El’Korr took each step with pride, his face resolute, eyes focused on the chamber they approached. Dulgin glanced at his brother and could feel the emotion he was holding back or was it his own emotion he was holding back? So much loss they had all experienced with the fall of Bridazak and Rondee and more loss was inevitable with war against the remaining Horn Kings on the horizon.
The light of the torches lining the walls lit the pathway, and the smell of burning oil filled the tunnel. The crisp chilly air filled their lungs as they marched one step at a time, following the staggered drum beat. The cold brought numbness to the depth of their bones like the sorrow they carried in the depth of their hearts.
Geetock led the eighteen remaining wild dwarves, who unwaveringly held the tradition that only dwarves would be permitted to partake in the funeral of one of their own. The drums were also a deep part of the little-known tradition; they signified the announcement of a great warrior into the afterlife, calling for those in God’s realm to prepare to receive Rondee. King Morthkin marched just behind the funeral bed, feeling the weight of having lost so many of his own to the goblins, but thankful for another chance to redeem them. Scores of frost dwarves followed the brigade to show their respect, and to partake in something none of them had ever experienced, as the clan of wild dwarves were even more isolated than themselves.
An ice-rock altar, flat topped and custom built for the dwarf, stood barren in the middle of the circular room. The wild dwarves marched around one to each side, alternating, continuing to beat the drums that were strapped across their shoulders. El’Korr and Dulgin brought Rondee to the center and laid him down on top. The drum beat increased.
The frost dwarves stood in resolute military ranks and files outside the chamber, offering honor worthy of a fallen king.
The drum strikes became faster and faster, still in unison, until finally coming to an abrupt halt, and the echo faded to silence. Each dwarf could still hear the beating inside their minds, but it soon quieted. No one made a sound.
The wild dwarf brigade each took their drums off and laid them at their feet. Geetock stepped forward, withdrawing a waterskin. He pulled the stopper and poured the water over Rondee’s face. It splashed and trickled down the sides. Geetock said, “Keldot te fesh. We baptize you into the next realm.” He placed the waterskin nestled in between his arm and body.
Another wild dwarf stepped forward, uncorked his ale-skin, and poured the contents over Rondee’s chest. The smell of strong dwarven ale permeated the air. Bubbles of the alcoholic liquid oxidizing his hide armor slowly dissipated as the wild dwarf said in a gruff and deep voice, “Daemosh te kah-doo. We celebrate your victories.” The dwarf placed the skin opposite the other, nestled in the armpit and then backed away.
In unison, the entire clan of wild dwarves yelled, “Ki thelos!”
Silence once again enveloped the room. El’Korr took a deep breath, exhaled, and then walked forward, standing at the foot of the altar.
His deep voice echoed, low at first but strengthening after each word, “You have been baptized to enter the afterlife. The finest ale, reserved for kings, has been shared to honor you and in recognition of your conquered enemies in this life you leave behind. A dwarf is naked without his beard and without his weapon, though I have seen you break bones of giants with your bare hands.” El’Korr unclipped Rondee’s trophy tiny hammer and rested it in his friend’s hands and chest. “Thank you for following me in this realm and now it is an honor to follow after you into the next. Selfot te miember, my friend.”
“Kheldosh!” all the wild dwarves yelled together.
El’Korr stepped back as Rondee’s family and clan held hands and circled his body. They bowed their heads and telepathically melded their minds with one another. Seconds elapsed and there was an energy building in the atmosphere that caused the surrounding dwarves to glance at one another puzzled, aware that something was happening.
A beam of light formed out of each of their chests and slowly wafted closer to the deceased laying before them. It finally connected over Rondee’s body, the white and orange swirling light encompassing the fallen hero. The aura increased to the point that caused the others to look away, all except El’Korr, who narrowed his eyes but held his gaze.
A far off rumble, like that of thunder, was heard. The light pulsed and then ended abruptly as a remnant sound of a bolt of lightning faded away. Each dwarf brought their eyes back to the altar to find it empty. Rondee had vanished.
The wild dwarves picked up their drums and began beating them together once again. They marched out of the chamber in single file. El’Korr remained, as did Dulgin. The others slowly followed, none of them speaking to one another out of respect of what they had just witnessed.
Dulgin whispered to his brother, “Where did his body go?”
El’Korr did not respond but held his gaze upon the empty calboar wood bed.
“Come, brother,” Dulgin tugged.
“He died heroically,” El’Korr said softly.
“The heart of a true dwarf.”
El’Korr turned to look into Dulgin’s eyes, “He saved my brother.”
“He saved all of us.”
The dwarven kin embraced one another. Dulgin gently pushed El’Korr’s shoulders back after a minute and said, “Come, we have another fallen hero to honor with the rest of the races of Ruauck-El.”
Morthkin, King of the frost dwarves, ruler of Te Sond, and protector of Guul-Fen mountains, stood before thousands assembled in the Great Hall. His white robes with gold stitching, and clergy adornments set the ambience for the gathered. A hush fell over the crowd as the dwarf positioned himself to stand in front of his throne. The heroes lined up on the side, shoulder to shoulder. Spilf stood with his parents at the bottom of the steps. Elite frost dwarf guards displaying polished silver shields stood at attention along the walls, their stoic stares cast straight ahead.
King Morthkins’s deep voice echoed, “Beloveds of God, today we are gathered here in honor of a great hero, Bridazak Baiulus, the carrier of the Orb of Truth and a friend of God, the one who has brought light back into this darkened world. His sacrifice, his courage, his faith, has been felt within us all.” Morthkin paused, then looked at Dulgin and nodded.
The red-bearded dwarf stepped forward and faced the thousands gathered. Dulgin was hesitant at first, not being used to so many people looking at him, but bolstered himself and said firmly, “Bridazak was my friend. He fought with a dwarven heart and spoke as a noble. He now resides in the eternal heaven, and will embrace each of us at the gate of love—this I’m certain. He will forever be in my guarded heart and I’m sure he has snuck into a few other hearts too. There is nothing greater than to lay down your life for another and there isn’t a moment that goes by that I stop missin my friend. If I could trade places, I would.”
Dulgin gruffly finished and stepped back. King Morthkin continued the service, “Good races of Ruauck-El, we are not mourning this loss today, we are celebrating the freedom he has given us all, by his sacrifice in the defeat of the tyrant oppressor Manasseh, not once, but twice. Look around you brothers and sisters. See the soul that stands next to you. Together, we are strong, and together we will fight against the injustices placed on us, on our friends, and on our families. Too long have we stood idly by as evil has corrupted our lands, our homes, and our people. It is time!”
Xan nudged Dulgin, “What is he doing?”
Dulgin nodded slightly while smiling, “He is getting these armies all riled up, that’s what he’s doing.”
“Do you think that is appropriate right now?”
“Damn right it’s appropriate. Bridazak would be doing something. God commissioned us to gather and save the good folk of the realm, and that’s what we will be doing.”
Xan said no more and raised one eyebrow at Raina who was watching them parlay. Morthkin continued his rally speech, a change in direction from what he initially intended as a comforting message for those mourning t
he loss of Bridazak.
Raina startled Xan when she whispered in his ear from behind him, “What is wrong, my brother?”
“We need to talk, in private.”
“About?”
Xan leaned in close to Raina and said, “Our fallen Bridazak.”
Cheers suddenly erupted within the hall, a deafening uproar, as Morthkin closed his message.
Inside a small antechamber just off the main gathering, Xan and Raina were alone.
“What do you mean, he is not dead, Xan?”
“Sister, he mouthed the words, ‘I will be back.’ That is all I know. What can you tell me of the underworld? Is it possible he could survive?”
“Only the dead survive the underworld. Bridazak made his choice and he is now in the arms of God.”
“But what if God told him to go?”
“Go where—the underworld? Why?”
“I don’t know why, I’m just thinking out loud.”
“It’s impossible, Xan.”
“But nothing is impossible with God,” he countered.
Raina regained her composure. There was a brief lull before she responded, “My dear brother, I think it would be best not to say anything about this to anyone. We do not want our friends, still in deep pain from their loss, thinking that someone can just go tromping off into the murk of Hell to contest Bridazak’s actions. We need everyone focused.”
“Raina, but what if? Isn’t there a way we can find out magically?”
“Xandahar, enough of this. Let everyone move on.”
“I can’t, Raina. If you know some way, then tell me.”
She hesitated, staring directly into his eyes, and then she answered softly, “The only way to view the happening of the underworld is to use Akar’s Looking Glass.”
“Where is this item?”
“No one has seen it for centuries. What I am telling you is that it is impossible.” Raina held her position until Xan relinquished his fighting spirit and sighed. “Now that this is settled, let us join the others and celebrate the life Bridazak lived, not the life he lost.”
Xan nodded, feeling a little defeated. Raina exited the room. The door closed, leaving Xan alone. He thought to himself, “God, what can be done?”
If Raina was right, then it would be impossible for anyone, including his closest friends, to find out if he was in heaven or in the underworld. He knew his sister would not approve, but even so, he would have to inform Spilf and Dulgin about Bridazak’s last words at some point. Just not yet. It was not the time. “Tell me when, and show me how,” he prayed.
Falling through the shadow realm and then floating to the pitch black, lifeless and indiscernible ground, Bridazak finally reached the bottom. His magical bow, the Seeker, glowed intensely, as did his entire countenance. The soft white light radiated out twenty feet in all directions, still not giving him a sense of what he walked upon.
“Now what, Bridazak?” His words sounded hollow and distant and were more defined after each echo resounded. The audible heightened and then faded just as quickly. He looked directly up and said, “Well, you brought me here. Care to give me directions?”
Suddenly, Bridazak spotted the shiny reflection of eyes in the darkness beyond. The round grey globes blinked. He withdrew an arrow, but it crumbled into dust before he could notch it. He reached for another and the remaining did the same within the quiver. His dagger was quickly in his palm and the blade corroded instantly, the pommel cracked. He let it go and watched the weapon meld into the rock he walked upon. The only thing that didn’t wither away was his clothes and his bow, now useless without an arrow.
Bridazak now saw several pairs of murky reflections staring back at him and quickly realized he was surrounded, as more creatures gathered to the beacon of light.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Bridazak said.
Strange guttural laughs ignited and echoed all around him, like screams zipping by his ears. A hideous beast entered the outer layer of light. Bridazak squinted to get a better look. Black slime dripped off of its amorphous body as it languidly approached. A strong stench of death caused Bridazak to cover his nose and his face contorted sourly. Hissing sounds, followed by rising smoke, came from the creature as it entered the incandescent area. It repulsed back, screeching painfully away. Others tried to enter the light and fled in like manner.
Bridazak felt the ground rumble and loose rock rattled and shifted on the surface. Before his eyes, just outside the glowing arena he cast, red lines sprouted from the cracks in the earth and soon molten lava spewed out, creating a red luminescence. In the middle of the forming lava pool was a single black rock that slowly rose. Materializing on top of it was the ruler of Kerrith Ravine. The stone shaped itself into a throne he sat upon, while magma bubbled underfoot.
“If I had known you were coming, then I would have prepared for your arrival, befitting of someone as despicable as you. Why do you bring your foul presence here?”
“We never got to finish our conversation in Manasseh’s dungeon,” Bridazak said, surprised by his own confidence, considering his situation.
“Yes, you denied my promises and chose your foolish path.”
“I chose the truth. You offered me lies.”
“Did I? Are you certain? You speak boldly, but you should mind your manners, little-soul,” his voice sharp and caustic. “What is it you want here?”
“The almighty doesn’t know?” Bridazak could feel the hatred, it was tangible. “I have come for Manasseh. Give him to me and we will leave.”
“What makes you think you can come to my home and ask for something that does not belong to you.”
“I am not asking, I am telling.”
Instantly, the creature appeared in front of Bridazak, snarling black teeth, dripping bloody saliva. He roared, releasing breath so foul, it would kill the undead. Bridazak fell backwards to the ground, repulsed and began to puke violently. Green bile splayed across his cheeks and dribbled down his neck as he coughed and gagged. Its hulking black skinned mass hovered over the tiny ordakian, his claws digging into the rock like sand, next to Bridazak’s head.
“Your maker might be protecting your soul, but he cannot protect your mind. You will wish for death after walking in my domain. Your freedom will be your nightmare.”
The Dark Lord vanished before his eyes, the smell lifted, the staring eyes dissipated, and distant echoes of flames, gnashing of teeth, and screams reached Bridazak’s ears as he stood.
“Mental note, Bridazak—apparently he can enter the light. Be mindful of your host.” He looked up to Heaven and said, “Thanks for the help.”
King El’Korr and King Morthkin sat opposite each other at a long, polished ice table. The blue block crafted perfectly and the emblem of a shield embossed on the surface. Plush chairs made from the high altitude trees within Guul-Fenn Mountains, upholstered with furs, lined the outskirts. Each seat filled with high ranking members from both sides. Steins filled with dwarven ale littered the top.
King Morthkin spoke, “The Shield will take as many as she can hold, but we are now having to force newcomers to wait at the base of the mountains. Hundreds show up daily to join the ranks or for protection.”
El’Korr responded, “Aye, and not all are ready to fight. We also have women and children mixed throughout. Several brigades of Manasseh’s former army have broken off and have vowed to fight alongside of us, but it is hard to discern their true motives, considering their backgrounds of tyranny.”
Raina said, “But we must find it in our hearts to have some trust. I am not saying to bring them in with open arms and let down our guard, but we must parlay with them and have someone on the inside of our team to find out the truth behind their actions.”
“These are humans, Raina. We will need to have one of their race deal with them directly. I can handle the dwarves, with my brother, along with King Morthkin, the gnomes are settling with Rozelle, the elves with you and Xan, the ordakians have Spilf, but we do not have a
representative for the humans.”
Her eyes narrowed, “Where is Abawken? He can talk with them.”
An awkward silence hit the room. Raina looked at each of them, trying to figure out what she missed. This was her first interaction with the council since the funeral a few days ago.
El’Korr cleared his throat, “Raina, Abawken has taken a vow of silence according to his customs, and has asked us to respect his wishes.”
“That is absurd. You allowed him to do this?”
“What were we supposed to do, force him to talk and tell him that his traditions don’t matter?”
“Someone should talk with him. Dulgin?” He looked at her stoically, but did not budge. “Spilf? You are his friend.”
“I don’t know what to tell him. Bridazak was the only link between him and us and I am not familiar with human ways. I just think he needs some time to think things through, is all. I might want to take up his tradition as well.”
“Xan?” But her brother shook his head.
She glared at everyone, “Fine, I’ll do it. Where is he?”
“He has not moved from the chapel,” Xan responded.
Raina hastily turned, her robes fluttering gracefully behind her as she exited the war room. Silence engulfed the chamber. The single reinforced door slammed shut and smiles broke on several faces sitting around the table.
El’Korr said, “That was harder than I thought. She is a tough one to sneak around.”
Xan added, “Yeah, I wasn’t sure we could pull it off.”
“Good luck to the Huey,” Dulgin announced as he lifted his mug into the air. Everyone grabbed their own and swung them high in the informal toast, and then took a large swig.
Raina briskly walked down the torch-lit corridor, passing pockets of patrons lingering in the halls, and small units of troops marching to their next destination. She took no notice of the whispers of those she passed by, who gawked at her presence and labeled her one of the heroes of Ruauck-El. Her intentions were to change Abawken’s attitude and get him back to work. To imagine, a noble warrior of his caliber, hiding away inside some chapel with a vow of silence. She could not understand the human’s motives, but she was determined to remind him of the great need she, and the others, had of him.