Dwarven Council
Coal and his companions waited for the king of Galium was much larger than the one in the garvawk warriors’ barracks. The room also had windows and was at the top of a wide tower built up the front of the mountain. Out the east window, Orin saw the rolling hills and the front range of the Drelek mountains. From the south window, the view showed the greater city of Galium.
To the west, a beautifully manicured rooftop courtyard sat atop the great castle. It was surrounded by stone walls and the mountainside. But it was open to the sky to give the trees much-needed sunlight for the few hours a day the beams bathed the courtyard. Ellaria noticed a halfling gardener picking at one of the beds of plants, whistling joyfully to himself.
Tobin had Ezel pinned in the corner, talking the gnome’s ear off. He spoke with nervous anticipation, for it was not often he got a chance to see the king. Occasionally, Ezel would try to sign that he needed to remove himself from the corner of the room or go talk to Coal or Ellaria or anyone else. But the halfling, who did not understand the grey gnome’s gestures, took them as agreements with his own thoughts and continued at a blissful pace.
Coal smirked at the grey gnome’s pleading face but did nothing to save his poor friend. Instead, he conversed with Bendur Clagstack and Lotmeag Kandersaw, rather glad to be in the company of dwarven warriors again. He hadn’t realized he missed it while he was working the Palori River on the Lady Leila, but he was enjoying their exaggerated tales.
The door to the meeting chamber slammed open, and everyone inside moved closer to the short table in the center of the room. An old dwarf with a long, white, wispy beard shuffled into their midst. His blue hooded cloak fluttered behind him, and the silver stars embroidered into his garment sparkled. He muttered to himself, not looking at anyone in the room, and moved straight to the table where he deposited a stack of parchment.
He paused, finished his audible thoughts, and nodded to himself, seeming quite pleased with his conclusion. He looked up and smiled.
“Corahl,” he acknowledged Coal.
“Argus?” Coal said, recognizing the old dwarf. “Argus Azulekor, you old coot. Is that you?”
“One and the same, my Prince!” he beamed.
“You must be three hundred years old by now!”
“Two seventy-one this summer, thank you,” the old dwarf corrected, feigning offense. “I’ve got lots of life in me still. Too many magics still a mystery. Too many things to discover.”
Coal moved around the short table to embrace the old mage but was halted by another dwarf entering the room. King Thygram Markensteel’s boots clanked with every step on the stone floor. His golden armor was regal and embedded with gems from Galium’s famous Deep Mines. He walked with the swagger of a king and strode to the table as all the others gave a slight bow. Orin and Ellaria joined in, not wanting to be disrespectful to their royal host.
Thygram stopped and looked curiously at the two humans before he asked, “And what do we have here?”
“Travelers,” Bendur Clagstack answered. “They’ve encountered the Drelek dragon.”
“The Kelvurian dragon,” Argus corrected.
Orin looked over to Coal, surprised by the way they spoke of the dragon. Clearly, Galium knew more than their group had expected.
“And ye managed to survive,” Thygram nodded to them approvingly. “Where did ye encounter the dragon?”
“At the Palori Ruins. A farmer from Tamaria had suffered at the hands of the orcs and taken his grievances to King Hugen. I was asked to look into it before returning to Whitestone,” Orin explained. “We found more than we expected.”
“I imagine so,” the king laughed.
“Testing the dragon’s breath on the elven architecture, like Deklahn said,” Argus pointed out to the king.
“It seems so.”
“They have given us no reason to question their word,” the old mage added.
“So far,” Thygram replied airily. “Have I not gotten our army started on preparations for the battle to come?”
Argus lifted his hands in resignation. “I do not mean to offend.”
“You don’t,” Thygram assured him. He turned toward Orin. “Tell me of the creature’s might.”
Orin described everything they had seen to the best of his recollection, and Ellaria added details where she saw fit.
“That matches Deklahn’s account of the dragon,” Argus said, again speaking aside to the king.
“Excuse me,” Coal butted in. “But it seems you know more of the dragon than even we do. How’d you come by this knowledge?”
“And who inquires?” King Thygram asked, giving Coal a once-over.
“This is Corahl, Prince of Kalimandir, Son of Onik, a son of Clan Carraignyk,” the mage answered for him.
“Ah, an old friend, Argus?”
“I have known him in the past. He has always been a good, if not brash, dwarf,” Argus replied.
Coal’s cheeks flushed. When he’d left Kalimandir years earlier, he’d been a young dwarf lacking the wisdom of grey hairs. He still had no grey hairs in his jet-black beard, but he had gained life experience on his travels. He believed himself to be a better dwarf than the one who had left so long ago.
“I have ... grown,” Coal replied.
“I see that in you,” Argus affirmed.
“A touching reunion,” the king said, reinserting himself into the conversation. “I welcome you, young prince of Kalimandir.”
“I am grateful,” Coal said in the customary dwarven response.
“We have much to discuss,” King Thygram Markensteel said. “But I think it would be better on a full stomach. Segin!”
A round halfling scuttled into the room from the hallway. His hair was matted with sweat, and Orin had a tinge of sympathy for the poor fellow. Many stairs led to the meeting chamber, and though the guardian did not know how long the halfling had been standing in the hallway, it appeared he was still recovering from the climb.
“We’ll take lunch here today,” the king instructed.
Tobin sucked in an audible breath of excitement as he straightened, looking around at his new friends. Certainly, he wasn’t the only one who was hungry. Segin, for his part, was less than enthused about returning to the stairs but hurried off to make preparations, nonetheless.
“It is always easier to hear bad news with a happy belly,” the king said.
“And what bad news is that?” Coal asked, an eyebrow shooting up.
“Ye’ll not be going to Whitestone just yet.”
After the initial shock and uproar at the king’s declaration that the group would not be continuing to Whitestone, there had been much debate. Orin, in particular, felt strongly that they must continue onward. When Argus explained that Whitestone already knew of the dragon and Orin’s skills would be needed in Galium over the next week, the guardian recalled the words of Enkeli the wizard, “You will be where you are needed soon.” Orin wondered if the situation before him might be what the wizard had meant.
When Orin’s arguments fell silent and Coal and Ezel continued with fervor, the old mage produced a beautiful shell from inside his robes.
“This is one of the Shells of Callencia. My own creation. And a rather clever magic, if I do say so myself.” Argus Azulekor seemed tickled with his own brilliance. “It allows a mage the ability to speak to others at vast distances. This is how we have been able to get the word to Whitestone. It’s also how we know that the dragon, at least one wyvern squadron, and an army of foot soldiers are on their way to Galium, as we speak.”
Much to Tobin’s delight—for the halfling was quite tired of all the arguing that had stressed him to so great a hunger—Segin and several others spilled into the room carrying platters of lunch. There was bread and fruits. Vegetables and dips. A nice bowl of steaming mutton stew. The spread was a royal one, to say the least.
The dwarf mage had stopped talking when the servants had come in with the meal, and the others wisely held their questions, recognizing the need for discretion.
One particularly small halfling shuffled into the room, far behind the others. Orin guessed his shorter legs had slowed him on the climb up the stairs. The halfling cheerfully served up a platter of cheeses that made Tobin’s eyes light up. And then, as quickly as they had arrived, the servants disappeared through the doorway.
“I should like to hear more of Whitestone,” Orin said plainly. “Are they preparing for the attack? Have they set squadrons in motion to come to Galium’s aid?”
Argus glanced to King Thygram, who was filling a bowl of stew for himself. The king shrugged, as though to tell the old mage that his response would ultimately change nothing.
“Well ... Whitestone is currently under the control of a sorcerer orc from Kelvur,” Argus said as gently as he could muster.
“What?” Orin, Coal, and Ellaria said at once.
“Whitestone has fallen? I was too late to warn them?”
“No ...” Argus started but then corrected himself. “Well, yes. The Griffin Guard knows of the dragon. The Riders of Loralith have grouped up with the Talon Squadron of the Guard to mount a counterattack, and they plan to retake Whitestone this very day.”
Orin’s mind reeled. The revelation that his home had been captured by some orc sorcerer from across the Gant Sea was more than he could have imagined. Everything in his being wanted to run down to the garvawk barracks and try every magical utterance he had ever heard to wake one of the panther-like creatures and fly off to Whitestone. But the notion was foolish. Orin had never once been able to do any magic. He knew no word that would wake a garvawk. And even if he did, if the battle were today, he would never make it in time to help.
Ezel sensed the confusion and restlessness in the guardian and grabbed Orin’s hand. The little gnome's hand grounded Orin back to the present. The man looked at the gnome’s eyes—blue even without the faery fires burning—and the compassion on his tiny face nearly broke the guardian.
“This must be a lot to stomach, young guardian,” Argus continued. “I assure you, the Riders of Loralith have sent a couple of mages along to aid in the battle for Whitestone. I have no doubt they will be victorious.”
“Talon Squadron is the Guard’s best unit. They will fight with a fury unseen in ages,” Orin said, trying to comfort himself as much as agree with the old mage’s hopes.
The old mage brightened, as though he remembered something. It was a strange coincidence of sorts, and he felt compelled to share. “They tell me of a human huntsman who rides with the elves to Whitestone’s aid, as well. Now, remembering the details relayed to me, I cannot help but wonder if you might know of him.”
Tears poured from Ellaria’s eyes, though her face was a picture of pure joy. Coal looped his arm around the young woman’s waist and pulled her in for an excited hug. Ezel and Orin exchanged bewildered but relieved looks.
“With all the bad news going around, I don’t think you could have given us better news than this!” Coal said graciously.
“I am happy to share it then,” Argus replied.
“The battle for Whitestone is not the only battle happening today, though,” King Thygram cut in, having finished a bowl of stew.
“You said earlier that we have a couple of days before the army of Drelek arrives here,” Orin said, confused by the king’s words.
“Ah yes. But our friends from Lakjo fly to take Ruk today, as well,” Argus explained.
“Friends from Lakjo?” Coal retorted.
“Yes,” the old mage continued. “The ones who warned us of the coming army. They are in rebellion against King Sahr of Drelek, who allied himself with Jaernok Tur, the sorcerer of Kelvur.”
As the puzzle began to piece together in his mind, Coal still couldn’t reconcile the fact that they were calling orcs of Drelek, “friends.”
“And the orcs are working with us?” Coal asked.
“Yes,” Argus said. He understood the dwarf would need more explanation. “Deklahn is a mage among their people. They sent him and a pair of guards here as emissaries to Galium. We imprisoned them immediately, of course. Orcs extending an olive branch was the last thing we ever thought we’d see. But as they explained the situation they found themselves in as rebels against the king and his new ally, I sensed no deception on their part. And Deklahn used no magic to veil their intentions.
“After days with them, I could find no malice and had to conclude that they, indeed, wanted to extend friendship. I spent another couple of days with Deklahn and decided they could be great allies in the war to come. Before they went home to Lakjo, I gave Deklahn one of the Shells of Callencia. A risk, to be sure. But one I felt we had to take. At the very least, if we sensed them using it against our combined efforts with the elves, we would stop using it immediately.”
“And they have been speaking to you through this ... this shell?” Coal asked incredulously.
“Yes,” the old mage replied. “They have given us reports to keep us informed, and they have given us no reason for distrust.”
Coal squirmed, still not comfortable with the idea. He had a sense that the union could come back to bite them. But then again, he had no experience trusting orcs.
All of a sudden, the shell sitting on the table in front of Argus sparked to life. A bright orb of light appeared above it and flickered with a voice from far away.
“Whitestone has been reclaimed!” the voice said. “The city is secure. The king lives, though the sorcerer has escaped through the mirror.”
“Lanryn,” Argus said to the others, who watched in absolute amazement. “A mage from Loralith.”
Their hearts soared. Whitestone was reclaimed! Orin could hardly contain his joy. He was overwhelmed with the news. That is, until the voice came through the shell once more, and he heard the part he dismissed the first time.
“The sorcerer has fled through the mirror.”