The Wealth of Kings (20 page)

Year 3,711 Age of Demigods, Late Autumn.

2
nd
year of the reign of Aldehenkaru’hktanah Sit’marihu, 13
th
King of Roegudok Hall.

It had been several weeks since the demon had managed to launch a surprise attack in the main hall. The Home Guard was left with twenty dwarves, including Kijik, barely enough to patrol the main hall for any sign of trouble. The dwarf king still replayed the events in his mind over and over. If only he had prepared better. If he had been able to create the poison crossbow bolts he had read about in Sylus’ book, then they could have put the demon down before it destroyed most of the Home Guard. He knew it wasn’t his fault. There hadn’t been enough mithril on hand at that time to create the shafts, and Sylus had explicitly said the powdered poison needed to be applied to mithril. As it was, Al had been fortunate that Benbo had been marching a contingent of cavedog riders back in from practicing maneuvers in the valley outside of Roegudok Hall when the demon attacked. Had they not been as near the main hall as they were, many citizens would be dead now in addition to the slain Home Guard members.

Ever since that attack, the army had been put on its highest alert. Two thirds of the warriors were down in the lower tunnels. The other third was split into two groups, one that would remain in the main hall, and one that would accompany Al to a strange, mithril gate the miners had recently reached in mine thirty-seven.

Before this day, Al had not been properly prepared to lead the charge.

He had spent the last several weeks creating a new set of armor for himself during whatever down time was left after issuing orders to Benbo and Kijik. Fortunately, the two officers were highly capable and needed little direction. Essentially, they sought only to confirm their plans of action and receive the approval of the king. Al was thankful for that. It was hard enough to calm the folk of the mountain as it was. It also freed him to work on his armor, which was what he was supposed to be focusing on now.

His hand went down, beating the rim of metal into place. He tried to focus on his work, but his mind pulled him back to the tragedy with the demon in the marketplace. Al shook his head, forcing himself to think of something positive. At least the investigation into Threnton’s treacheries seemed to have gone well.

No groups of rebels had been found in the forest or valleys beyond Roegudok Hall. Benbo and Kijik had even managed to root out a couple of Threnton’s spies that had tried to escape from the mountain. More than that, the captured spies had given up the location of Threnton’s hideout. It took only a week for Benbo to clear the hideout and bring the traitors down. As for the majority of the emigrants, they had dispersed throughout the Middle Kingdom, so Al ordered that they should be left alone. All things considered, it had worked out about as well as any scheme involving Threnton could have.

He then thought of the new well that had been discovered adjacent to the existing well that had dried. Gemma had been on one of her rounds, inspecting the pipes and hoping to find water rising in the old well, when she saw water seeping in through the walls. It took little effort to connect the new well to the existing plumbing. Food was still being rationed, and would run out within a couple months if nothing changed, but at least they had fresh water again. It appeared that the shifting of the Mystinen had not depleted the first well so much as it had diverted it into a different shaft. As that shaft began to spill into a small chamber, the water had eventually worked its way through the rock.

Al set his hammer down and looked at the new breastplate he had created. The base layer was made of iron, but he had fused iron with the metal from his ceremonial armor to improve its durability and create a second layer to cover the base layer. The outer layer was what he was most proud of, as well as slightly ashamed of. If Alferug had seen what he had done, there would have been much wailing and shouting. Al smiled to himself as he held up the breastplate. It was, perhaps, a bit sacrilegious, but it was appropriate as well. Al had been so distraught and frustrated by his lack of preparedness for the demon that had attacked the marketplace, that as soon as the battle had ended, he had stormed up to his forge immediately. He hadn’t planned on doing it, but when he saw King Sylus’ armor on the pedestal, an idea struck him and he acted on it. Sylus had beaten the demons before. So now, Sylus’ armor was removed from his pedestal in the hall of kings before the throne room. Al had melted down and reformed everything but the Telarian steel greaves, those were perfect as they were.

The purely decorative parts he had, of course, set aside to be sent to the Greenband. However, the resulting outer layer for this new armor was extremely efficient. Despite the many layers, the armor was lighter, more maneuverable, and much stronger than anything else Al had at his disposal. The entire suit of plate mail armor appeared black to any other observer. Only Al knew of the second and third layers underneath. He called out to his apprentices and they put down their hammers and approached him.

Al slipped into the thick leather pads and then held his arms out.

His apprentices began attaching each piece of armor on him, starting from the black boots, all the way up to the helmet. The entire process took twenty minutes, as there were several smaller joints and plates that had to be attached separately. Al had designed this suit of armor with utility in mind, foregoing the added artistry and fine details that would normally be present in a king’s suit of armor in exchange for speed, and maximum protection and mobility. Still, this morning he had woken to find four runes etched into the breastplate and lined with some of the silver that Al had set aside after melting down his ceremonial armor.

His apprentices had used the dwarven runes that Al had spoken of during Alferug’s funeral; honor, truth, courage, and duty. He would have normally beaned an apprentice with a lump of coal to the back of the head for touching his work, but in this case, he made an exception and thanked them for the gesture. When Al looked at the suit of armor now, it was as if he was being guarded by both King Sylus and Alferug.

When he was finally suited up, he made his way out of his personal forge, through the throne room, and out into the hall of kings. His eyes lingered upon each of the pedestals he passed as he thought of the great heroes that had come before him. He stopped when he saw Sylus’ now empty pedestal. He pointed to the wall.

“My hammer will not do for this battle,” Al told his bodyguards. “Fetch me Murskain. By Sylus’ own hammer shall I vanquish the demons below.”

When he was handed the weapon, it was almost as if Al could feel a connection with it. The metal seemed to vibrate ever so slightly, as if it was a living thing. The dwarf king gave it a slow practice swing and admired its perfect balance. It was solidly built, yet Al’s strong arms manipulated the weapon easily.

He smiled and then they descended the stairs to the main hall.

Five hundred dwarves waited next to their cavedogs for Al. They saluted him upon sight, slapping armored fists to their chests with a loud cacophony of clanking iron. Al held Sylus’ hammer over his head. The soldiers looked to him expectantly, as if waiting for some motivational speech, but Al had not prepared anything of the sort. He was used to playing the part of the soldier, and not that of a king. He stood there, surveying his fellow dwarves, trying to think of something he could say. What words could he offer that would give any of them more courage than they had already shown?

As the seconds passed, women and older dwarves drew near from the marketplace, watching their king.

Al frowned behind the visor of his helmet. I should not have stopped. Now they really expect me to say something.

But what could he say that would offer the wives and mothers any confidence that their sons and husbands would return? He took in a deep breath as he lowered Sylus’ hammer. He set it down upon the stone floor and rested his hands across the bulky head of the weapon. He surveyed the crowd, and for a brief moment he thought he could see Alferug standing in the crowd.

Al reached up and lifted his visor to get a better look, but the apparition had disappeared. Al searched the crowd, trying to recapture the brief glimpse he thought he had seen. Then, in the back of the crowd, he saw a faint, silvery glow. Alferug stood in the air. Next to him floated Al’s father. Behind them stood ten other dwarves. All of them were caught in an other-worldly mist that none of the other dwarves seemed to notice.

One of the floating dwarves stepped around Al’s father and pointed to Al. “You are destined to find the Wealth of Kings,” the familiar voice said. Al knew at once it was the same voice he had heard before in the tunnels. The spirit then waved his hand in the air and Murskain felt warm in Al’s hands. “My hammer shall guide you as you protect our people.”

Al realized then that he was seeing Sylus.

“My king, is everything alright?” one of the bodyguards asked with a slight nudge to Al’s right side. Al turned to nod at the guard.

“Yes, everything is fine,” Al said. He turned back to look at his father and the other past kings once more, but they had vanished from sight, returning back to their plane. Al sighed, wishing he could call them back and ask them for strength and guidance.

Murskain grew warmer in Al’s hands. In that instant, he knew that the kings of old
were
with him. His eyes were opened and the veil between the realm of the living and the plane of the dead was rent in twain. He saw thousands upon thousands of dwarves he did not recognize. Each of them were gathered around the warriors waiting for Al. In that instant, Al knew that there were far more allies with him than the demons below could possibly withstand.

Al lifted the mighty Murskain in the air and shouted out through the hall, his booming voice echoing off the walls. “Let us not fear death, for death is only the doorway to a new life. Instead, let us go down with fire in our hearts to cleanse the invaders from our halls. Our battle is not one only for Roegudok Hall, but also for all of Terramyr. The world may never know of our struggles here today, but if the gods themselves only knew what it is we fight for, they would bow to us in reverence.” Al swung the hammer up and then slapped it down into his open palm. “Your ancestors are with you today. They give you strength. Welcome that strength. Use it. By the Ancients who created us, I declare that we shall overcome the darkness lurking within the bowels of this mountain. In purging that darkness, we shall find the means to overcome a much greater foe. Some of you know of what I speak, the rumored four horsemen that have been whispered about in the wake of the war we fought in the Middle Kingdom. When Tu’luh fought against us at Fort Drake, he came as the harbinger of the four horsemen. We now, the dwarves of Roegudok Hall who were formed of the very stone of this mountain, shall gain the means to repel the cursed horsemen, and in so doing we shall win life and liberty not only for ourselves, but for all of Terramyr.”

Al hopped down the last several stairs and leapt onto his cavedog. “We ride!” he shouted.

The dwarves shouted and cheered around him as they fell in behind him. Al led the army down through the tunnels. They rode for miles through shallow descending tunnels and around the winding shafts that branched out below the mountain. It took them hours, even upon their cavedogs, to reach their destination.

When they finally met up with the other two thousand dwarves, they were met with cheers and cries of excitement. Al surveyed the warriors and smiled when he saw the preparations they had made. There were ballista launchers, hedges of stacked stone, and side tunnels that allowed for dwarves to retreat out or attack the enemy flank should any demon somehow make it up this far. Some of the engineers had balked at Al’s insistence, but Benbo was quick to bring the others around to the idea after Al explained not only how they could have been used in the market to kill the demon, but also how big Sylus had reported some of the demons to have been in the final battle which Sylus had waged in the great cavern which was supposed to lay at the end of shaft thirty-seven. Al expected trouble, a lot of it.

Al saluted the dwarves as he rode to the front of the long line of encamped soldiers. Only when he saw Commander Benbo standing near a shining, mithril gate did he slow his pace.

Benbo saluted the king and gave a bow of his head as Al drew in close. Al set the officer at ease and leapt down from his cavedog to inspect a broken tablet of stone on the wall. He walked to it and brushed a layer of dust away with his hand.

“Beware not to squander dwarven blood, it is far more precious than treasure,” Al read aloud.

“A warning against greed,” Benbo commented.

Al turned around and shook his head. “Only partly,” he corrected. “It is also a call to action.” Al pointed up to the mithril gate. “Do you see those runes?”

Benbo looked up and made a puffing sound as he shook his head. “I hadn’t noticed those before.”

Al nodded. “This is the way to the Wealth of Kings,” Al said. “However, look at the rune they used for ‘wealth’ and tell me what you see.”

Benbo shrugged. “It’s an older rune, but that makes sense given the fact this gate was built under Sylus’ reign.”

Al chuckled. “I was going through some of Alferug’s books over the last couple of weeks. He had quite an extensive history on our language, its origins and mutations.” Al pointed to the rune that symbolized wealth. “This particular rune is hardly ever used now, but that is because it has a double meaning.”