Warden

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Choices

King Gimadin spent many decades with the High Priest. The priest advised his King in every major conflict that plagued the Ruby Mountain. Orcs from the surface world were a constant threat. The Drow from below would harass the King’s people.

The races that made the Underdark home. The monsters that were spoken in hush whispers. Umber Hulks. Eye Tyrants, Deep Gnomes, and the most dangerous of all, the Illithids.

The King in his short reign faced many of them with his High Priest right there every step of the way. The priest was a constant calming influence on the King.

This new danger was far worse than anything so far. It was a battle against the unknown, a battle for the Dwarves’ survival.

“I don’t know. I have seen nothing like this.”

The King understood the concern in his High Priest’s voice. He too felt trepidation and frustration at the situation, though he had no one to voice it to.

“How many have fallen to these stones?”

“One hundred sixty-four so far.”

“Pull the outlying farms farther back. Post sentries as far back as possible. If it comes to it, we collapse that portion of the tunnels. We need to keep this in check.”

“Yes, your Majesty, right away.”

King Gimadin turned to his advisors, “No mention of these... these... spheres in the archives?”

“We researched the archives all the way back to before the loss of Ibrenevall. We have found nothing.”

“Blazes! And we can’t get close enough to examine them without losing more people.”

“Your Majesty, if I may. Perhaps it has something to do with us.”

The King gave a puzzled look.

“I mean ‘us’ as in Dwarves of the underground.”

“I’m not following,” said the King.

The advisor explained, “There was a sickness, back when I was a child, that ran through the Rock Gnomes of Caraphat. Only those Gnomes got sick. Their cousins the Tinkers never got ill. Maybe this sickness is much like that one. Maybe it only affects Dwarves that live underground.”

Another of the King’s advisors spoke up, “If that is true, it still hurts us. Every Dwarf lives underground.”

The King grabbed a nearby map. “No, not every Dwarf.”

****

“I... am sorry to disturb you. Arastor of the Clan Frostriver. I mean you no harm.”

Arastor had not heard his clan name mentioned in so long it took a moment for it to register in his brain.

“Frostriver. What do you know of the Frostrivers?”

The man turned to face the ranger, “Barmek Gembreak of Clan Silvercreek. At your service, Master Dwarf.”

Despite Arastor knowing the names, he did not remove the blade from the man’s crotch.

“What does Clan Silvercreek want with me?”

“It is not my clan that asks for you. It is all clans. I have been sent here by King Gimadin.”

Arastor eased his grip on the blade and slid it away from the man. “King Gimadin. Then King Gramdek is dead.”

“Three winters past.”

“Then Clan Hardstone is the ruling house now.”

“Yes.”

Arastor was disheartened by the news. Clan Hardstone had been rivals with his kin for time immemorial.

“King Gimadin asked for you.”

“Why would I be requested by the new King?”

Arastor opened the door and walked inside. “Come in, Barmek Gembreak of Clan Silvercreek. You have much to explain.”

“And that brings us to the present.”

Arastor listened to the story, found it fascinating, but did not understand the point.

“So, no one knows where the stones came from or why they are influencing the population.”

“Our wisest priests do not understand.”

“If finding me is such an important task, why send only one Dwarf?”

“The King felt it necessary. The Clans are losing people at a rapid pace. He did not want to deplete the warriors in case something or someone made a challenge to the kingdom under the mountain.”

Arastor had for the moment forgotten about the Halfling children in his care. That is, until he heard Chawk squawk. Arastor looked up to see the youngest child with a handful of the raven’s tail feathers.

“I must take these children to safety. I’ve no time to travel to the Ruby Mountain.”

“I was told not to return without you.”

Arastor was shocked at the statement, “To banish you if you fail... the King must be in dire need.”

“King Gimadin believes you are the only one that can help.”

Arastor had no desire to go back to the mountain. In fact, he believed going back would be a death sentence. Arastor was dishonored by his family and all his kin when he followed in his great uncle’s footsteps and left life under the mountain to go to the forest and live. Going back would be nothing but pain, sadness, and humiliation.

“And your answer?”

“You can stay the night Barmek.”

****

“This is what I could gather on such short notice.”

“I thank you, Felver,” said Cratha, “I appreciate everything you are doing.”

The Gnome stooped, “I am sorry to hear about Enorim.”

“Yes, thank you.” Cratha winced every time she heard the Elf’s name. She so missed the man.

“Your first visitor has arrived.”

“Thank you again, Felver. Please show them in.”

The man left the room, giving Cratha a few moments to prepare for her visitor.

A tiny knock on the door. Had there been any noise in Cratha’s room, she would not have heard it.

“Yes, come in.”

The Halfling, small even by Halfling sizes, opened the door, barely able to reach the knob or turn it when he did.

“Ms. Cratha, I am Vinster. I believe you asked for my brother, Oszu. He cannot come. He a...”

Cratha was already annoyed at the Halfling, so timid and weak. She had pressing matters, and this alteration was unwelcome. “Why?”

“Ms. Cratha, we buried him last week.”

“Oh my. I’m sorry. I did not mean to be so rude.” Cratha made a motion for the Halfling to sit, “Please come in. I would like to hear the story of your brother.”

Cratha sat with calm silence as she listened to the horrific story of what had befallen Oszu. After the small Halfling had finished, he wiped his eyes and drank the rest of his tea.

“I understand. Thank you for bringing me the news of your brother. I am sorry for your loss.”

Felver escorted the young Halfling out of the room. “Milady Cratha, there is another here.”

Cratha scratched the name Oszu off the paper in front of her. It could have been a freak accident, Cratha thought. Woodsman is a dangerous job. Cratha kept telling herself, Oszu may have gotten careless. But she could not drive away the nagging feeling that Oszu’s untimely death was much like Enorim’s in that it only looked like an accident.

“Send them in.”

A tall man dressed in white robes entered. Taller than most male humans, the man had enough height to run his fingers along the roof of the room. His white robes were colored blue at the hem and cuffs. A large silver half circle adorned his chest.

“May the goddess bless you, Cratha Nalinskat.”

Cratha stood and nodded to the priest, “And to you, Padgal.”

The priest bowed, “How may the Priests of Latariss aid the Iron League?”

****

Arastor had slept little in the night. The arrival of Barmek and the news of a new King under the Ruby Mountain pulled the aging ranger back to when he was a boy, when his uncle left life under the mountain and headed south to the forest.

Arastor was a child when his uncle left. The family disowned the rogue Dwarf, saying that Dwarves live under the ground; they do not travel off to the forest to live like Elves.

As a child Arastor did not understand why they would not be happy that his Uncle found a place he would be at peace, no matter where it was. That’s when Arastor decided when he was old enough he would go to see his uncle in the forest and tell him about the love he had for the man and how Arastor thought it a brave and powerful notion to follow one’s dreams.

It turns out his uncle’s leaving was a prophetic sign, as his family fell out of favor with the current royal house and things for the Frostriver clan went downhill from there.

When Arastor came of age, he left the world under the mountain to travel to his uncle. Once Arastor saw the beauty of the forest, the green expanse, the sun and the life the trees held, Arastor vowed never to return to the Ruby Mountain.

Sadly, Arastor never reached his uncle. The man disappeared before he arrived. No one has seen or heard from him since.

A small tear streaked the ranger’s face. He would explain it away that it was because of the crowd that now filled his home. But knew better.

The children had all climbed into Arastor’s bed. The Dwarf smiled as he watched the children turn his bed into a pile of Halfling arms and legs interspersed with twisted blankets.

Barmek slept in the only chair in the home. His feet spread across a small table as a makeshift ottoman.

The ranger had a lot on his mind. He needed to help the children find their family. Yet the King of Ruby Mountain was no doubt in a crisis. That he planned to banish Barmek should he fail his mission was not to be taken in anything other than the strongest light.

Arastor’s mind could decide easily enough. The children came first. But his heart would not be so easily persuaded. The Dwarf had no desire to go back to the Ruby Mountain, but they were his kin.

Arastor’s eyes, lost in their reverie, locked on the small leather bag that hung over his bed. The purse still had the note attached.

Fallfell, Arastor thought. I never went down there. The ranger remembered Shariana. She gave him the bag with the three rings before he left Allond. Arastor remembered the day he met the Songweaver, in what was left of Burrafirth.

He remembered those awful weeks that followed—the pain and the death. Whatever the rings and the note meant, Arastor no longer wanted to be a part of that world, the one filled with such evil, such desolation. No, Arastor wanted no part of it.

Yet there had always been a tinge in his heart, a guilt that he had never completed the wish of his friend and taken the bag to Grey Star tavern.

Arastor gestured to a forest mouse running across the bedpost, to retrieve the bag for him. The Dwarf dumped the contents into his rough hand. Three rings. One of wood, one iron, and one black obsidian. Shariana’s cryptic note never gave the purpose of the rings or what waited in Fallfell.

With a firm set jaw and a sigh, the ranger pulled his old bones off the makeshift bed and packed. I must take these children to the ferry. Fallfell would only be another two days’ ride south.

Arastor decided it was time to find out what his friend, Shariana, had given him. Traveling to Fallfell would be the perfect excuse why the ranger could not help those in the Ruby Mountain.

****

Rain sat on her mount facing due east. The rising sun warmed the woman’s face. There was a stiff breeze coming out of the Great Forest to the north. Though winter was many moons away, the wind that surged across the plains and into every crevice of her clothing felt like frost.

Two signs stood in front of Rain. One pointed east and read Fallfell; the other pointed north and read Tinker Town.

Rain spoke to the rising sun, “I could head south. Fallfell is only two days’ ride. Or I could head north. I have never seen Tinker Town.”

“Side ho!”

Rain was shaken out of her musing by a caravan moving at a healthy rate. The woman backed up her horse with hardly enough time to spit when the wagon surged past.

Rain continued to back her horse away from the road and into the prairie. She stopped on a small little hill that gave her a better view of the valley.

She had paused only a moment when five riders, wearing dark armor, raced into view. Their horses were flat out, doing everything possible to catch the wagon.

“Let’s see what this is.” Rain spurred her horse into a run.

The dark riders saw Rain coming in from their right. Three of them veered off the road and headed straight for her.

“A welcoming party. Why not?” Rain slid a katana from its sheath; standing higher in the saddle, Rain spurred her horse faster.

One of the dark riders drew a long-curved sword, another a crossbow. Rain saw the arrow leave the device. The marksman was good. The bolt would have struck her in the chest if it had reached her. Not long after the missile left the crossbow, it veered right and stuck itself into the dirt.

Rain thanked her father, wherever he was, and continued forward without pause.

The four met in a cloud of dirt. Rain fell off her horse to the right, using her empty arm to wrap around the dark rider on her right, tearing him from his saddle. Rain landed on her feet, but her foe did not.

The other riders leapt off their mounts and made their way towards Rain, stopping short to help their companion up.

Rain drew her second katana. She made several impressive moves one would only see in a sword instructor’s class then ending in a flourish. The moves were designed to scare and to loosen Rain’s muscles in the chilly air.

The warrior raised her katanas to catch the morning sun. “This is Bamosi, the Sword of Reckoning,” the warrior spun the katana. Then she spun the second sword, “And this is Nightbane, the Soul of Widows.”

“Stupid b***h. You are not scaring any of us.”

Rain made a small bow to her opponents, “Death is but a moment in time.”

****

The shadow man adjusted himself atop his horse. He found a small little hillock that allowed him a full view of the woman and her three opponents.

Though mist and chill still hung within the air, the shadow man could not feel the cold. He was not tired or sore from riding through the night. He had spent so much time on the back of a horse, drifting through the land like a lazy stream, he did not feel the aches and pains of normal men.

The new day’s sun was peeking over the horizon, silhouetting the coming combat.

“Now, let us see, Milady, if you live up to repute.”

****

“It is working better than we expected,” said Misnia. The priest rubbed her dark hands together.

Thokuhm stood at the edge of the precipice. From this height, he could see far off to the other side of the cavern, to the lights of the city of Bhorboldihr.

“It’s only a matter of time and the Red Mountain will be yours,” said the priest.

“Sire.”

Thokuhm did not remove his gaze from the far-off city. “Yes?”

“The King called another meeting with his advisors.”

“Excellent,” Thokuhm grinned. “After the stroke of the night-bell, roll the boulders another twenty paces.”

****

Barmek was shocked. He had not expected Arastor’s answer, “So you are not coming? Even at the request of your King.”

“He’s not my King,” Arastor said.

“Sir Dwarf-man, are we going to the ferry today?”

Arastor patted the child on the head. “Yes, soon.”

The children started singing and jumping as children often do, asking questions faster than a speeding arrow. Arastor only caught a few of the questions and answered them. Though by the time he gave the answers, he was already a dozen questions behind.

“Yes, you can ride the pony,”

“Yes, the bird is coming with us.”

“What shall I tell the King?”

“Tell him nothing,” said Arastor. “You are banished. You cannot return to tell him anything.”

Arastor swung open the door and Chawk took to the air with the children racing behind.

“I am taking the little ones to the ferry.” Arastor reached into his pocket and felt the leather bag and the note. “And then I’m going to Fallfell. You are welcome to come.”

Arastor closed the door, “Perhaps you can make a life for yourself in that town.”

Barmek had little choice but to travel with the ranger. He could not go back without him and knew no one in the world outside the Ruby Mountain. Perhaps I can convince him along the way, thought Barmek.

That morning in the Spotted Woodlands was, like most, chilly but sunny and beautiful. Sunlight filtered through the Sonberry Trees and lit the blue needles of the Haven Pines with a golden glow.

The three children atop Arastor’s pony were giddy. Animals of all kinds came to greet the ranger and his party. Squirrels used Arastor like a tree, chasing each other in and out of the Dwarf’s clothing. Festidill Birds would land on Arastor’s shoulders to sing their twee-nee songs.

“Mr. Dwarf-sir, are the animals always like this?”

“In these woods, young Halfling, the animals are free and happy, protected by the magic of the forest.”

Barmek scoffed, “Magic of the forest. Why do you fill these children’s heads with such nonsense?”

Arastor smiled under his heavy beard, “You do not believe in magic?”

“No,” Barmek corrected himself. “Well, priest magic, yes. I mean healing magic from the gods.”

“So only priests can wield magic?” asked Arastor.

“Yes, well, no.” Barmek had to correct himself again, “The mages of the Grey Spire have wizard magic.” Barmek cleared his throat, “Or so they say.”

“Then why have these magic wielders not fixed the King’s problem?”

“I don’t know. I was only sent to get you. They did not fill me in on details.”

“So that is the only magic? This forest has none?” Arastor halted the pony.

“That is right,” said Barmek.

Arastor chuckled and walked over to an Aple’ak tree, one with a girth twice the size of the Dwarf. Arastor put a hand on the tree and bowed his head for a few breaths. Then the ranger walked into the tree as if it was not there and disappeared.

Barmek screamed in shock.

The children cheered and clapped their hands.

Twenty paces away, Arastor walked out of a similar-looking Aple’ak tree, without as much as a single scratch, not one blemish on any part of the man.

The ranger, shaking his head, walked up to Barmek, “No magic in the forest... hunh.”

****

King Gimadin had slept little in the past few months. He had eaten less. The Queen was worried. She saw her husband’s weight drop. His eyes were black. The skin on his face was dull and hung on his skull like wet laundry.

The lack of sleep was becoming a problem. The King was becoming forgetful, absent minded. His temper flared easily, and the Queen could find no affection in his touch.

The Queen pleaded with her husband, “My King, please you must eat something.”

King Gimadin slapped the food from out of the front of his face. The Queen only sighed and turned to leave.

The breakfast room was dead quiet. Much like the rest of the palace.

The King had kept only one advisor close to him, and that was only for a word of one piece of news.

“No word from Barmek?”

“No, Your Majesty, he has not returned.”

“What is the count now?”

“Two hundred seventy-four.”

King Gimadin pounded his fist on the throne, “We have no more options. Alert the miners. Tell them to collapse those two portions of the tunnels.”

“Your Majesty--“

“Seal it off!”