“Too, we see ores and metals welclass="underline" it wast the Kammerling that we didst track from Wizard Andrak’s holt-that and thine shield.
“Were it not for the light of Ar, we couldst not do that which Adon gave us to do: shaping the land, building mountains, easing the great tensions within the mighty rifts, aiding the living stone in its slow, steady, eternal march across the face of the world.
“Aye, ’tis Ar’s light that letteth us see what we do.
“Even when Ar be on the opposite side, still the radiance shineth through.”
“You mean, when the Sun sets and it is nighttime above, still there shines a light that you see by?” In Thork’s mind, for reasons he did not comprehend, there rose up a vision of the Wizard’s strange map in Black Mountain, the great globe slowly turning, the lamp on the wall shining upon it.
Orth nodded, and the Dwarf sat pondering, wondering at what he had heard, knowing that Elyn would. .
Beloved.
Tears clouded his eyes, and he ate no more, and soon it was time to go onward.
Over the next several days Thork’s burns became worse, blistering, festering, even though he washed in chill water at every opportunity.
Yet the Giants carried him on, seeking a far-off town where dwelled a healer of the surface Folk. And while the Utruni strode through darkness, Thork and Orth spoke of many things:
“There be a fable amongst mine Folk,” murmured Thork, “that deep within the world the greatest Giant of all sleeps, waiting for the end of time when all things will cease to be. At times he rolls over in his sleep, and then does the earth rattle and quake.”
Orth laughed, and bore him onward. “Nay, Friend, such a one doth not dwell within, for though many a strange thing doth sleep within the stone, ’tis nary a monstrous Giant that causeth the world to rattle. ’Stead it be the groaning along the great rifts, as land slides ’gainst land, jerking, halting, breaking free. Ae and mine Folk try to stop the worst from happening, easing the land along.
“ ’Twas such that caused us to lose the Kammerling in the first place: There camest a time of a monstrous quake, along a fault long believed well rooted. Yet, ’twas not, and a great destruction shattered forth. All nearby rushed to aid, including Lithon, guardian of the Kammerling, for without his aid we couldst not succeed. And whilst we fought ’gainst disaster, easing the great flanks of stone past one another, someone or something camest unto our halls and stole the hammer, bearing it to Wizard Andrak’s holt.”
“Black Kalgalath bore it thus,” said Thork, “though I know not whether it was the Drake that took it from your dwellings; Andrak the Mage told me such as I stood frozen before his power, ere I was saved by my. .”
Beloved.
Thork’s voice jerked to a halt, and he could not speak.
After a while, Orth took up the tale once more: “Lithon felt responsible, for Adon’s Hammer wast in our keep, to be used when the Greatest Dragon of all cometh forth.”
“Kalgalath,” said Thork.
“Nay, not Black Kalgalath, Friend Thork, but something or someone else.”
Thork’s eyes widened at this news. “If not Kalgalath, then who, what, be the greatest Dragon of all?”
“Ae know not, Friend Thork. Ae know not, but list to the prophecy.” Orth’s voice took on the chant of a litany: “In the final days, in the apocalyptic confrontation, death and great destruction shalt sweep o’er the surface of the land, and it shalt be in a time of the gathering of all Drakes. Then shalt the world know the greatest Dragon of all.”
After sleeping, again the Utruni strode forth deep within the stone, and Orth took up the tale of the Kammerling once more: “Lithon set off on a quest to find the hammer. Long didst he search, many times didst Ar circle the world: more than four years as measured by the calendars of the surface Folk. But at last he discovered it, hammering out the joyful news, giving its location. It wast his final signal, for no more didst we hear from him.
“He wast slain on this mission, killed by Andrak.”
Thork’s mind returned to Andrak’s quarters, to a table upon which rested twelve skulls, one of which was an Earthmaster’s.
“Others followed,” continued Orth, “coming to Andrak’s holt. But the very stone itself wast warded ’against us, and we couldst do nought, though the Kammerling didst we see above. We had cometh in anger to taketh back Adon’s Hammer, but Andrak’s spells wert too strong.
“And so, we setteth watch upon the holt, waiting for the time that the wards wouldst slip, or waiting for the time that the minor prophecy wouldst be fulfilled: either wouldst do.
“Twelve hundred years passed, and no champion won through, until thou camest with thy companion. And when Andrak wast destroyed, so fell his wards; no longer wert we held at bay. Then couldst we destroy that place of evil, that place where Lithon wast taken and bound and slain. Then couldst we undermine the stone upon which this vile fortress rested; then didst we topple the tower.”
“So it was you who brought the spires down,’ exclaimed Thork. “We heard your signals. Elyn. . Elyn did.”
“Aye, ’twas my kindred. ’Twas Chale.”
In amazement, Thork envisioned the Giant who followed behind and sealed the stone, for he was Chale. And he stood but twelve feet tall. Yet it was he who single-handedly had toppled the massive black spires. The power of these Folk must be. . terrible when unleashed in anger.
“And we recovered Lithon’s orbs, for that is what we bury deep, the eyes of the dead. His wert like unto the jewelstones thou namest diamonds-clear, crystal.” Now it was Orth who wept, not only for Lithon, but also for those Utruni killed at Dragonslair, though she strode onward, bearing Thork.
Thork’s festering blisters grew worse. A fever came upon him, and at times he fell into delirium, his words sometimes wild, sometimes sane. Orth continued to speak to him, telling him tales, often not knowing whether he was awake or asleep, aware or uncomprehending, at other times knowing that he was lucid and listening.
“Ah, so those are thine Folk; and thou namest them Châkka.” Orth smiled down at the Dwarf, even though he could not see in the darkness; at the moment he was delirious and babbling, speaking of building a gateway. “We admire the work of the Châkka, for thou doth beautify and strengthen the stone, enhancing it to our eyes. Unlike the work of the Foul Folk, for they destroy that which be beautiful, ruining all that they doth touch.”
On they strode, Thork mostly incoherent, though at times his words were plain. And now he argued with an imaginary companion:
“I suppose you would have me relinquish all claim to the treasure!”
Exactly so!
“Pfaugh! It is ours!”
Nonsense! It belongs to he who is strong enough and cunning enough to wrest it from the Dragon.
“Hush, Woman! You are, you are. .”
Beloved.
“O my Elyn, why does it have to hurt so?”
In the town of Inge in the Land of Aralan lived a healer on the edge of the village. There came in the night a knock on the door, and as the eld Woman lit a taper and shuffled to answer, little did she expect who, what, stood without.
The patient they left behind was in dire need: fevered, inflamed, burnt and blistered, the eld Woman applying poultices and herbs, brewing special tea, preparing soups of roots and bulbs gathered throughout the summers upon the slopes of the nearby foothills, heating the Dwarf when he had chills, cooling him when sweat runnelled down. She would not lose this patient, oh, no, for he was somebody to have such comrades. And over the next month, he slowly healed: his fever breaking at the end of the first week, his strength slowly returning over the next three. Yet he suffered from a malady for which she had no diagnosis, no cure: often for no reason that she could discern, she would find him weeping.