And at last they came to accept Lord Thork’s decree- even Bolk seemed to accept it, though it was plain to see that rage lurked just below the surface-and thus it was that the War footing came unto an end. Even so, long lasted the ire of the Châkka toward the Riders, and the name Elgo was forever spat like a curse.
Within the week of his return, DelfLord Thork sent an expedition off to set claim upon Blackstone and all therein, following a plan made a year agone to recover that lost Châkkaholt, a plan laid down just before Foul Elgo had come unto Kachar.
Too, he sent emissaries under a grey flag unto the battle-weary Vanadurin, bearing an unexpected peace offering, setting aside the War, cancelling all debt between them.
And he sent a private message to be given over to King Aranor, a message concerning his daughter Elyn. Never had Thork composed a missive so difficult to bear the writing of, though it contained but few words.
The stunned Harlingar accepted Thork’s unconditional terms, though they did not understand why the Dwarven King demanded nothing when he was on the verge of victory.
And for weeks, Aranor kept the private message next to his heart, and would read it now and then, grieving as he did so. But in the end he placed the note in a small golden box, and took it unto the barrows, and buried it ’neath green turves next to Elgo’s mound.
It was in late summer that Thork rode to meet Aranor upon the Jordian plains. Thork had again sent a messenger under grey flag unto Jordkeep, and now Thork and his entourage rode down through the blowing mist and out of Kaagor Pass, heading toward the steppes beyond the foothills, for Aranor had agreed to meet the DelfLord there at the edge of the mountains. The sky was dark with roiling clouds, the weather dank and chill, for autumn was at hand, and soon the snows would come unto the Grimwall, and then would winter fall upon the mountains above, and later to the lands below. Yet for now, green clad the slopes, though leaves would soon begin to change. And fog and cloud swirled among the peaks as down came the DelfLord and his band ’neath the lowering skies, all the Châkka upon their ponies, for in those days no Dwarf would ever ride a horse.
Beneath grey flags, the King of Jord and the DelfLord of Kachar met at the edge of the prairie, Aranor now looking older than his years, Thork’s features desolate. The two of them dismounted and walked out into the grass together, the tall Man and the compact Dwarf, leaving behind their escorts, Châkka and Vanadurin hostilely eyeing one another, looking for signs of treachery.
Rider King and Dwarven DelfLord strode some distance away, then stopped and spoke to one another. All of what they said was not scribed in detail, though some of the record remains; yet it is certain that they spoke of Elyn, though haltingly and briefly, neither able to bear saying more. They spoke, too, of the destroyed trove, and of pride and greed setting them both upon the road to Death.
Often the conversation would pause for long moments, neither saying aught, memories stirring.
Aranor looked back at the stiff postures of his Men on horses, and the like attitude of the Dwarves. “Mayhap someday our two Folk will be allies once again; yet now is not that time.”
“Aye,” agreed Thork. “Long years will pass ere the Châkka will relent, for we have a saying among my Folk: ‘He who seeks the wrath of the Châkka finds it! Forever!’ ”
Yet other words haunted Thork as welclass="underline" . . no hatred, no vengeance, no neglect is passed on forever; it must come to rest somewhere, to vanish in the eternity of time or to die under the weight of love.
“But in the end, King Aranor, I deem you will be right: someday our two Folk will be allies once again.”
Once more a long silence stretched between the two as the chill wind blew across the grass, Aranor squatting down and plucking a green blade, briefly studying it, then looking out across the plains.
“I have sent Châkka unto Blackstone,” said Thork at last, “for we intend to reclaim our ancient home. Be there any of the trove overlooked, I will equal share it with you, for I have a promise to keep.”
“I do not want it, Lord Thork,” replied Aranor, standing, glancing back to his escort where sat Ruric at its head, the Armsmaster grizzled as an eld Wolf. “Ruric had the right of it from the first: Dracongield be cursed. And I have paid, you and I have both paid, too dearly for that hoard already: you, your sire and brother; I, both of my get; each of us, many good warriors who didn’t deserve to die. And all because of Dracongield-Nay! Not the gold of Dragons, but instead what that gold does to the hearts and minds of those who would possess it, of those whom it possesses in turn. So if there be any of the trove remaining, then I say, cast it into the deeps where lies the rest.”
They sat in dark thought for long moments. And now it was Aranor who broke the silence between them: “They say that only eternal night rains down upon the dead.”
Tears in his eyes, the King of Jord looked long at the King of Kachar, as if waiting for confirmation. . or an answer. Finally Thork responded: “Not as long as there is someone left alive who still remembers. Not as long as there’s someone left alive who yet cares.”
Who yet loves. .
As if by mutual consent, they turned and slowly walked back unto the waiting entourages and bestrode their steeds. Without a word, each reined his mount about, and they rode away from one another, escorts following beneath grey flags, returning home.
And a chill rain began to weep from the leaden skies above.
It was in the early fall when a mud-splattered Châk came riding a pony unto Kachar through an afternoon drizzle. He spoke a word or two unto the gate warders, and was immediately escorted to Thork’s work chamber. The DelfLord sat gazing at a small crucible, remembering Brak, remembering his sire. Thork set the vessel aside and signed the young warrior, Otar by name, to speak.
“My Lord, I am come from Blackstone and I bear astonishing news: A great treasure we found in the very first chamber, the gate chamber: a Dragonhide! A full Dragonhide! Or nearly so. It lay upon the floor: empty, but for ashes within; complete, but for a swatch missing from its face. Never have I seen such wealth, nor had any of us; we were stunned, for it just lay there unattended, in the open for any to take, glittering in the sunlight when it shone through the portal, and in the moonlight at night. But none had taken it, this trove, and so it is rightfully ours.”
“Sleeth,” grunted Thork.
“Aye,” agreed Otar, “that is our thought, too. We believe the missing piece from his face adorns your shield. We also deem that Adon’s Ban reached through the hole left behind and turned the Drake’s innards to ashes.
“Ah, but the great glittering hide is untouched by the Ban. The things we will craft from it will be priceless. There is nothing else like it upon the face of Mithgar.”
“Except upon a live Drake,” responded Thork, and he fell into long thought. After a while: “What of the rest of Blackstone? How fares it?”
“Lord Thork, it be rich with ores. Gemstone lodes as well. It rightfully deserves to be called the Jewel of the Châkkaholts, for with labor we can wrest great wealth from Blackstone, from the earth below the Mountains that Elwydd gave unto us.”
“Good, Otar. Now would I have you come unto the baths, and make yourself presentable for my Counsellors, for I would have you tell them the tale you have told me, and more. And while you prepare, I will sit with you, and we will take a meal, for I would have a full report ere you speak to them. . Too, I have something to tell them as well.”
Again there was uproar within the Council Chamber, for DelfLord Thork had just announced that he intended to give half the Dragonhide unto the Jordians, or if not the hide itself, then half its worth. Debate raged back and forth: concerning who owned the hide; concerning the Jordians’ rights in this matter, since they themselves had abandoned the hide, since they themselves had told Baran that the Châkka were welcome to Blackstone and all that was therein-even though the Dwarves contended that Blackstone was always theirs, and so for the Jordians to grant such was moot; and finally, concerning the rights of a DelfLord to be so free with Châkka wealth. . should the hide prove to be fully theirs.