Thork sat in the DelfLord’s chair, while all about him the hall filled with Châkka, Captains taking their seats, Counsellors likewise, many hurrying through the chamber doors to be within ere the Council started. The great room buzzed with conversation, Captains and Counsellors speculating upon what DelfLord Thork would say, what DelfLord Thork would do, speculating, too, upon when they would set out northward to take the War to the Men, a War that would have already begun but for the raid of Black Kalgalath on Springday morn when he buried the gate once again. At last the signal came that the Sun stood at the zenith, and Thork signified that the doors were to be closed, latecomers just squeezing past as the portals swung to.
All eyes turned expectantly unto the DelfLord, and Thork stood. He was dressed in burnished black-iron chain mail, and a rune-marked axe was at his right hand. His damaged beard and hair had been washed and combed and trimmed as best could be, his flame-scarred face turning slowly left to right as he surveyed all those within. Conversation fell to a murmur, to a cough or two here and there, to silence. And when the entire chamber was quiet, the DelfLord spoke, his voice soft, but all could hear him: “This War with Jord is done. We will fight no more.”
The hall exploded: Châkka leapt to their feet and shouted in rage, oaths filling the air; others fell back into their seats in shock and dismay; still others waited quietly, for they would hear out the new DelfLord. Many turned to Bolk at the opposite end of the table, for he was chief until Thork’s return. And it was Bolk who held the floor when the uproar subsided.
“By Hèl, you cannot do this, Lord Thork, for we are upon the verge of total victory over these Riders! We are set to march unto Jordkeep and throw it down and take back the treasure that is rightfully ours.”
Shouts of agreement rose up, and Bolk nodded savagely to those about who supported him.
Thork waited until this demonstration had nearly run its course, then held up his hands for quiet. It was a long time coming, yet at last silence reigned.
“There is no treasure at Jordkeep. Black Kalgalath tore down the castle and rent open the vault and took the trove unto himself. And when Kalgalath was destroyed in turn, the treasure was destroyed, too, lost in the ruin of Dragonslair. But heed me! Even were there yet a trove, still would this War be over!”
Again the hall erupted in sound, shouts of dismay and disbelief ringing throughout: Kalgalath dead and Dragonslair ruined?. . treasure destroyed? Jordkeep. .?
This time when the DelfLord held up his hands, silence came more quickly; yet it was Bolk whose words intruded, his voice ringing: “You say these things, Lord Thork, yet how know you that Black Kalgalath is dead? How know you that the trove be destroyed, that Jordkeep is torn asunder?”
A rumble went through the assembled Châkka, for now Bolk trod on dangerous stone, questioning the DelfLord as he did.
Thork gritted his teeth, yet held his temper, as all eyes swung his way. “I know these things, Captain Bolk, for my companion and I slew Black Kalgalath with the Kammerling.”
Slew the Drake? Shouts of astonishment burst forth, yet quickly subsided as Thork held up a hand for silence.
But again it was Bolk who held the floor: “You have not answered all my questions, Lord Thork. Yet I will add to them: Who was this companion you declare helped you slay a Dragon? And, too, if it be as you say, then where be this fabled Kammerling you claim to have wielded? Where be the proof of what you say?”
Now did all the Châkka assembled glance back and forth between these two, for it seemed certain that Bolk and Thork would come to combat.
And Thork’s hand reached down and gripped the haft of his axe, hefting the weapon onto the table and laying it before him, his knuckles white. Even so, he managed to release the helve, and then he spoke: “You go too far, Captain Bolk, with the tone and tenor of your questions; yet this once will I answer all you have asked:
“My companion was Princess Elyn, Warrior Maiden of Jord, daughter to King Aranor.”
Sharply indrawn breaths greeted this news, but chopped to silence as Thork went on.
“That Jordkeep is torn asunder, I know by her word.
“That the Drake took the trove to Dragonslair, I know because I saw it therein.
“That the Dragon was slain by the Kammerling, I know because I did it.
“That the trove is destroyed, I know for it was in a firemountain blasted apart: Dragonslair.
“That Dragonslair exploded, you should know, for it did so in the afternoon of the first day of spring, and I am told that the cataclysm of its ruin was felt and heard here in Kachar as well as far beyond.
“That the Kammerling is not with me is because it is buried deep within the unbearable heat of the melt below what is left of Dragonslair; this I know for Orth the Utrun verified it.
“I bear my proof upon my face, Captain Bolk, in the form of scars. Yet would you have further proof, then go unto the shattered firemountain, if you can reach it, for its wreck now lies in the center of a Hèl upon Mithgar, the land and all life destroyed for twenty leagues in all directions, in some directions more, the ruins now belching fire and fumes and vomiting up lava.
“That I survived was the doing of the Stone Giants; but my companion, Princess Elyn of Jord, was slain.”
Beloved.
Amid an uproar of sound, Thork sat down, letting the clamor run its course, composing himself.
And when the noise subsided, again it was Bolk who spoke up: “All you say may be true, Lord Thork, but still I say we march upon Jord. For I tell you that we are upon the verge of total victory. And they have much to answer for. I will not be denied my vengeance!”
Thork’s face darkened with fury, his scars flaring scarlet. He leapt to his feet and Blang! slammed the flat of his axe to the stone table.
“By Hèl, Bolk, I say this War is done!”
They stood glaring at one another, each quivering with wrath. Yet it was Bolk who was first to yield: choking back his rage, he spun on his heel and stalked from the chamber.
And in the strongholt of Kachar, many were the bitter arguments among the Châkka in the night, as claims clashed with counterclaims, and strategies and tactics were argued, and vengeance was weighed against losses, and against bloodgield and treasure, or its lack.
Some Châkka called for a march unto Jordkeep to set siege to the ruins of the castle and crush the Men; yet others pointed out that if they did so they would be battling upon the Riders’ own territory, not in a narrow lieu as before the gates of Kachar where the Châkka held the advantage, but instead out upon the open plains where the Men upon their swift horses would hold the upper hand.
And in dark chambers deep within Kachar, a few even thought to act against Thork, to rise up in rebellion, to cast him out, to banish him; yet they did not, for he was DelfLord, and to do so would be to take a stride upon the path of dishonor.
And overshadowing all was what DelfLord Thork had revealed concerning his mission, the tale that he had told: of Princess Elyn, of the Kammerling, of Black Kalgalath and of Dragonslair and of the trove. And of the legendary Utruni. None disbelieved that these things were true, for all had felt the juddering of the earth in the late afternoon on the first day of spring. And they all had seen Thork’s scars, obviously made by flame. Further, they did not believe that the DelfLord would lie about such a thing; it would be too easy to disprove were it not the truth; besides, Lord Thork had never been known to say false, and so they accepted the truth of it. But they knew only that which he had said within the Council Chamber, and nought else; and speculation ran wild concerning the whole of it, concerning the full story, yet no more did he reveal.