Douglas Niles
The Heir of Kayolin
PROLOGUE
The Journal of Gretchan Pax: Being the Complete History of the Dwarf Peoples of Krynn, Entailing the Rise and Fall of Great Nations, the Legacy of the God Reorx-He Who Is Master of Every Forge-and the Future that Still Awaits Our Indefatigable People.
The following is an excerpt therefrom:
The dwarves of Krynn, my people, have endured thousands of years of violence, strife, brutality, treachery, and cruelty. Sadly, much of this torment has been self-inflicted. Too often one clan, city, or band of dwarves has wreaked villainy upon another for shortsighted reasons of avarice, vengeance, or simple blockheaded intransigence. After long and thoughtful consideration, I have come to realize there is a single explanation, a sole source to this eternal problem:
Men!
I refer, of course, to the impossibly stubborn, pin-headed, narrow-minded, eternally complaining male members of the dwarf race. In a broader sense, my assessment perhaps might be expanded to extend to the masculine gender of other peoples, such as humans, ogres, or elves, but, given the scope of my writing, it is my intent to focus upon my own race.
So, I write again: Men!
They are impossible to reason with, to understand, to inspire, or to motivate. As evidence, I have my own experience to serve as solid proof. I have been exposed to an array of male stubborn mulishness during the past year, a year during which I have had the rare opportunity to dwell in the fabled fortress of Pax Tharkas. Here I saw and even influenced great events and witnessed the beginning and end of a potentially disastrous internecine war, one of so many in our history. I have come to understand that our people stand perpetually at the brink of great opportunities, a grand future, and yet at every turn our destiny is thwarted by the shortsighted, timid, and just plain stubborn men whom Reorx, for reasons beyond my understanding, has chosen to lead us.
My arrival in this hallowed place preceded only by a short time the violent clash between two very different factions of dwarves, groups separated by more than a thousand years of deep-seated antipathy. The Neidar hill dwarves inhabit the many towns scattered across the rugged countryside surrounding this fortress. The ancient rivals of the Neidar are the mountain dwarves who now hold Pax Tharkas. These mountain dwarves, now dwelling on the surface of the world, are refugees from the great underground nation of Thorbardin, a place currently controlled by a violent cult of religious fanatics, I am told by credible sources. The mountain dwarves of Thorbardin have sealed that vast and ancient kingdom against the outside world, but a small portion of the population escaped to claim this ancient home on the surface.
A year ago the hill dwarves, deceived into serving a minion of dark magic, attacked Pax Tharkas in a frenzy, and it was only the intervention of Reorx-through the humble person of myself, his loyal priestess-that unmasked the black fiend. He was vanquished, and the shamed hill dwarves hastened back to their homes.
I remained here, in the fortress, and saw the victorious mountain dwarves stand at the brink of greatness. It was here that I met my father, General Otaxx Shortbeard, a venerable warrior whom I had never known. He is the strong right arm of the exiled monarch, Tarn Bellowgranite. It was my good fortune to come to know King Bellowgranite, former ruler of Thorbardin, now the leader of the refugees who fled that kingdom for Pax Tharkas. And I felt my affection grow for a heroic warrior, Brandon Bluestone-the fighter who wielded his Reorx-blessed axe and played a crucial role in the mountain dwarf victory. In the daze of triumph, I envisioned an even greater potential before us, a historic opportunity to change the dwarf race forever.
Yet in the end, each of these males has balked at any of my suggestions, any move to consolidate our victory, and to move toward a golden future. Sad to say, I have had more encouraging conversations with the wretched gully dwarf, Gus Fishbiter, than with my father, with the king, or with Brandon. My dog and I are proud to have helped Gus following his magical escape from Thorbardin. I consider him to be “less male” than the others, yet now, even Gus languishes without purpose, dwelling among the others of his kind in the filthy, lightless tunnels beneath this fortress.
My goal, my life’s work, remains as it has ever been: to study, to witness, to observe the varied dwarves of Krynn. As my mother’s daughter, I was raised among the Daewar refugees who followed Severus Stonehand to the east, seeking the original dwarf home. As an adult, a sturdy dwarf maid and priestess of Reorx, I set out to return to the modern lands of my people, visiting and observing and writing about my travels. I was determined to visit fabled Thorbardin and, eventually, the northern nation of Kayolin.
Naturally, a number of men conspired to keep me from achieving that goal. To be sure, Thorbardin remains closed against any approach, sealed by its fanatical king to ensure it remains “pure,” untainted by external forces. Tarn and Otaxx seemed uninterested in even trying to change this state of affairs. I have told them of the legendary artifact, the Tricolor Hammerhead, a tool capable of smashing any fortification. The hammer consists of three wedges of magical stone. Though fate has placed two of the three stones-the blue and green-into Tarn Bellowgranite’s hands, he remains utterly, pigheadedly unwilling to pursue any kind of search for the third, the Redstone. It is as if, even if he had the means to breach Thorbardin’s gates, he would not attempt to do so.
With Thorbardin beyond my reach, at least for the time being, I have repeatedly, although gently, expressed my desire to visit the other great dwarf nation, Kayolin. Brandon Bluestone calls that fair place home and could take me there; it lies but a month or two’s travel to the north. But he left there as a fugitive, apparently-unjustly accused of a crime-and remains unwilling to return. In Brandon I have seen flashes of greatness, and in fact, he has roused in my heart passions I have never before known. But his obsession over his family’s bad fortune-the Bluestone Luck, they call it-prevents him from acting decisively to improve his circumstances. Though his family was once rich, powerful, and influential in Kayolin, his father’s position is now tenuous because of the hostility of the ruler and his powerful minions, and Brandon dares not challenge the status quo.
Until now I despaired of him, believing he would simply remain here, allowing another year to slip past without any forceful action. For all the previous months here, there has been no word from his home-until today. A package, long on the trail, dispatched from Kayolin to the Neidar town of Hillhome, then begrudgingly forwarded by the hill dwarves to the lofty fortress where he has been temporarily residing, finally reached him here in Pax Tharkas. Even as I write these pages, he is reading an extensive missive dispatched by his father.
Whether the news therein will spur him to some sort of decision, only time will tell.
PART I
ONE
The old dwarf muttered to himself and stomped his cane against the stones of First Street, in the great city of Norbardin. It was a relatively new city, excavated under the mountains following the Chaos War, and the road was wide and straight. The stones underfoot were set so smoothly that there was barely a crack between them to be seen or felt, and that was a good thing for the elderly pedestrian, since he could barely see.
Still, using his cane to probe before him, he hobbled along at a fair clip, despite the wear and tear of a life that had bent his backbone and forced a permanent stoop onto his once-broad shoulders. He was a Theiwar, with the distinguishing pale skin and light, almost fawn-colored, irises in his sensitive eyes that mark so many of that breed. His beard was long, but thin, the wispy hairs a universal slate gray in color, and his balding pate was fringed by only a meager few strands of the same colorless gray.