The Reign Of Istar (19 page)

“You ... can talk,” the elf gasped at last.

“Very good,” the minotaur said. It spoke lazily, but with a perfectly precise grasp of the
trade tongue. “You have learned something about your world that you did not know before.
I've heard that elves value knowledge, so this information will serve you well in the
afterlife.”

“Wait,” said the elf, trying to catch his breath. “Just wait. We set out ... to get the
sword ... so that we could ... use it against ... our common foe ... Istar. We have to - ”

“No,” said the minotaur. “We each set out to gain the sword for our own purposes.” The
minotaur flicked a glance in the goblin's direction. “I would guess that our friend the
goblin merely wants power. Maybe he wants to be a god. But my need of the sword is far
simpler.”

The goblin wondered if he was dreaming. The elf pulled himself up a bit, but couldn't seem
to sit upright now; he grimaced as he settled down, chest against the earth again, his
breath coming shallow and quickly.

“You don't appear to have heard me,” said the minotaur. The chain in its fists swung
slightly.

“No! I heard!” said the elf quickly. “Why? Why?”

“Because this is the way of the world: Only the strong deserve to rule, and the strong
should use any means at their disposal to accomplish this. Because true strength is
revealed in chaos, in the destruction of all borders and laws and boundaries, so that each
being may challenge every other for the right to rule. Once I take that sword, I will
ensure my chance to rule the world, from sea to sea and beyond, for all time, by wishing
for the doom of the civilized world. My brethren and I will have our freedom at last, and
we will command what's left of this sad, tortured land.“ The elf stared at the minotaur. ”Madness,” he whispered. “No more mad than your hope to destroy a part of Istar's power with this sword. You'd open the gates to chaos in your own way, but you'd leave
justice and order in the world intact. Those who make the laws and govern the armies would
probably find minotaurs to be as inconvenient as do the Istarians - and they might not be
as willing to save our race for enslavement.”

The goblin figured that the elf's back was broken, and indeed it might be, but the elf
seemed to gather some strength as he spoke next. “If we use ... the sword together, we ...
can break the hold ... Istar has on us!” he pleaded softly. “We can start to ... throw
down slavery ... and killing and prejudice everywhere, and be free! We can ... have a new
world!”

“Did you not attempt to enslave me with one of your spells before we left on this quest?”
asked the minotaur, raising a thick eyebrow. “If that's a sample of how your new world is
going to be, I confess I find it lacking. I threw off that spell, thanks only to my
willpower - the same willpower that allowed me to survive long enough in this mad
wilderness to be found by that pathetic kender. Besides, I really have no quarrel with
slavery or killing - as long as it is the minotaurs who are doing the enslaving and
murdering. It is the way of the world. You elves should really come out of your forests
once in a while and see what the world's all about.”

Sweat dripped from the minotaur's broad snout. “This has gone on long enough. You have had
your fun tonight. And now I'd like some fun myself.” It stepped forward, arms and chain
swinging back and around.

The elf raised a hand. “ELEKONIA XANES,” he said, pointing his index finger in the
minotaur's direction.

A pulsing stream of white light burst from the elf's finger, flashed into the minotaur's
chest. The beast flinched and threw back its head, roaring in agony. Then it came on,
maddened, the long chain lashing down to strike at the elf's head. The goblin came to his
senses and rolled to get out of the way.

The elf gave a strangled cry when the chain struck him. The goblin heard the chain lash
down again, and again, and he kept rolling to get away. Then he remembered his wish. He remembered it
perfectly. He stopped rolling and held onto the sword's hilt as he lay on his chest, facing away from the smashing and rattling sounds as the minotaur flailed at
the fallen elf.

“I wish,” began the goblin in a choking voice, his chest burning and his hands shaking,
“that I would be - ”

He heard the minotaur's earth-shattering roar directly behind him. Panicked, he brought
the sword up as the minotaur leaped at him.

*****

It was cold, but the goblin didn't feel the cold very much. The chill from the ground
seeped into his body and through his bones, but it seemed very distant and not very real.
It was odd that he felt no pain. For some reason, he thought that he should.

Someone was calling, someone close by. The goblin opened his eyes and saw dark gray clouds
rolling overhead, heard the wind tossing the tree branches. Something cold and wet struck
him on the forehead. Rain, maybe.

A new sound began. It was the stupid kender. He was crying. The goblin stirred, trying to
look in the kender's direction, but he couldn't move very well. He found it hard to
breathe.

Footsteps thumped over to his side. Small, cold hands touched his cheeks, wiping away dirt
and blood. Turning his head, he saw a thin face with tangled brown hair and brown eyes.

“Are you alive?” the kender asked, his voice almost breaking. “I saw you move. Please say
you're alive.”

The goblin licked his lips. His mouth felt very dry, and it tasted awful. “Yes,” he said.
It hurt to speak; the wind almost carried his voice away.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here,” the kender said, choking back his sobs. His hands continued to
clean the goblin's face. “I got lost last night because of the explosion and the wind, and
I crashed in some bushes. I came down far away and kept falling over things and getting
stuck in briars and almost twisted my ankle. What happened?”

“Fight,” the goblin managed to say. Was the kender going to talk him to death? He suspected that he was dying anyway. Then he remembered.
“Minotaur,” he whispered fearfully, trying to look around.

“The minotaur's over there.” The kender waved an arm blindly to his right. “I'm sorry. He
... he's dead.” The kender started to cry again but fought it down. “The humans killed him
with the gem sword. The elf's dead, too. The humans beat him up. I don't want you to die,
too.”

With a sudden effort, the goblin forced himself to sit up a few inches and looked in the
direction the kender had indicated. The minotaur lay collapsed in a dirty brown heap, the
sword's silver blade protruding from its back. The goblin remembered now the minotaur's
roar as it had leapt upon the blade, its full weight smashing into the goblin's face and
chest. Then the awful gurgling howl as it arose and tried to breathe with a shaft of steel
through its lung and heart.

The goblin eased himself back down, fighting the dull pain that came from his chest. I
should be happy, he thought. I killed a minotaur. But I feel so tired. It isn't worth it
to move. I just want to ... Oh. The -

“Sword,” whispered the goblin. He tried to reach toward the dead minotaur. “Sword.”

The kender wiped his eyes and leaned closer. “What?”

“Sword,” said the goblin. He tried to reach for it. Things seemed to get dark and that
frightened him, but his hand caught the kender's hand, and he felt less afraid. Stupid
kender, he thought, and the world slowly drifted away.

*****

One of the wagons carried shovels. It took the rest of the day, with intermittent droplets
of rain falling all around, for the kender to dig a pit large enough to bury his three
friends. The goblin had asked for the sword, so the kender carefully cleaned it after
removing it from the minotaur's chest, never touching the blade. He held it by its hilt as
he prepared to lay it at the dead goblin's side.

“I wish ...” the kender whispered, then closed his eyes to better remember the words that
his parents had taught him. He could remember only the end of the good-bye prayers, so he
said that. “I wish you peace on your journey and hope you will be waiting for me at the end of your travels.”

Because his eyes were closed, he did not see the sword glow briefly as he spoke. The light
faded away when he set the sword into the goblin's hand.

The kender filled the pit halfway with dirt, then covered it with rocks to keep out wolves
and other creatures. It was dawn the next day before he was finished.

He left the Istarian soldiers where they lay. Then he went home.

Raindrops began falling all across the hilltop. Within minutes, the land was awash in a
cold, blinding torrent.

The Three Lives of Horgan Oxthrall Douglas Niles Research of Foryth Teel, scribe serving Astinus Lorekeeper My Most Honored Master:

Regretfully, information detailing the history of the Khalkist dwarves during the century
preceding the Cataclysm is sparse and, for the most part, of questionable veracity.
Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to collect the scraps that yield themselves to me and
present them to you in as sensible a manner as possible.

The tale begins with the Istarian invasion of the Khalkist Mountains in 117 PC, following
the dwarven reaction to the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue (118 PC). The Khalkist
dwarves' refusal to renounce Reorx and swear obeisance to only the gods of good was viewed
as a direct challenge to the authority of the Kingpriest. The resulting disastrous
campaign is, naturally enough, given scant treatment in the surviving human histories.

The few traversable routes through the crest of the high Khalkists - most notably, Stone
Pillar and White Bear passes - were the only overland roads connecting the eastern and
western portions of the empire of Istar. Angered by the effrontery of the human
proclamation, the dwarves turned their backs on a lucrative income (from tolls on the
passes) and closed their realm to Istar.

The emperor invaded late the following summer (117 PC), delaying the assault until then in
order to minimize the difficulties presented by the deep snow in the heights. He sent two
of his legions against each of the two major passes - a total army of some forty thousand
men. The rugged terrain confined each force to a single deep valley, and though each
marched but a score of leagues from the other, neither was in a position to support its
counterpart in the event of difficulty.

The dwarves capitalized on this disadvantage quickly, meeting the two southern legions
with some eight thousand doughty warriors. Meanwhile, the northern wing of the Istarian
army advanced over rougher ground, pushing toward the lofty divide at a snail's pace.

Making his attack in the south from ambush, at the fording of a rapid stream, the dwarven
commander timed the onslaught perfectly. (Incidentally, reports indicate, but do not
confirm, that the dwarven field army was led by High Thane Rankil himself.) Waiting until
half of the Istarians had crossed, the Khalkist army annihilated an entire legion and
harried the second all the way back to the lowlands. There the remnant of the human legion
remained, its fighting spirit shattered on the granite foothills. The heights loomed like
jagged daggers to the west, casting shadows of an early sunset over Istar. (I beg Your
Excellency's forgiveness of my metaphorical excess!)

By this time, the northern legions had penetrated to Stone Pillar Pass, without seeing a
single dwarf. Then, abruptly, the attacks began - sudden strikes from concealment. There
seems to have been a simple sameness to the tactic:

A wedge of stocky, bearded dwarves bearing keen battle- axes or steel-headed hammers
charged from a ridge line or ravine, slashing into the human column, then disappearing
before the Istarian army could concentrate its forces. The attacks were repeated; the
position of the legions became untenable. The human troops endured short rations, harsh
weather, and constant harassing combat, but their generals ordered them to stand firm.

After several weeks of this treatment, during which every grown, able-bodied male dwarf
was drawn into the Khalkist army, the centurions commanding the two trapped legions
gradually came to grips with the precariousness of their situation. Food had begun to run low, and the icy menace of winter was a constant
reminder behind the harsh autumn winds. Desperate, the commanders ordered a march back to
Istar.

The humans surrounded their heavy, ox-drawn supply wagons with many ranks of guards and
rumbled down the high valleys. The oxen led the charge against the dense dwarven
formations when the Khalkist forces strategically chose to block the Istarian army's
retreat.

Reports from Istarian sources, Excellency, confirm the truth of this last tactic, claiming
that the oxen presence was often effective against dwarves. It seems that the wagon
handlers fed the beasts a gruel laced with rum before the battle - a goodly dose reputed
to have made the normally equable oxen most disagreeable. They are great creatures, of
course, and must have loomed over the dwarves in elephantine proportion!

Nevertheless, the stocky mountain dwellers tried to stop the Istarian army, even as
roadblock after roadblock crumbled before the lumbering beasts of burden as the oxen
scattered the dwarves. Still, High Thane Rankil remained stubbornly determined to
obliterate the two legions.

The humans finally were cornered before the last river crossing - a historical site called
Thoradin Bridge, which I have located on a pre-Cataclysm map - leading to the safety of
the Istarian Plains. Here a company of young dwarves stood, and once again the oxen were
drawn to the fore.

At this point, Excellency, it becomes difficult to sort the legend from fact. We know that
the human force was lost in total - the greatest military defeat suffered by Istar to that
date. As for the course of the battle, little is known.

However, I have uncovered a somewhat implausible tale. Dwarven legend has it that a young
dwarf, one Horgan of Squire, employed some great magic - often referred to as the power of
Reorx - to lure the oxen away from the bridge, diverting the fateful charge that would
have ensured the human escape. It is said that this Horgan wore a tunic embroidered with
silver thread, portraying as its symbol the Great Forge of Reorx. It seems, indeed,
Excellency, that the youth was host to a miracle! Many accounts have been cited - dwarves
who saw the blessing of Reorx ignite in young Horgan, leading the enemy army to disaster!