The Dragons of Ash and Smoke (Tales from the New Earth Book 5) (9 page)

“
Well,
you know how many of my people feel toward those who use magic.
Staves are almost unknown to us, as they are a symbol of
spell-casters; wizards specifically. And now here you are, using one
in public. It just reemphasizes a possible change in attitude toward
both magic and humans. I suppose some of my folk are uncomfortable
with the idea of such changes.”

“
And
do the council members share those feelings?” Simon asked,
beginning get nervous again.

“
Some
do, I suppose,” the cleric answered, apparently unconcerned.
“But others do not. These things tend to balance each other out
when it comes to the council. Try not to worry about it.”

Easier said than done,
Simon thought as he walked along.

They had reached a main
thoroughfare and the tunnel was now twenty yards wide, with doors set
deeply into the walls on either side. Lanterns hung down from the
ceiling high overhead and lit the area brightly, throwing off a warm
yellow glow, almost like sunlight.

“
The
lights are interesting,” Simon commented as they walked. “It
sort of feels like we're above ground.”

“
Ah,
you have a keen eye, my friend,” Opheilla replied with an
approving smile. “Yes, that is the point. You see, my people
weren't always stone dwellers. In the distant past, we too lived
above ground; planted our crops, practiced our crafts. A cataclysm
drove us into the deeps, but we still remember.” She sighed
wistfully. “Yes, we remember.”

“
I
had no idea,” Simon said, surprised. “I've never heard of
that before.”

The cleric looked up as
they passed beneath one of the yellow lamps.

“
We
do not speak of it often. But the lights are actually unnecessary for
us. My people can see in almost complete darkness, needing only the
heat of our surroundings to guide us. The yellow lanterns are more of
a symbol of what we've lost, rather than something that is useful.”

She gave Simon a teasing
smile.

“
Just
as well for you though, isn't it? Otherwise you'd be stumbling around
in the dark rather than walking in the light.”

He grinned and gave the
lamps a thankful glance.

“
No
kidding. So your people can see into the infrared spectrum? That's
interesting.”

“
I
have not heard that term before, but if it means that we can see
heat, then yes, we can.”

“
Fascinating.”

The hallway suddenly
opened up into an enormous space and Simon stopped and stared around
him.

“
Whoa,”
he whispered.

“
This
is the city center,” Opheilla told him and smiled at his awed
expression. “All dwarven cities are constructed around a
central core area, and Kingstone is the oldest of all of them.”

For a moment, Simon
thought he'd stepped on to the surface of the world. The ceiling rose
away from the tunnel and disappeared into the distance. Above them,
an enormous light source, blazing like the midday sun, shone down on
the city below. He put a hand up to block the light and saw wisps of
what looked like clouds floating overhead.

“
What
is that?” he asked in amazement.

The cleric stood next to
him and looked up at the light. Her expression was a mixture of
affection and reverence.

“
That
is the symbol of our people, Simon,” she told him quietly as
many dwarves moved by them, parting like the waters of a river as
they stood together.

“
We
call it Daemor's Heart. Legend says that it was a gift from the
patron god of the dwarves, Daemor the Old, first of the lords of
Light. He created my people and, when we were driven below ground
ages ago, guided us to this place and set the Heart above us as a
symbol of his love for us. It gives us light and life and we will do
anything to protect it.”

This last statement was
delivered fiercely and Simon, looking at the cleric's face, saw an
expression of almost savage resolve.

“
Daemor's
Heart,” he repeated quietly. “It's magnificent.”

Opheilla looked at him and
smiled with pleasure.

“
Thank
you. Now, let's get a move on. It wouldn't do to keep the council
waiting.”

Simon followed the cleric
as she set off again, and tried to stare everywhere at once as they
walked.

There were doors set all
along the walls of the city center and above them were rows of
windows. The windows rose up in tier after tier until they were lost
from sight and Simon counted at least ten stories of what he assumed
were homes. Some of them were lit and he saw shutters and curtains in
many. It reminded him of apartment buildings back on old Earth.

The walls themselves were
all ornately carved and inset with brightly-colored semi-precious
stones and minerals. The carvings were a mixture of abstract pictures
and martial scenes of battle. Simon saw great landscapes laid out
with armies of dwarves fighting against beasts and monsters out of
legend.

Dragons, wyverns, giants,
the creatures seemed endless. He even saw what he guessed were armies
of trolls and ogres, crude weapons raised over their heads, attacking
a mixed cohort of dwarves, humans and, surprisingly, elves. The
wizard stopped Opheilla for a moment and pointed at the incredibly
life-like mosaic.

“
I
thought that dwarves and elves didn't get along,” he said to
her. “And look, there are some of my people in that battle
too.”

The cleric looked
wistfully at the scene.

“
We
don't get along
now
,
my friend,” she said as she approached the wall, looking
upward. “But before our falling out, dwarves, humans and elves
were great allies. We fought many battles together back in ancient
times, when the world was young. Your race is older than you know.”

“
So
what happened? I mean, I know that there was a rift between the
races, and I've heard some vague stories, but I've never really
gotten the details.”

“
And
you won't today,” she told him with a teasing grin. “We
simply don't have the time right now for a history lesson. Another
day, perhaps. Now come along. We're going to be late.”

Opheilla
turned away from the wall and struck out across the middle of the
city center. This area was filled with shops. Many stands were set up
and a dazzling array of goods were being sold.

Simon
saw shops selling different types of mushrooms, root vegetables and
odd looking fruits that he couldn't identify. There were several
smiths hammering on anvils beside small forges. Their displays of
weapons and armor were amazing. All of the work was beautiful and
each seemed to have his or her own unique style.

“
There
are female blacksmiths?” he asked the cleric.

She
glanced at him with raised eyebrows.

“
Yes,
of course. Why wouldn't there be?”

“
Err,
no reason. Sorry.”

He
thought he might have sounded insulting and quickly tried to explain.

“
I'd
forgotten that female dwarves are so strong. Human women are, as a
rule, more agile than men but have less strength.”

Opheilla's
frown faded and she nodded her understanding.

“
Right,
right. That's true. Well, women here share in all duties. We can be
whatever we wish to be, if we have the talent for it. Some of our
greatest warriors were female and are greatly venerated.”

They
passed one female smith who was hammering on a glowing, red-hot blade
and Simon thought that she looked strong enough to snap him in half.

“
Not
surprised,” he commented and they moved on.

Other
vendors were selling ale and wine, but how they grew grapes
underground was beyond him.

Pots
and pans, furniture made of a dark wood that he couldn't identify,
clothing of all kinds; the market was amazing and Simon wished he had
the time to explore all of it.

Some
other day, he promised himself.

Opheilla
pulled him aside at one point to allow four armored figures to pass.
The four of them, two men and two women, were wearing black enameled
armor and armed with short swords. The quartet looked grim and
business-like.

At
Simon's curious look, the cleric nodded after them.

“
City
guard,” she said as they made their way through the crowd.
“They keep order, watch out for thievery, that sort of thing.”

“
There
are thieves among your people?” Simon asked in surprise.

“
I'm
afraid so. Dwarves are no more saintly than your kind, my friend. We
have both good and bad types, and many shades of gray in between.”

They
were almost across the open area now and Simon stopped and looked
back at the busy market. There were literally thousands of dwarves
doing business and the entire place was filled with life and energy
that reminded him of the high days of his own people. Days now lost,
perhaps forever.

“
You
look sad, young wizard,” the cleric said softly.

He
looked down at her and shrugged, trying to smile and almost
succeeding.

“
I
suppose I am, a bit. Your race is ancient, Opheilla, and yet, look at
them all. So alive and vibrant, so strong. We, the human race I mean,
thought we had it all. We were the masters of our world, a great and
wondrous race.” He laughed bitterly. “And now we're gone,
a footnote in history, soon forgotten. This,” he gestured at
the market, “this is the future now. I pray your people never
make the same mistake we did and assume you're invincible.”

The
cleric began to walk, heading into another broad tunnel, and Simon
followed her, his thoughts dark and his mood somber.

“
My
friend, I'm sure that your people made many mistakes, as have mine,”
she began to say as they walked. “But that wasn't what
destroyed them. Blame the real culprits; the dark gods of Chaos. What
the future would have held for humanity if the gods hadn't decided to
return, well, we'll never know. But it might have been glorious.”

She
punched him gently in the shoulder and smiled encouragingly.

“
And
don't give up just yet. Your people still survive and, as long as
they do, you have to fight for them. Will you do that?”

Simon
stared at her, surprised at the question.

“
With
my last breath and my last strength, Opheilla. I just don't know if
it will be enough.”

“
We
can only do what we can do, young wizard. All else is out of our
hands. Look now, the council chamber is up ahead.”

Simon
followed her gaze.

The
walls in this corridor were covered with bright white marble veined
with gold. Torches hung in brackets every ten feet or so and made the
marble glow warmly. Ahead, the tunnel ended at a set of massive metal
doors. They shone like brass and stretched up a dozen yards.

Do
the dwarves ever do anything on a small scale, he asked himself with
some humor. A lesser man might have thought that they were trying to
compensate for their smaller stature.

A
guard stood on either side of the doors, huge glowing hammers rested
on the ground in front of them, head-first. They wore the usual armor
and were probably the strongest looking dwarves that Simon had seen
yet.

“
They
look a bit...menacing,” he whispered to Opheilla as they walked
toward them.

“
The
royal guard,” she replied quietly. “The king must be
back. The guard is never far from his side and are responsible for
his security. They are fanatically loyal and are chosen from our
greatest warriors.” She winked at him. “Don't bother
joking with them; I don't think any of them have a sense of humor.”

“
No
problem,” Simon said nervously.

The
guard on the left was a woman and her expression was as grim and
alert as her companion's. When the wizard and cleric had approached
to within a dozen feet of the doors, both warriors fixed them with
forbidding looks.

The
guards lifted their hammers and moved together to block the doors.

“
Hold,”
the female said, her voice devoid of emotion. “And state your
business.”

“
I
am Opheilla,” the cleric said calmly, meeting the cold glares
from the guards. “A member of the priesthood of Daemor. The
council has requested a meeting with my patient, Simon O'Toole. May
we pass?”