicating it was too late. The weight of these losses increased upon Xandahar’s mind. He kept to himself the private exchange he had had with the ordakian. Surely he was in the hands of God, Rondee now by his side, and not with the wicked in the underworld.
What Bridazak had mouthed to him would be sure to cause an extreme, ill-advised reaction, and Xan knew he would be foolish to share it now. In time he would reveal what was truly said, though even he couldn’t fight the doubt of Bridazak’s statement, “I will be back.”
As Bridazak plunged into the darkness it was like a deep ocean. He sank into the depths feeling the heaviness of the essence he now travelled; the underworld, a destination reserved for those separated from God. He could see nothing in the murky blackness as doubts of his decision raced to the forefront of his mind. He was isolated, no longer with his friends. He slowly fell through the realm into the world of the Dark Lord’s domain.
Bridazak’s speed increased as if he was attached to an anchor driving him deeper and deeper to the ocean’s floor.
He was in total darkness; nothing for his eyes to latch onto to give him any bearing of his final destination. He wondered how he would find Manasseh in such a place.
Other eyes watched as Bridazak plunged, like a beacon of light into the darkness; resembling a meteor entering the atmosphere on a moonless night.
They watched in disbelief for they had never seen light before. Dazed, they came out of their somber holes to investigate the strange phenomena.
A squad of frost dwarves marched down the corridor, forcing Spilf to cling to the wall to allow them to pass. The dwarves’ vitality had returned since the Sky Diamond was returned to its place. Their blue-tinted skin glowed and the light of the torches revealed that they shimmered, covered with thousands of tiny ice crystals. Spilf felt the chilled air as they passed.
Continuing into the hall alone, Spilf replayed the previous day’s events in the Chamber of Cleansing. “This must have been what Bridazak felt after he thought I died,” he pondered to himself. He still couldn’t believe his best friend was gone, knowing that his dearest friend was in Heaven with God brought him some comfort—some. He always imagined being with Bridazak till the end and learning more from him. Spilf thought, “God, this hurts. Why did he have to go?”
He stopped at a wooden door and stared at it. He thought to himself, “Bridazak, you were supposed to be with me for this.” Spilf rested his forehead against the cold metal strapping next to the release lever. He took in a deep breath and then exhaled. He whispered, “Help me, God.”
The panel suddenly opened, gravity pushed Spilf inward, burying his face into the chest of an ordakian who was in the middle of a sentence while opening the door, “I am going to find out what the—” He stopped, surprised, and then asked, “Who are you and why have we been locked away from our people?”
Spilf heard a surly voice, deep for an ordakian, but a voice he recalled from the vision God had given him in the Lost City. Without a doubt, it was the voice of his bapah. He slowly lifted his head and looked into rich, wheat colored eyes, wrinkles on his brow, brown hair, like his, but with a touch of grey on the sides. His bapah stood a foot taller, arm muscles bulged from his beige robe.
“Well?” his father demanded.
“I-I...” Spilf stuttered softly, as he was hit with many emotions all at once.
“I demand to know what is going on. My wife and I were shuttled off to this room, isolated from the others. Supposedly, we are to talk with someone, and we would like to know who that someone may be.”
Spilf looked quickly toward the back of the sparse chamber. His momah stood next to the fireplace. The orange flames cast her in
a beautiful light; her fair skin glowed. She held her hands in worry, close to her chest. Her soft brown hair, naturally curled, draped over her shoulders and her deep mocha colored eyes narrowed when she saw him. A look of recognition spread across her face.
“Spilfer?” she asked, guardedly.
He nodded. Tears flowed. They ran into each other’s arms. As Spilf buried his face into her chest, he immediately remembered her scent—the smell of berries. His father stood there, uncertain as to what was happening. “What is going on, Lyla?”
She looked into her husband’s eyes, still clutching Spilf, and said, “Your son has come home.”
His breath caught in his throat, “My son?” He took hold of Spilf’s shoulder and turned him. They were face to face. As their eyes locked, he realized his anger had blinded him from the truth. He quickly wrapped his arms around his wife and son and the reunited family cried together.
Spilf, in a voice cracking with emotion, murmured “I found you.”
In the lower tunnels and castle complex, the bloody battle between Goblinkind and Frost Dwarves raged on.
One after the other, the injured arrived at the makeshift infirmary where Xandahar and Rozelle extended their expertise to help. Xan utilized his clerical powers to heal the wounded. Rozelle helped Xan where needed and concocted druidical ointments for minor injuries. The mixed aroma of blood, sweat and natural spices permeated the room. The floor of the tunnel was littered with hundreds of cots holding patients whose painful cries assailed their ears.
Xan and Rozelle shifted their attention from their current patient when King Morthkin and King El’Korr entered, bleeding and battered, with several other fighters coming in behind them. The two leaders shrugged off the helping hands that instantly lurched toward them, commanding the healers to tend to the others instead. Xan and Rozelle approached.
“We are just getting our second wind and will be leaving shortly,” El’Korr said as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
The faces of the kings were covered with heavy grime and their armor and weapons bore the dried gore of battle. El’Korr’s magical full-plate still shined bright as new, with the bloody remnants sliding to the ground.
“Your brother, Dulgin, fights well,” Morthkin said.
“He has lost a good friend, as have I, and is upset about it, so what better way than to kill some goblins?” he chuckled.
“We will all have lost good friends before this is over,” Morthkin responded.
Xan asked, “Are we gaining ground?”
“Nay, but we are not losing any either. We managed to keep them in the lower levels, but they are persistent little insects. It will take weeks for our outer walls to heal themselves.”
Rozelle asked, “Your walls can heal?”
“Indeed, due to the Sky Diamond.”
El’Korr said, “Have we heard from Raina yet?”
Xan started to shake his head in the negative, but suddenly he spotted Raina standing in the doorway. She was wearing white fur draped over her neck and shoulders.
Raina said, “I have news.”
“We were just talking about you,” El’Korr said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Your army is a day away. I made contact with Geetock.”
“That is good news. We can use the few hundred extra hands right now.”
“No longer a few hundred hands, King El’Korr.”
“I understand. What are our losses?”
“You mean what is our gain?”
“Spit it out, Raina. What happened?”
“Initial numbers from Geetock are estimated at eight-thousand and continue to grow. Apparently, all the races in the North have heard of our massing and came to join.”
“Dwarves?”
“All races, some dwarves, some elves, but mostly humans.”
A broad smile spread across El’Korr’s face. He called to King Morthkin, “Time to send this goblin horde back into its hole.”
“Come, we will prepare for your army’s arrival.”
Raina held up her hands, halting them, her face more serious, “There is more.” She lowered her hands and continued, “Another army approaches from the mountains in the North.”
“What army, Raina?”
“A large contingent of dwarves.”
“Dwarves? That is great news.” El’Korr’s face beamed and he grasped King Morthkin’s shoulder to rejoice.
Raina said, “These dwarves are not led by your general Geetock, but by Bailo.”
El’Korr dropped his hand and his face turned sour. “He is still alive?”
“Apparently so.”
“How many follow him?”
“Estimations at this point say it is tens-of-thousands.”
El’Korr’s bushy orange eyebrows raised, “So much has changed over the years. It is time that I speak with him.”
King Morthkin spoke, “Who is this Bailo?”
“He is my Uncle. He was a Hammergold, who was banished by my father. He split our clan and fled to the mountains when the humans surged for power. Bailo wanted no part of the human’s societies, and my father blamed Bailo for separating our people. We had heard rumors that he died in the crags we call Glandi—the Forgotten Mountains. How far away are the dwarves?”
Raina said, “Bailo waits at the front gate.”
Morthkin addressed the two flanking guards standing at attention behind Raina, “Show him in.”
The ice encapsulated kingdom chilled Bailo to the bone as he was escorted through the Great Hall to the chamber of the throne. Hundreds of armed warriors marched in unison on both sides of his small contingent. Their heavy boots reverberated loudly and then faded as they passed by.
When the escorts stopped at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne, Bailo recognized the gleaming full-plate armor of El’Korr, standing near the throne where King Morthkin sat. El’Korr looked to the frost dwarf monarch, and received the nod of his approval to proceed.
El’Korr’s deep resonant voice echoed as he turned toward Bailo, an outcast of his own family of the Hammergold clan, and spoke, “I heard you were dead.”
“Likewise,” Bailo snapped.
El’Korr noticed that Bailo didn’t actually seemed surprised. Bailo’s quick response alerted his instincts that this old dwarf had come out of the Forgotten Mountains on purpose. “What brings you out from hiding?” El’Korr asked.
Bailo took a step forward, but was quickly halted by the guards. The dwarf looked up at El’Korr and said, “I have seen with my own eyes the fall of King Manasseh at your hands and I have come to pay homage.”
“Homage? You have come to pay homage? I cannot wait to see what sort of homage you have in mind!” El’Korr incredulously replied.
“May we talk in private, El’Korr?”
“Nay, you will speak for all to hear.”
Bailo took a deep breath and exhaled. “Very well. Centuries have passed and memories of the former times have become distant, though they haunt me to this day.”
“As they should,” a voice called from outside the room.
Bailo turned quickly and saw Dulgin entering from an opening on the right of the Great Hall.
Bailo was stunned, he exclaimed, “Dulgin, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Baily. I’m one of your haunting memories you were talking about and this ghost is going to kick yer arse.”
King Morthkin waved his guards to intercept the hasty red-head. Dulgin stretched forward trying to break through the defense.
Bailo lowered his head and said in a low hoarse voice, “I never wanted any of this to happen. I have caused grief beyond comprehension.”
He fell to his knees in remorse. El’Korr approached, his every step echoing in the hall, “Bailo, the time has come for your judgement.”
The dwarf king spoke in a hushed tone, “Tooneck-di-vigosh.”
Bailo quickly looked up. El’Korr grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him to his feet.
&nbs
p; Dulgin broke through the guards, smiling, and said, “I forgive you also, except for the scar you gave me. I still owe you for that one.”
Bailo, dumbfounded, uttered, “I don’t understand.”
Dulgin smacked him on his armored shoulder, “You have always been dense, which makes you a Hammergold for sure.”
“We forgive you,” El’Korr stated plainly.
“But—”
“But nothing. Our father told me to prepare for the past,” Dulgin said.
“The past?”
“Yeah, at the time I didn’t understand until my brother told me you were here at the front gate.”
“Your father is alive?” Bailo asked, in confusion.
“Alive and well, in a manner of speaking. Come, we will explain everything.”
It was the seventh sunrise since Bailo and El’Korr’s armies had arrived and helped to fortify Te Sond from the evil horde of goblins. Things had finally settled down enough to survey the damage, and the emotions held at bay were breaking free. The dead were mourned and many private services were held. Two official funerals were planned as well, amidst the chaos of recruitments, and early training exercises already beginning. In small measures, preparation for future military action in hopes of defending from any attack was bringing hope back to many, even those with the heaviest of tasks still before them.
The solemn drums beat in unison. The wild dwarves marched, taking one step with every resounding tap of the cadence beat. El’Korr and Dulgin, along with two other dwarves, carried the wooden bed, fashioned of smooth calboar wood, sourced from the high peaks of Guul-Fen at great cost. Resting on top was the body of Rondee the Wild, a fallen hero of the realm, but more importantly a fallen friend to those who surrounded him now.