The Dwarven Guardian Read online

  Contents

  The Dwarven Guardian

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  Hammersong Part 1

  Sacrifices Part 2

  Bloodshed Part 3

  A Saints of Wura tale (the conclusion of events that began in The Dwarven Guardian)

  Note from the Author

  Copyright

  The Dwarven Guardian

  Lost Tales of the Realms

  J.T. Williams

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  PART 1 HAMMERSONGS

  Redstone quarry, black stone ore,

  Melt it, smelt it, pound it more.

  Icy river cools the fires,

  Kindling dwarven lust desires.

  Harrodarr, the Dwarven Hold,

  Hammersongs, fierce and bold,

  Destroy our foes with crack and crush,

  Drink some ale and into battle rush.

  Do not fall back! Forward charge!

  Smash our enemies small and large.

  Dine within the Halls of Blood,

  Send them all to the gods above.

  Ax blow, hammer fall,

  Shield smite them to the ground,

  Until the gods call us back,

  With horns and drums to forever sound.

  -Songs of Harrodarr-

  Stones quake in the twilight of sunrise. I stand with my brothers, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. We are dwarves of Harrodarr, the stronghold of stone. Our enemy struck us with transgressions beyond just mere warfare. A wicked sickness strikes all people of magic and our hope for a cure is fading. But it does not matter. We will not cede our ground.

  The lower ranks of our army marches forward, a curtain of dust rising from their boot stomps. The valley is on fire, and the smell of bloody iron fills my nostrils.

  I am Nurocas, Hammersong of Harrodarr. My father fell in the elf wars in the last age, and now, times have become as such that elf and dwarf stand beside one another in combat against a greater enemy.

  The Legions of men and their Grand Protectorate encircle us. Our holy places are laid to waste. Our bodies ache from combat, unceasing like the undulating waves of the Glacial Seas.

  Last night, the forward guards failed to report with the sign of torchlight flashed toward the mountains. This was a signal repeated every moment the moon clock’s shadow changed as a way to assure the perimeter was holding. When the torches went dark, my brothers and I were called forth. Approaching the Tower of Sight, the westernmost point of our line, we found that vile men had taken to it. We made every breathing man choke on our ax heads with ease, but it was beyond the tower, in the far distance, we spotted the banners of the enemy approaching with all of their strength.

  Now, that enemy, in its vileness, villainy, a horrid virtuous fallacy, march against us.

  Horns sound, and my brother dwarves engage the line of the aggressors, as we Hammersongs have taken to a far-right flank. I hold my hammer firmly, and with a tune in the air as the runes of power echo the song of our people, I raise it ready to strike.

  I feel the power in my armor as the earth under my feet brimmed with energy invigorates me. My helmet, strapped under my chin, curls my vision around the nose guard but does not drown out the potent smell of rotting flesh this valley has seen for some time. This attack is not new, only a fish swimming between two ponds with a narrow river of taken and taken back rocky earth. The siege has gone on for months.

  “Hail, Hammersongs!” cry our brothers.

  We were the most elite of our kind. Our adversaries were beneath us in every way. Those feeble men, in their tight formations like cowardly mice or a river turtle. Once you crack the shell, in single combat, they are nothing.

  The horns sound down the lines. They retreat, and a last one of the men fall down before me, caught by the throwing ax of one of my brothers.

  “You cursed creature!” it says to me. “Away, let me die away from you.”

  I abide part of his wish. I cleave his head from his body, spurting blood all over the ground. Upon the broken spear shaft left by his brothers, I impale his head and stand it on the road.

  The Legions are retreating for a time.

  I turn to my brother dwarves and then look at my fellow Hammersongs. Not one of us is without anguish or disgust. Our people suffer greatly at the quelling of a sickness, a curse against magic. The world of men means to exterminate us in the belief that magic has become a harbinger of death to the world. They feel the world is not meant for the likes of us anymore. I care little of their feelings.

  “Nurocas,” I hear behind me.

  I turn to see a grand master of our order. His black armor from the deep pits of Harrodarr is the strongest of our kind’s creation.

  “Master.”

  “Great work upon the fields of battle, but I have a need for you in the city. We must speak immediately.”

  I follow him up the grand stairwell of the mountain, between the two rivers of life that flow from the pools near the upper keep of our grand city. It is here the lights of the dwarves shine brightly as a symbol of our resolve even as the now-barren land burns and weeps the blood of our people.

  I enter, following my master and dwarves busy running back and forth, gathering supplies for the soon-to-be returning battle lines. They bow before us.

  “Hail, Hammersongs,” they say. In typical fashion, we do not respond. Hammersongs are the nearest to the Highborn Dwarves as one can be.

  My master looked to me. “We go to the Hall of Rornichor. I tell you something that you do not wish but you must do for all of us. You will be leaving with his young one.”

  “The boy? Leaving to where? The enemy is upon us. My hammer would do well to remain here against the enemy,” I protest.

  He shook his head to me. “The enemy will not leave, and it will be with great sacrifice we will fight to defend Harrodarr, but the elves have summoned a plan. Even now, our forges are bright and hot, crafting a great tool to protect our worlds. Do you know of the mountains of the Far North and our kin the Snow Dwarves?”

  I nod. “They are reclusive and do not love battle as we do.”

  “They have prepared a place for us of magic, a place we will be safe from the sickness. Both Rornichor and his wife shall remain here for our people, but you are to take their son to safety in the North. There is more,” he says putting his hand on my chest. “Be watchful, there will be elves to the west. A small group of them but I have seen in the workings of the priests of Throka they are a key. If you come upon a group of elves traveling as you, I charge you to work with them in whatever way you must.”

  I nod, “Yes, master.”

  “Good and nothing of this to Rornichor or his wife. Know that elves and dwarves move towards darkness and we must keep hope in whatever way we can.”

  The high ceilings o
f the inner halls of the mountain glow with the torches lining the pillared walkways. Had we proceeded forward from the main gates, we would have descended to the Great Hall and a fine ale, but it was not to be this day.

  The families of highborn dwarves of regard like Rornichor and his clan are kept well and in their own halls. Rornichor has only been in Harrodarr since his son began his studies of mining and ax work. Rornichor is a man of honor and was once a simple dwarf born without wealth. He now commands a vast number of our mountain guards but for me to be summoned personally to care for his son, is a honor. The boy wishes to be a Hammersong, though. I tell him at just over thirty years in age, he is too young.

  We come to a large door with two strong dwarves standing at the sides. The door is opened, and I see into the home of Rornichor. He sees me at once.

  “Nurocas!”

  He embraces me. “It is well you have come.” With a smile, he looks at me. “I have told him, but he has not taken it well. I do hope you can liven him up.”

  “I only just know of it. He is a good dwarf to wish to stay, to defend his home.”

  The young dwarf sits by the fire. His ax on his back, his normal school of mining far from his mind as I walk past the fair wife of Rornichor.

  “Master Hammersong,” she says to me.

  “My lady, it is well to be in your home.”

  She touches my arm as I pass, and then gasps. “You are injured.”

  I look down to where she touches and see a gash in my arm. Their boy looks up at me. My armor, normally shining, is dirty with muck and dust. There is blood splatter on my arms. I have trained him for years now in fine ax work, but he has never seen me in the condition I am now. I look back toward his mother.

  “I am well. Many with injuries worse than mine exist.” I look again at the boy. “Slatnichor, you are going with me, young one.”

  He looks up at me with the glare of a young child with tears in his eyes and a red face.

  “Do you weep for your absence to battle?”

  “Of course, Master.” The boy’s eyes scan to his mother and father, and he looks back down.

  It is only nature to miss one’s parents, but the boy has a strong mind and is stalwart even in his younger years. I can see past his words, but he is well to keep clear thoughts.

  Rornichor pulls me to a side room where my master has joined him around a great table. A map is before us, and dimming candles flicker in the corners of the room.

  “Nurocas, we have prepared a way for your escape with my son.”

  “So lucky would others be to have this way as well. There are many children too young to fight, and elder dwarves too old.”

  “We have a way,” said my master. “A host departs this night through the dwarven tunnels to meet up with the elves of Narisond. They, too, will make the journey you do but upon a different path, and under an elven invisibility spell, they will move in secret. I will be with them as a small guardian contingent.”

  “And you, Master Rornichor?” I ask him.

  “My wife and I remain here, to defend Harrodarr.”

  A solemn look is in his eyes, but I cannot tarry on the thought of his personal suffering.

  “I will take care of your son.”

  “I know. That is why I requested you, for your journey north will not be with ease, but we have prepared a way to make the journey simpler.”

  He points to the map. “The northern road up to the rocky cape. A boat will await you to take you west. From there you will head toward the edge of Taria. The tunnels will take you under the bay and speed your path north. You will enter the city from beneath the mountains.”

  “Do the others journey this way too?”

  “They go the direction you do but will come from the south, following the Tiken Mountains. The road through Taria will lead them to an elvish holy place, and from there they will use another spell to move everyone at once to Elinathrond.”

  “So indeed the Snow Dwarves have prepared a place for all races?”

  “Elinathrond shall be our salvation.”

  Rornichor goes to a shelf and pulls down three mugs. A tapped keg sits near a fireplace against the far wall. He pours us each an ale and sets them on the table.

  I take mine and put it to my mouth, the foam atop it buzzes my nose, and I drink a hearty mouthful. I am disheartened by our path.

  “Is there no hope in defense of the mountain?”

  “Our numbers have dwindled down from tens of thousands to no more than six thousand axes.”

  Rornichor chugs his ale and then slams it down.

  “Those six thousand will move south with our hope in the future. Great deeds need doing in the coming week, and the gods have smiled upon us. Etha, the goddess herself, is with the elves, and Wura has given his signs in the polar lights over Elinathrond. Safe we will be kept, and in death, many of us will find honor.”

  “Harrodarr will be abandoned?” I ask.

  Rornichor stares at me. “Hammersong, I know you will not let harm come to my son. He is a key to our future, chosen by Disi and the greater one, Throka.”

  “The dwarf-god and the one of the mountains? Who has interpreted these signs?” I ask.

  “It was a sign in his birth that Disi would smile upon him in time,” says my master, “We must keep him safe and see that one day he is able to carry the fate of our people forward. But all steps to this future have not been completed. We must outlast the enemy, not only men but also the Itsu gods. They are weakened, but we do not know what has come upon the god of war, Kel. We fear he may be dead, or worse, taken by the enemy, if you can believe such ludicrous ideas.”

  “We live in dark times, brothers,” I say to them. “I will protect the boy with my life.”

  “Then you must leave soon. Before they attack again.”

  We go back to the hall, and I spot Slatnichor with his mother, his eyes now fresh with tears.

  “You will be fine with Nurocas. He has taught you well.”

  Slatnichor rubs his eyes. “But you do not come with me?”

  “I cannot. We must remain here to assure you can get to safety. We will follow when we can.”

  The boy grips his mother. “Please, momma.”

  I walk up behind him and touch his shoulder. “Slatnichor, are you ready, boy? Is your ax head sharp, and did you oil it as you are supposed to?”

  “Sharpened before morning light, Master.”

  He turns to me, standing as tall as he can, his ax catching both glimmers of torchlight and the glimmer of his mother’s tears.

  “Tell your parents goodbye.”

  He embraces his mother but pulls away quickly. His father awaits him and grips him tightly.

  “Keep your stance wide when you swing your ax. I do not want you to lose balance,” he tells him.

  “I will, Father.”

  The boy walks toward me, and I look at the others.

  “We will depart for the northern shore, and I do wish you grace in your efforts.”

  With that, we depart. I begin down the passage, Slatnichor just behind me.

  “We will go to my room first,” I tell him.

  Passing back past the main gates, the passages twisted and turned, delving deep into the mountains. It is past the training grounds of the Harrodarr dwarves and into the inner sanctum of the Hammersongs that I am leading him.

  A grand statue of Disi, his ax of jewels and gold replicated in near perfection, looks down upon us.

  Leaving this early hour in haste for the battle lines, I had left my room in an organized shamble. I am weary even now, but as we enter my abode, sleep is not on my mind.

  I gather up some personal parchments and a few of my own belongings, tossing them in a sack. I grab cloaks to help veil our passage and toss one to Slatnichor.

  He puts it on over his armor but says nothing.

  I gather rations of dried meat for my bag. “Did your parents pack you food?”

  “Yes.”

  One less worry for
myself.

  I douse a lit candle and take a last look into my room. I fear I will not return again to Harrodarr.

  We go back toward the main gates, and it is there in the distance I see the boy’s parents. Rornichor holds his wife and stares toward us, but I do not think Slatnichor sees them. I push him on outside. It is better that way.

  From the battle plains come a host of dwarves from the front. Their eyes are weary. Their bodies busted and bleeding. Harrodarr welcomes them home and will care for them. I am but a dwarf myself, but within my sight, I see many smiles. I do not like to think of it, but more than a few hold the Hammersongs to some kind of reverence to gods in battle. As I tell the young one with me when we train, I am a dwarf like all others.

  We go down the stairwell and then cross a bridge upon reaching the valley. The early-morning sun gives sight to carrion birds in droves diving upon the bodies of the fallen. Too much loss of life in these past few days, but I look outward to the watchtowers, seeing torches burning brightly. We pushed the Legions back, and the dogs will be licking their wounds for some time.

  As the sun crosses the sky above, we walk with the mountains at our side. The northern road leads only to the shore and vastly unoccupied land. The tundra is barren, and a sharp wind blows upon me, a tingling I feel on my face. Slatnichor hasn’t spoken since we left, but I do not give validation to his sadness. He must be strong.

  “The far edge of Harrodarr ground is coming up; the bridge of Raknor River is the edge. We have not been this way but once. Do you remember it?”

  “It was late at night, Master.”

  “Do you remember what we did?”

  “We had practiced ax strikes from atop the bridge. The water was cold, but you told me to strike the boulder in the stream until it cracked. I leaped from that bridge more times that I can remember.”

  “Thirty-seven times. Do you know why I remember that number?”

  “I do not, Master.”

  “Because when I did the same test many years ago, it took me thirty-eight.”