An Alliance of Mortals, page 3
part #6 of The New Earth Chronicles Series
“Yes, I agree. But fortunately the town is almost complete and we can slow down the pace that all of us are working at. So what else is on your mind?”
“The future,” he replied flatly. “Getting all of our people housed and setting up steady supply lines to bring in food and raw materials to make clothing and other necessities won't be enough for long-term survival if we are threatened by other dangers.”
“You're speaking of attacks by the forces of the Chaos lords?”
Malfiess nodded as he put down his stack of papers and rested his hands on the table. He looked past Amelda at a window behind her. Elves could be seen moving purposefully through the town, still working steadily as the sun set and darkness began to fall. There was no glass in the window and the evening breeze was beginning to cool down the room.
He smiled fondly at the sight of his people before he focused on the Elder again.
“We are not prepared to do battle against such a threat, should the goblins or other evil forces discover us,” he told her. “I don't know if they are aware of our presence here on this world, but the creature who attacked us on Trillfarness, just before we made our escape, claimed to be some sort of demi-god. He said that he would return to the Void if we destroyed him, which we did, and I fear that he will tell his evil masters about us and where we went. Which means that this peace that we are enjoying may be a fleeting thing.”
Amelda tucked a few stray white hairs behind her pointed ears and settled into her chair with a tired grimace.
“Yes, I read your report and the reports of Ethmira and Chase. I haven't forgotten our danger, but we've been so busy just getting settled in that it's been a distraction from that threat. So, you have a suggestion on how we should prepare for it?”
Malfiess smiled wearily and stood up straighter, scooping up his papers as he did so.
“I am no warrior, nor am I a tactician. Others are better suited to plan for the defense of Caladur. But our forces are few in number and this town is not built for such battles. We need allies.”
Amelda sighed and nodded slowly.
“Yes, I thought that this would come up eventually. You're speaking of the humans?”
“I am,” Malfiess told her. “But not just them. We must find a way to contact the dwarves as well.”
There was a moment of silence as Amelda stared up at the councilor.
“The dwarves,” she repeated. “Are you seriously suggesting that we ally with our old adversaries? Our history with the dwarves goes back countless years, back to when magic was used by both of our peoples. And when the humans arose, we all helped them to learn to use their own powers.”
“I know the history, Elder,” Malfiess said. “Even the parts that we do not speak of amongst ourselves.”
“Then you know that our people still mistrust the dwarves,” Amelda told him. “For the survivors to suddenly put the past behind them and ally with our old foes, well, that would be very difficult for them.”
Malfiess rubbed his eyes again and watched as the shadows thickened outside of the hall.
“All of this upheaval has been difficult for us, Elder,” he said softly. “But our duty as members of the Council is to use whatever means are available to us to protect our people, isn't it? And with our numbers being so few now, and the human race devastated as well, an alliance with the dwarves may be our only option. Don't forget that Ethmira and a number of rangers worked with their king, Shandon Ironhand, and the wizard Simon O'Toole to defeat the dragons and their queen. She has had only good things to say about that effort. And the results speak for themselves, do they not?”
Amelda sighed again and pushed herself to her feet. The small hall was becoming gloomy in the fading light and there were no candles lit to push back the shadows. She walked around the table and led the way to the exit. As she and Malfiess stepped outside, she turned to him and spoke quietly.
“One step at a time, then,” she said. “Speak with Callius. He has recovered somewhat since opening the portal to Earth from Trillfarness and he is our only surviving scryer. Ask him to contact the mages at Nottinghill Castle and tell them that we are now here on their world. And then he may attempt to reach the dwarves. Once we make that first contact, we will see how that goes and proceed from there.”
Malfiess watched her expressionlessly and Amelda smiled slightly.
“We must not make mistakes that will put our people in more jeopardy, my friend. We will move forward cautiously, in the best interests of our race.”
“Understood. I just hope that we don't move too slowly in this regard,” Malfiess warned her. “We will be discovered by our enemies eventually, even in this remote location, and then it may be too late to ask for help. From anyone.”
“I know, Malfiess. I know.”
Far below the surface of the world, in the great dwarven capital city of Kingstone, a renewed sense of purpose had taken hold of that ancient race. Following their victory against an attack by goblin forces, Shandon Ironhand had moved his people on to a war footing and the entire realm began to rebuild their defenses and induct more warriors into the armed forces. The ten major cities of the kingdom fortified their walls and increased production of their great war machines, in anticipation of more assaults to come.
The guild of mages, newly formed with the blessing of the king, sent out a call across the realm for any magic-users who might have been hiding in the shadows, afraid to reveal their powers to their fellow dwarves. Notices were posted inviting any mages who might be interested to join them in Kingstone to bolster their ranks. And a surprisingly large number of casters answered the call.
Larin Dunnor, the leader of the mages, welcomed all of the newest members of his guild and found homes for them and their families in the mages' quarter, a section of Kingstone set aside by the king for their use. And as he organized his people, Larin also spent many long hours in meetings with Shandon and his advisors, planning strategies to respond to any future attacks.
In short, the dwarves were energized and filled with purpose for the first time in centuries. Their civilization, which had once appeared to be on the decline, was once again on the rise. And it was all thanks to the efforts of the dark gods' armies.
The king was aware of the ironic cause of the reversal of his peoples' fortunes. He joked several times with his closest friends about it, but it did not change his resolve to protect the empire and defeat the plans of his enemies.
One evening, as the dwarves measured time in their underground world of eternal darkness, there was a knock on the outer door of the king's quarters. The palace in Kingstone was now bustling with activity at all hours and Shandon Ironhand was as well guarded as anyone in the world. The dwarves knew how valuable he was to their future and they made sure to surround him in layers of magic and steel, with warriors and mages standing watch in the palace constantly.
And so, when Jergen Moss, one of the king's best friends, answered the door, he was not surprised to see Larin standing there. The mage was one of the few people who was allowed to come and go freely within the palace.
“Ah, Larin,” Jergen said with a broad grin. “You're up rather late, aren't you? I thought that you were so busy these days with your new mages that you had no time for social calls.”
Larin chuckled as he stepped inside. Jergen closed the door and led him through the entry room. The warrior was wearing his usual steel breastplate, which he rarely removed even when off-duty.
“I am,” Larin replied. “But I have some news for the king and I felt it important to deliver it myself, instead of sending a messenger.”
“Interesting,” Jergen said over his shoulder. “Come along then. Shandon is in the lounge. He's had another busy day and is trying to relax. Well, as much as he can with everything that's going on.”
He stopped and turned to look closely at the mage.
“You aren't about to spoil his mood, are you?” he asked softly. “He rarely gets the chance to forget about the countless burdens that weigh on him and I'd hate to add to those.”
Larin shook his head, his expression compassionate.
“Don't worry, my friend,” he said in an undertone. “This isn't bad news. Quite the contrary, actually. The king may find this encouraging. At the very least, I think that he'll be intrigued.”
“Huh. So am I, now,” Jergen replied.
“Jergen! Who in blazes is out there?”
The roar echoed from further inside the royal quarters and both dwarves smiled as the king's voice cut through their conversation.
“He's not feeling very patient tonight,” Jergen chortled. “Let's go in.”
As they entered the large lounge, Larin looked around and saw Shandon sitting at one of the several tables next to his other close friend, Pieter Elbon. Unlike the dark-haired and black-bearded Jergen, Pieter was an older dwarf who sported only a small mustache. His hair was gray and he rarely wore armor unless he was going into battle.
On the left side of the lounge was a long bar with dozens of beer steins stacked on shelves behind it. A small barrel of ale was sitting on top of the bar in a stand and both Shandon and Pieter had mugs of ale in their hands as they watched Larin enter the room.
The king, wearing a simple white shirt and black leather trousers, put down his mug and surged to his feet, grinning at his visitor.
“Larin!” he exclaimed as he crossed the room to shake the mage's hand. “Welcome! I haven't seen you in a week. Come in, come in. Jergen, draw our guest a mug of ale.”
“Just a small one,” Larin said as Shandon led him to the table.
Pieter raised his tankard in a salute as the mage sat down next to him.
“How are you doing?” the king asked as he took his seat again with a tired sigh. “Still busy with your new members?”
“Not nearly as busy as you are, my lord,” Larin replied.
He accepted a mug of ale from Jergen and waited until the dwarf had sat down again before taking a small sip. As he drank, Larin watched the king, gauging his mood.
Shandon's dark beard flowed to his waist. It was braided and decorated with gold and silver beads that clicked together as he moved his head. At just over a hundred and ten years old, the king was still quite young for a dwarf, but his usually bright blue eyes were dull with fatigue and his skin was pale.
Larin put down his mug and tilted his head slightly as he began to speak with Shandon.
“You aren't getting enough rest, my lord, if you don't mind my saying so.”
The king gave him a sour look and then snorted as he glanced at Jergen and Pieter.
“So these two keep telling me,” he replied. “I appreciate all of you and your concerns, but there is too much to do on a daily basis for me to spend a lot of time sleeping.”
“You may be our king, Shandon,” Jergen told him sternly. “But if you collapse from overwork, the blow to our people will be significant. You must learn to apportion your time more wisely.”
“Said the dwarf who never rests,” the king replied with a sudden grin.
Jergen chuckled.
“True, but then I'm not the ruler of an entire kingdom, am I?” he said bluntly. “I could disappear tomorrow and no one would even notice.”
“We would notice,” Pieter spoke up with a warm smile. “You are the voice of truth in this little group, Jergen. Without your plain speaking, who would be here to rein in our young ruler, hmm?”
Shandon laughed at that comment and drank some ale.
“Aye, Pieter's right,” he said as he wiped off his lips on his sleeve. “I need your frank speech, old friend. You are the one person who never hesitates to tell me when I'm wrong, even when I don't want to hear it.”
“Which is almost always,” Jergen told him.
All of them laughed at that comment.
“True enough. But I listen, nonetheless.”
Shandon stretched languidly, his joints snapping loudly in the quiet room.
“But enough of that,” he continued. “This is an ongoing argument that won't be settled anytime soon. Larin, what can I do for you? You have some news?”
“I do, my lord. And I didn't want to risk sending a message via courier. This news is too sensitive to take any chances with it.”
“I'm intrigued,” Shandon said as he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Go ahead and tell me about it.”
Larin nodded and cleared his throat. He pushed back his sleeves and clasped his hands together.
“I was contacted earlier today by someone from the surface,” he began.
Shandon frowned at that statement, while Jergen and Pieter stared at the mage in surprise.
“I didn't think that was possible,” Pieter exclaimed. “Don't the hundreds of miles of rock between us and the surface block all magical communication?”
“Usually, yes,” Larin agreed. “But there are ways around it. The human siblings, Tamara and Sebastian, have managed to speak with us several times, although the link doesn't last very long. A group of our mages working in concert might do the same thing, combine their powers to push through the resistance of the rock above us. But it is a delicate operation and very difficult to achieve. I am working on just such an attempt, with your blessing, my lord,” he said to Shandon, who nodded. “We want to be able to reach the mages in the human settlement of Nottinghill Castle on a regular basis, but we have not been successful yet. However, today I was contacted by one person. Just one. It was quite a shock, to be honest.”
“I'll bet it was,” Jergen rumbled.
“Who was it, Larin?” Shandon asked. “Who has that much power? Some other human mage that we do not know about?”
Larin hesitated for a moment.
“No. It was an elf, my lord,” he said slowly. “An elf named Callius. He is a scryer, or so he told me.”
There was a momentary silence as the king and his comrades stared at Larin.
“An elf,” Shandon finally said. “You were contacted by an elf. He is here on this planet?”
“He is, my lord. He informed me that the world of Trillfarness has fallen to the forces of the Chaos lords. Most of the elven population was destroyed. A handful of them, less than a thousand according to Callius, managed to escape through a portal back to this world. They are now living on a pair of islands in the vast ocean that the humans once called the Pacific.”
“Trillfarness? Lost?” Pieter whispered in disbelief. “The entire world, destroyed by evil? How is that even possible?”
“Anything is possible for those twisted bastards,” Jergen seethed. “Those so-called 'gods' have hated all of the mortal races since we were created by the lords of Light. And the elves were the first of the races to rise here on this world. But for them to find a way to reach the elves on their hidden planet is... I don't know what to call it. Crushing? Monstrous? It certainly shows that none of us is safe from them and their forces.”
Shandon glowered into his mug. He took a slow drink and then slammed it so hard against the tabletop that it shattered, sending ale and glass shards flying in all directions.
“Damn them,” he said through clenched teeth. “Damn them all. They have almost wiped out the human race and now they've done the same with the elves.”
“And if it hadn't been for you, my lord, our people would have been decimated as well,” Larin reminded him.
“Not me, my friend,” the king disagreed. “All of us. Our one advantage is that we are protected by our isolation. Even so, the goblins managed to tunnel down and attack us. Thanks to your mages, Larin, we managed to prevail over them and collapse their tunnels. But it is only a matter of time before they try again.”
Jergen drained his mug and smiled grimly at Shandon.
“Seems like a good time to form some new alliances, wouldn't you say?” he told the king.
Shandon looked down at the puddle of ale and bits of broken glass on the table and grimaced. He stood up and walked over to the bar to grab a towel.
“I can't argue with that,” he told Jergen as he returned to the table and began to clean up his mess. “Our old grievances with the elves are irrelevant now. Even our historic documents don't tell us what started that nonsense. Not really. And I don't care. If the three mortal races want to survive, we will have to work together.”
Shandon carried the sopping towel back to the bar and dropped it into the sink there. Then he picked up a clean mug and drew himself another dram of ale. He turned around and leaned back against the bar.
“Larin, tell us more about this Callius person. What else did he have to say?”
The mage cleared his throat again.
“He told me that the Council of Elders has survived the attack on Trillfarness,” he said. “So his people have some stability when it comes to leadership. Also, Callius said that an old acquaintance of yours wanted you to know that she was back as well, here on the New Earth, as the humans call it now.”
“She? Who is she?” Shandon asked in surprise.
“A ranger named Ethmira,” Larin said. “Callius told me that she fought beside you along with the wizard, Simon O'Toole. Do you remember such a person?”
Shandon smiled broadly.
“Ah, Ethmira. Yes, of course I remember her. An excellent leader and a fearless warrior. She led a contingent of elves against the primal dragons when Simon fought them. I was involved in a few of those battles. It was glorious.”
Jergen chuckled at the misty look in the king's eyes.
“Now that's the dwarf I remember,” he said. “Still have the old fire in your veins, I see.”
Shandon gave him a dark look and then laughed sheepishly.
“Yes, I suppose I do. But damn it, it felt so good to fight those evil creatures. And to win! Yes, it was indeed glorious. And now Ethmira is back on our world? That is excellent news. The elves will need her leadership and strength. Their Council of Elders may be enough to lead their people in times of peace, but those days are now behind us.”
“How was this elf reaching you, Larin?” Pieter asked the mage. “When, as you say, it takes a group of mages to penetrate the layers of rock and soil that separates us from the surface.”
