The Dragon God (Book 2) (34 page)

Spilf was confused, but the others bowed their heads in acknowledgment of the tremendous loss. Abawken pulled Raina close to him in a grieving embrace. Bridazak, who had been the carrier of the Orb of Truth, was held dear in everyone’s hearts; none more than Dulgin and Spilf, who had fallen to his knees at the edge of the chasm, shoulders bobbing as the grief of his friends loss was unbearable. Dulgin laid his hand on Spilf’s head and said in Dwarven, “Kawnesh di lengo mi diember faustuuk.”

Xan saw El’Korr holding Rondee and was about to rush over when El’Korr raised his hand and nodded silently, indicating it was too late. The weight of these losses increased upon Xandahar’s mind. He kept to himself the private exchange he had had with the ordakian. Surely he was in the hands of God, Rondee now by his side, and not with the wicked in the underworld.

What Bridazak had mouthed to him would be sure to cause an extreme, ill-advised reaction, and Xan knew he would be foolish to share it now. In time he would reveal what was truly said, though even he couldn’t fight the doubt of Bridazak’s statement, “I will be back.”

As Bridazak plunged into the darkness it was like a deep ocean. He sank into the depths feeling the heaviness of the essence he now travelled; the underworld, a destination reserved for those separated from God. He could see nothing in the murky blackness as doubts of his decision raced to the forefront of his mind. He was isolated, no longer with his friends. He slowly fell through the realm into the world of the Dark Lord’s domain.

Bridazak’s speed increased as if he was attached to an anchor driving him deeper and deeper to the ocean’s floor.

He was in total darkness; nothing for his eyes to latch onto to give him any bearing of his final destination. He wondered how he would find Manasseh in such a place.

Other eyes watched as Bridazak plunged, like a beacon of light into the darkness; resembling a meteor entering the atmosphere on a moonless night.

They watched in disbelief for they had never seen light before. Dazed, they came out of their somber holes to investigate the strange phenomena.

A
squad of frost dwarves marched down the corridor, forcing Spilf to cling to the wall to allow them to pass. The dwarves’ vitality had returned since the Sky Diamond was returned to its place. Their blue-tinted skin glowed and the light of the torches revealed that they shimmered, covered with thousands of tiny ice crystals. Spilf felt the chilled air as they passed.

Continuing into the hall alone, Spilf replayed the previous day’s events in the Chamber of Cleansing.
“This must have been what Bridazak felt after he thought I died,”
he pondered to himself. He still couldn’t believe his best friend was gone, knowing that his dearest friend was in Heaven with God brought him some comfort—some. He always imagined being with Bridazak till the end and learning more from him. Spilf thought,
“God, this hurts. Why did he have to go?”

He stopped at a wooden door and stared at it. He thought to himself,
“Bridazak, you were supposed to be with me for this.”
Spilf rested his forehead against the cold metal strapping next to the release lever. He took in a deep breath and then exhaled. He whispered, “Help me, God.”

The panel suddenly opened, gravity pushed Spilf inward, burying his face into the chest of an ordakian who was in the middle of a sentence while opening the door, “I am going to find out what the—” He stopped, surprised, and then asked, “Who are you and why have we been locked away from our people?”

Spilf heard a surly voice, deep for an ordakian, but a voice he recalled from the vision God had given him in the Lost City. Without a doubt, it was the voice of his bapah. He slowly lifted his head and looked into rich, wheat colored eyes, wrinkles on his brow, brown hair, like his, but with a touch of grey on the sides. His bapah stood a foot taller, arm muscles bulged from his beige robe.

“Well?” his father demanded.

“I-I...” Spilf stuttered softly, as he was hit with many emotions all at once.

“I demand to know what is going on. My wife and I were shuttled off to this room, isolated from the others. Supposedly, we are to talk with someone, and we would like to know who that someone may be.”

Spilf looked quickly toward the back of the sparse chamber. His momah stood next to the fireplace. The orange flames cast her in a beautiful light; her fair skin glowed. She held her hands in worry, close to her chest. Her soft brown hair, naturally curled, draped over her shoulders and her deep mocha colored eyes narrowed when she saw him. A look of recognition spread across her face.

“Spilfer?” she asked, guardedly.

He nodded. Tears flowed. They ran into each other’s arms. As Spilf buried his face into her chest, he immediately remembered her scent—the smell of berries. His father stood there, uncertain as to what was happening. “What is going on, Lyla?”

She looked into her husband’s eyes, still clutching Spilf, and said, “Your son has come home.”

His breath caught in his throat, “My son?” He took hold of Spilf’s shoulder and turned him. They were face to face. As their eyes locked, he realized his anger had blinded him from the truth. He quickly wrapped his arms around his wife and son and the reunited family cried together.

Spilf, in a voice cracking with emotion, murmured “I found you.”

In the lower tunnels and castle complex, the bloody battle between Goblinkind and Frost Dwarves raged on.

One after the other, the injured arrived at the makeshift infirmary where Xandahar and Rozelle extended their expertise to help. Xan utilized his clerical powers to heal the wounded. Rozelle helped Xan where needed and concocted druidical ointments for minor injuries. The mixed aroma of blood, sweat and natural spices permeated the room. The floor of the tunnel was littered with hundreds of cots holding patients whose painful cries assailed their ears.

Xan and Rozelle shifted their attention from their current patient when King Morthkin and King El’Korr entered, bleeding and battered, with several other fighters coming in behind them. The two leaders shrugged off the helping hands that instantly lurched toward them, commanding the healers to tend to the others instead. Xan and Rozelle approached.

“We are just getting our second wind and will be leaving shortly,” El’Korr said as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The faces of the kings were covered with heavy grime and their armor and weapons bore the dried gore of battle. El’Korr’s magical full-plate still shined bright as new, with the bloody remnants sliding to the ground.

“Your brother, Dulgin, fights well,” Morthkin said.

“He has lost a good friend, as have I, and is upset about it, so what better way than to kill some goblins?” he chuckled.

“We will all have lost good friends before this is over,” Morthkin responded.

Xan asked, “Are we gaining ground?”

“Nay, but we are not losing any either. We managed to keep them in the lower levels, but they are persistent little insects. It will take weeks for our outer walls to heal themselves.”

Rozelle asked, “Your walls can heal?”

“Indeed, due to the Sky Diamond.”

El’Korr said, “Have we heard from Raina yet?”

Xan started to shake his head in the negative, but suddenly he spotted Raina standing in the doorway. She was wearing white fur draped over her neck and shoulders.

Raina said, “I have news.”

“We were just talking about you,” El’Korr said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Your army is a day away. I made contact with Geetock.”

“That is good news. We can use the few hundred extra hands right now.”

“No longer a few hundred hands, King El’Korr.”

“I understand. What are our losses?”

“You mean what is our gain?”

“Spit it out, Raina. What happened?”

“Initial numbers from Geetock are estimated at eight-thousand and continue to grow. Apparently, all the races in the North have heard of our massing and came to join.”

“Dwarves?”

“All races, some dwarves, some elves, but mostly humans.”

A broad smile spread across El’Korr’s face. He called to King Morthkin, “Time to send this goblin horde back into its hole.”

“Come, we will prepare for your army’s arrival.”

Raina held up her hands, halting them, her face more serious, “There is more.” She lowered her hands and continued, “Another army approaches from the mountains in the North.”

“What army, Raina?”

“A large contingent of dwarves.”

“Dwarves? That is great news.” El’Korr’s face beamed and he grasped King Morthkin’s shoulder to rejoice.

Raina said, “These dwarves are not led by your general Geetock, but by Bailo.”

El’Korr dropped his hand and his face turned sour. “He is still alive?”

“Apparently so.”

“How many follow him?”

“Estimations at this point say it is tens-of-thousands.”

El’Korr’s bushy orange eyebrows raised, “So much has changed over the years. It is time that I speak with him.”

King Morthkin spoke, “Who is this Bailo?”

“He is my Uncle. He was a Hammergold, who was banished by my father. He split our clan and fled to the mountains when the humans surged for power. Bailo wanted no part of the human’s societies, and my father blamed Bailo for separating our people. We had heard rumors that he died in the crags we call Glandi—the Forgotten Mountains. How far away are the dwarves?”

Raina said, “Bailo waits at the front gate.”

Morthkin addressed the two flanking guards standing at attention behind Raina, “Show him in.”

The ice encapsulated kingdom chilled Bailo to the bone as he was escorted through the Great Hall to the chamber of the throne. Hundreds of armed warriors marched in unison on both sides of his small contingent. Their heavy boots reverberated loudly and then faded as they passed by.

When the escorts stopped at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne, Bailo recognized the gleaming full-plate armor of El’Korr, standing near the throne where King Morthkin sat. El’Korr looked to the frost dwarf monarch, and received the nod of his approval to proceed.

El’Korr’s deep resonant voice echoed as he turned toward Bailo, an outcast of his own family of the Hammergold clan, and spoke, “I heard you were dead.”