An Alliance of Mortals, page 10
part #6 of The New Earth Chronicles Series
“I wonder how that will go over?” Shandon said, his voice thin with fatigue.
They reached the tall, heavy doors of the throne room and the two royal guards standing there quickly opened them.
“Thank you,” the king said to the warriors, both of whom were wearing the armor of the king's personal guard. “Your duty is done for the day. Please go and get some rest.”
Both warriors, one male and one female, slammed a fist to their chests. Their heads were bare because the king preferred to see the faces of everyone who served him, including his guards.
“Thank you, my lord,” the woman said proudly. “We will. It has been an honor to serve you this day.”
The king smiled at her. Her short black hair framed a smooth, round face, making her appear much younger than she probably was.
“You can relax now, Amalain,” he said warmly. “You are officially off duty. Say hello to your father for me when next you see him, would you? Torran was a good friend back in the days when we served as warriors together.”
The guard returned the king's smile.
“Thank you, my lord. I will do that. Father still speaks very fondly of you.”
“Does he? Considering some of the bar fights I dragged him into, I'm surprised by that. Did he ever tell you how he got that scar over his left eye?”
Amalain chuckled.
“Many times, my lord,” she replied. “When you ascended to the throne, he began telling anyone who would listen that the new king split his head open with a beer stein years ago. I think that he wears that scar like a badge of honor now.”
Shandon burst out laughing.
“Same old Torran,” he said. “As strong as steel with a head to match. Well, have a good evening, both of you.”
The guards saluted again and Shandon left the room with Falder following closely behind him.
“How do you do that, my lord?” he asked the king as another pair of guards, stationed outside, saluted Shandon.
He nodded at them in return and followed the long red carpet that stretched out the length of the hallway leading away from the throne room.
“Do what?” Shandon asked curiously.
“Remember so many faces and names. I'd guess that you probably know the name of every one of your royal guards and their entire family lineage.”
The king shook his head.
“Hardly,” he replied, amused. “I do have a knack for remembering faces, that's true enough, but unless I've known someone's family in the past, I certainly can't speak to their lineage. Thanks for the compliment though.”
Both dwarves laughed together and Falder followed the king as he made his way through the palace to his quarters.
Once they reached his rooms, Shandon left the seneschal alone for a few minutes while he went to change into more comfortable attire. Falder sat down in the lounge, a large room that held several tables surrounded by chairs, with a long bar running along one wall. As he sat quietly, lost in thought, he heard a rumble of conversation coming from the hallway that led to the lounge. A moment later, two dwarves entered the room and stopped abruptly when they saw the seneschal sitting alone.
“Falder!” one of them exclaimed. “You're sitting no more than a dozen feet from a keg of ale and not drinking? Are you ill?”
“You're well aware that the king's seneschal doesn't drink,” the second dwarf said to him. “Why do you constantly tease him?”
“Because it's not normal, that's why,” his companion stated. “A dwarf who doesn't drink is as unnatural as a bat that doesn't fly.”
Falder stood up politely and smiled at the two dwarves.
“I like to keep my wits about me when serving the king,” he told them. “That isn't unnatural. It's just good practice.”
The first speaker was Jergen Moss. His black beard hung to his waist and, even though he was wearing a plain tunic and plaid pants, an axe hung from his belt.
The other dwarf was Pieter Elbon. His short beard was gray, as was his hair, but he was as wide and well-muscled as Jergen was. Unlike his companion, he wore only plain brown leather clothing and was unarmed.
Both dwarves were Shandon's closest friends and usually met with the king after he had finished his daily duties.
“Sit down, Falder,” Jergen said roughly. “We're not a couple of perfumed courtiers who need people to bow and scrape when we enter a room.”
He walked over to the bar as Pieter rolled his eyes and crossed the room to sit down next to the seneschal.
“There are no more of those types of people serving at court, Jergen,” he corrected his friend as he winked at Falder. “Shandon sent them packing after he took the throne.”
“Yes, well, I still remember how they twittered around the throne, looking for the king's favor,” Jergen said sourly as he began drawing two mugs of ale from a keg on top of the bar. “They were annoying.”
“Everything annoys you,” Pieter told him.
“Not everything.”
Jergen grinned as he walked over and set a mug down in front of Pieter.
“Ale always makes me happy,” he told the two dwarves as he sat down and took a long drink. “Ah, that's good. My mood's improving already.”
Pieter sighed and sipped his own ale. Then he looked at Falder.
“How did today go?” he asked the seneschal. “The usual unending line of supplicants?”
“More or less,” Falder replied as he settled into his seat and relaxed. “But the number of citizens who came to observe the proceedings has grown quite a bit. Even the king noticed the increase. And they seemed to be pleased by what they saw.”
“Well, it's good to know that I can entertain a crowd. Maybe when I retire I can start a new career as an actor.”
Shandon had just walked into the room and he grinned at the others as he made his comment.
Jergen laughed loudly, while Pieter smiled gently at his old friend.
“You don't have the temperament for it,” he told the king as Shandon walked over to grab a large mug from behind the bar. “You hate public speaking and being the center of attention. That's why you make such a good ruler.”
Shandon filled his mug and then turned to lean back against the bar. He stared curiously at Pieter.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You've never sought power,” the older dwarf told him. “You were happy enough back when the three of us were ordinary warriors together, just following orders. That was the life you wanted and you never even spoke about your father, the former king. And when you were forced by circumstances to take the throne, you did so reluctantly and only because you knew how divided the empire would be without an honest ruler. That is the kind of person who should be a king, not someone who seeks power.”
Shandon drank some ale, his expression thoughtful, while Jergen growled at Pieter.
“You think too much,” he scoffed. “Shandon is good at his job. What more do we need to know?”
The king laughed and joined the others at the table. He sat down heavily and took another sip of ale before speaking.
“Yes, he does sometimes overthink things,” he said to Jergen. “But Pieter has a point, I suppose. Ambition is a good trait to have, but not when seeking to rule over an entire race of people. I never wanted this position. You all know that.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“But damn it, someone had to take the throne and try to stabilize the realm,” Shandon continued as he frowned at his mug. “If my father hadn't gone and gotten himself killed because he became complacent on his throne and trusted the wrong people, I wouldn't be stuck with this damned job today.”
He glared at the three dwarves.
“You know that I hate pomp and ceremony. The trappings of royalty annoy me. That's why I banished those damned sycophants from the court. I don't need to be complimented and have my ego stroked by a bunch of minor nobles seeking my favor.”
Pieter smiled knowingly at Jergen.
“I mentioned that before you came in,” he told the king. “And it reinforces my point. You are exactly who we need now in this time of strife and uncertainty. Your people feel re-energized and they fight for a common purpose. Our civilization was in decline, as we all know. We were shrinking, losing focus and slowly fading into the dust of history. But thanks to you, my lord, we are reborn. We have risen from the ashes like a fire drake and now stand stronger than ever.”
“You should have been a poet, Pieter,” Falder told him with a smile.
“Or a jester,” Jergen added gruffly, but he too was smiling as he said it.
“Not bad ideas,” the older dwarf admitted calmly. “But I'm satisfied with what I am doing now.”
“Good. And now that we've sorted out Pieter's future employment opportunities, let's talk about the future of the empire, hmm?” Shandon said, his tone becoming more serious.
The others all sat up and focused on the king.
“What's wrong?” Jergen asked him.
“Wrong? Nothing, for now.”
Shandon drained his mug and set it down on the table. When Jergen reached for it, he shook his head.
“Not right now, thanks,” he told him. “I need a clear head to think this through.”
He looked directly at each dwarf for a moment.
“We all know how much our society has changed in the past few years. When the dragons returned to the world, we were content to wait on the sidelines, complacent and sure that our deep cities would be safe from their evil gaze. We were wrong.”
“You weren't,” Pieter corrected him. “You traveled to the surface and fought alongside that wizard. What was his name? Simon?”
“Simon O'Toole. Yes.”
Shandon smiled wistfully.
“I have never met such a selfless person in my life. I hadn't really meant to join that fight, you know. But once I spoke with Simon, I had no choice. His bravery and commitment to save the handful of human survivors who had managed to escape the dragons inspired me.”
He abruptly thumped his fist on the table.
“But we as a people did not commit to allying with the human race back then. Yes, a handful of us helped them, but if we had used the full might of our armed forces to battle the dragons, many more lives might have been saved.”
He sighed and sat back, playing absently with the beads in his beard.
“That weighs heavily on me to this day,” he added. “And that is why I agreed to ally with the humans, the elves and the Fay. We cannot in good conscience make the same mistakes we made back then. We stand or fall together this time.”
“Well said,” Jergen told him.
Pieter and Falder nodded in agreement and the king smiled ruefully at them.
“Yes, we understand the consequences of inaction at this moment. But what of our people? Will they back my decision? I am not a despot. I am not an emperor. If the majority of dwarves do not want to ally with the other races, then I will not try to force my will upon them. That is not my way.”
“You need not worry, my lord,” Falder assured him. “Your people are loyal to you personally. They trust you, and they know how much danger we are now in. We are no longer safe beneath our miles of soil and stone. The goblins managed to reach us once. They will do so again, of that I have no doubt. And the next time, they may bring more than just themselves to the fight. We've had reports of more monsters appearing within the ranks of the Chaos armies. The evil gods are preparing for something big and we would be fools to think that we will not be a target of their wrath when it comes.”
“You always know just what to say, don't you, Falder?” Jergen said sarcastically.
Shandon chuckled.
“I hope that you are right,” he told the seneschal. “Because I've taken a huge gamble with this alliance. But inaction will doom our people more assuredly than joining forces with the humans and the elves.”
“And the Fay,” Pieter reminded him.
“Yes, well, the Fay are...”
The king hesitated for a moment.
“Flighty?” Falder suggested.
“Unpredictable,” Shandon said. “But we know that they are not evil, so there's that. Let's not rely on them to be steady allies, though. The three mortal races will have to do the heavy lifting and if Ellas and her people decide to lend their strength to us, we'll accept it.”
Jergen drained his mug and stood up. He grabbed the king's glass as well and winked at Shandon before he made his way back to the bar.
“Then let's enjoy this quiet moment while we can,” he said as he began to refill the mugs. “In the days to come, I doubt that we'll have many opportunities to relax.”
“I'm sure that you're right,” the king said heavily. “I never wanted to lead our people into a war, but war is coming whether we want it to or not. Let's just be sure that we're ready for it when it does.”
Chapter 8
When Malfiess and Callius returned to the Council hall, they found a small crowd of people gathered outside of the building. The elves all looked frightened and anxious and Malfiess spoke to the first person that they ran into.
“What's happened?” he asked a young woman who was holding a small boy close to her side.
She turned to look at him and gasped with relief.
“Councilor Malfiess!” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank goodness you are here. It's Elder Amelda, sir. She collapsed a few moments ago. Healer Miriam is in the hall with her now, but we've heard that they are afraid to move her back to her home.”
“Oh no,” Callius whispered. “If we should lose the Elder right now...”
Malfiess nodded, his expression grim.
“I know. Come with me, Callius.”
The two of them pushed through the crowd. People made way for them as they recognized the councilor and the scryer and the crowd became very quiet as the pair approached the entrance to the hall.
Malfiess walked inside with Callius close behind him. The scryer closed the doors and then the two elves stopped and stared as they saw Miriam and Amelda's granddaughter, Orilla, bent over the Elder who was slumped in her chair. Othellan, the Speaker of the Council, stood behind Amelda's seat and watched the scene with great concern.
When Malfiess entered the hall, the Speaker looked up and immediately made his way around the conference table and walked across the room to join him.
Othellan was very tall and thin. He wore a plain green shirt and trousers, but a heavy golden chain hung around his neck with a medallion that bore the elven symbol for harmony. It marked him as the Speaker, as did the long staff he held that was topped with a glowing green gem. He had a neatly trimmed beard, a rare thing among the elves, and his calm demeanor was rarely disturbed by anything. Even in emergencies, the Speaker was a steady, even-tempered presence in Council meetings.
Now Malfiess noted a look of concern in Othellan's eyes and he felt his stomach clench in fear.
“How is she?” he whispered as he looked past the speaker at the Elder.
“I cannot say,” Othellan replied softly. “The healer was summoned a few minutes ago by the Elder's granddaughter. I was on my way to the hall at the time and arrived just as Miriam did. Apparently word has spread quickly of Amelda's sudden illness.”
“We noticed,” Malfiess replied. “A crowd has gathered outside. I knew that the Elder looked drained when I left to fetch Callius, but I had no idea that she was close to collapse.”
“Do not blame yourself for that, Councilor,” the Speaker told him. “The Elder has always believed that she should project an image of strength, especially as she's grown older. I doubt that even she thought that she was going to collapse from exhaustion. But a strong will can only take you so far when you have pushed yourself beyond your own physical limitations.”
“Stubborn as always,” Malfiess said, shaking his head.
“To the end, Councilor,” Othellan agreed with a thin smile.
Miriam stood up straight and looked over at Malfiess. She gestured for him to approach and the three elves moved toward the table.
“How is the Elder doing?” the councilor asked her.
Amelda raised her head slowly and gave Malfiess a weak smile.
“The Elder is just fine, thank you,” she murmured.
Malfiess bent forward over the table and rested his hands on its surface.
“You should have told me that you didn't feel well,” he told her.
Amelda sighed and rested her head against the back of her chair.
“I suppose I should have, my friend,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I truly thought that I was just tired. And now I find myself unable to move. It's a humbling thing to happen to someone who has been independent her entire life.”
Malfiess looked at Miriam in alarm.
“The Elder cannot move?” he asked in shock.
Miriam gently touched the Elder's shoulder and then glanced at Malfiess.
“Elder Amelda is exaggerating slightly,” she told him. “She has lost control of her legs and she is very weak. I believe that it is a temporary condition brought on by overexertion, but...”
She gave Amelda a stern look.
“You, Elder, must take some time to rest and recover. You have pushed yourself too far and now you are paying the price. I am quite sure that the Council can function without your presence for a while, until you have recovered. But unless you take the time to do that, I cannot guarantee your continued good health.”
Amelda grimaced and looked at Malfiess.
“It's come to this,” she said thinly. “Children are dictating what I can and cannot do.”
Miriam chuckled at that statement.
“Only you could call me a child, Elder,” she told Amelda. “But I am not dictating anything. Your body is. So please, listen to it and take the time to recover.”
“Fine. Fine,” Amelda agreed irritably. “I will do that. Malfiess, you must gather the other Council members together and carry on in my absence. You have brought Callius back with you, I see. That's good.”
She focused on the young scryer.
