----------------------------------------
Spring - Spring Scents - 1 (Hard Headed)
----------------------------------------
The Dúrtharán Council sat in stern silence, each member glowering at the others with a grave expression.
The crowd of Enfaen and Fae gathered in the surrounding dark did not dare to make any sounds, anxious of disturbing the sanctity of the occasion. Generations had passed since the Council last assembled, but shifting tides of fate now compelled the leaders of the separate tribes to convene twice in succession. Violent disturbances had shaken the very fabric of creation, prompting an urgent response to the aftermath. Shortly thereafter, an unexpected development necessitated a second gathering, so once more, the massive bonfire in the centre of Eirengard was lit.
The ancient, sheltered gathering place was situated on the slope of Erednan, the Mountain Mother, the hall carved out of a natural cave in the mountainside. Dúrtharán ancestors had chosen the site as neutral ground long ago for its equidistant location from the seats of the most significant tribes, and various Steinvolk masters had enhanced the natural stone features with their exquisite craftsmanship. Imposing columns, adorned with intricate, detailed reliefs, rose from floor to ceiling. Altars honouring the Ancients lined the chamber’s sides, and torches bathed the hall in a warm, welcoming glow, their holders chiselled into the stone walls. The fire crackled, undisturbed by the winds that raged outside at Erednan's lofty heights. The ancient crafters had not merely exploited the already existing natural advantages of the cave, but also woven a magic barrier around Eirengard, keeping the elements at bay.
This protection now shielded the Speaker of the Keepers, the Giant Monolith, from nature's distractions. He was standing on a platform on the slope below Eirengard, built to ease the Giants partaking in gatherings, which aligned their heads with the cave opening. Still, the enormous Monolith had to stoop to peer into the chamber from the outside and participate in the Council's proceedings. His towering height surpassed even the majestic pine trees on Erednan’s more sheltered slopes by quite a measure.
Getting together without conflict was challenging for some of the factions at the best of times, but today all seemed aware of the need to strive for a common consensus. When Steinvolk convened, there was always the potential for quarrels, ruckus or a merry melee, but so far, everyone had reined in their tempers. Or at least tried to. That in and of itself was already a success, Eldersmith Runid, the Dwarrun Leader and Thane of Gûrdolgor, mused. When it came to Dúrtharán, being hard-headed wasn’t a mere figure of speech. His quiet contemplation, as he was rather unaware that he was softly grumbling into his beard, was shattered by the outburst of the Turollgur Chieftain; contradicting his earlier thoughts and reinforcing the latter.
“We must act now! I won’t let cowardice stop us from seizing every possible advantage!” Rukthar thundered, his voice like boulders crashing down a mountainside.
The onlooking Steinvolk shrank back into the shadows surrounding the Council seats.
Mighty tusks jutted from Rukthar’s mouth, adding to his fearsome appearance, and chalk warpaint streaked across his face, enhancing the spark in his angry eyes to even fiercer intensity. The imposing Turollgur wore simple, functional armour, prioritizing practicality over aesthetics. He didn’t need spikes or blades; the smaller Dúrtharán - save the Dwarrun and Earth Elementals - already cowered in his presence.
Stonelore, the faceless Earth Elemental, exuded agitation at Rukthar’s words, prompting the Giant Keeper to speak.
“I know not of what advantages you may speak, but do not mistake caution for cowardice,” the Monolith rumbled, his rocky but calm voice belying his enormous presence. “Once again, you grace us with Turollgur courage, but we must consider all pursuits with care before inserting ourselves into these affairs.”
At this, Stonelore calmed down and nodded in silent agreement.
His elemental form was made of earth, loose pebbles, and a few rocks, and the mass was in constant but near indiscernible motion. Despite seeming to ‘sit’ on one of the Council Thrones, the shape of the entity was all but a rough likeness of a person.
“Crags,” Dumar, Leader of the Deepholme Dwarrungar, huffed, the ghostly white wisps of his hair providing a stark contrast against his ashen skin. One of his eyes was hidden behind his magical monocle; the other was milky, devoid of an iris, and gave off a faint blue glow. He wore simplistic leather with no embellishments at all; the surfaces of the few metal or wood elements of his attire had even been worked to be dull and to not reflect light. Around him, the shadows were more intense; the dark seemed darker. “You always rush into things, rush into battle, rush into war. Your haste might cost us dearly,” the Warden of the Deep finished, his voice as grave as the dark abyss from which he had travelled.
“At least we do something! All you Dwarrungar are interested in is scuttling back to your shadows to dig around in the dark. I bet this is the first time in centuries that you subject yourself to fresh air,” the Turollgur snarled.
“And what exactly is it that you want to do?” Dumar shot back. “Rampage and raid, set a few things on fire? We Dwarrungar might be set in our ways, but I am still not convinced that we have to do anything at all.”
“As we all very well know, there are few things - if any - able to escape the Lady’s attention,” Viandrel, Sovereign of the Darkin, the Dark Elves, said with her smoky voice. She used Cànan Ard, the language of the High Fae, which drew irritated and even some angry glares from her fellow Council Members. Her words commanded instant attention despite the low volume she had chosen to speak with, and one had to wonder if her usage of the High Tongue was also, indeed, intentional. The Dark Elf’s tall and slender form was clad in fabric only, as she had abstained from wearing armour. Runid wondered if this was another veiled statement as he marvelled at the smooth folds of her garment, the material shimmering like silk yet possessive of a certain velvety quality. Its colour resembled the dark in a yawning abyss, but the muted sparks of light on it looked almost like stars in the sky of a cloudy night. Viandrel’s sharp and elegant features revealed no emotion, and stoicism reigned on her beautiful but intimidating face. Her raven hair was done up in a simple yet interesting braided do, and delicate jewellery adorned the length of her pointy ears.
“Honoured Viandrel, if you would please use the Common Tongue. I am sure you are aware that not all Dúrtharán are versed in the language of the High Fae - and that there are some who do not even care for it at all,” the Monolith said. His tone suggested caution and respect, despite the majestic power in his words.
The Darkin Matriarch bowed her head in the Keeper’s direction.
“Excuse my mistake, habit caused me to engage in the High Tongue,” she admitted in Teanga Enfaen, shifting to the hybrid dialect without effort. The language was spoken by most Volk outside of High Fae Society, and also commonly used among the diverse races. “Regarding my earlier statement, the occurrence has without doubt already awakened the Lady’s apprehension, so the Fae of the Reach and Wilds will be informed. And seeing as the Court of Elfhame also has eyes and ears everywhere, we can be sure the Monarchs have taken an interest as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if our emissaries, if we choose to send any, find subjects of the Lake or of the Court already present.”
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Dumar grunted. “You know how they can be; they will gouge each other's eyes out one minute and unite to crush everyone else the next. It is a fickle business, dealing with them…” he trailed off and shot a furtive glance at Viandrel.
“If we do not want to bring down the anger of the High Fae on Dúrtharán affairs, all we can do is observe without drawing attention and hope that things settle down again,” Viandrel added. “And if they do not, what else is there to do? We can’t go through the Veil, and we can’t stop the Nexus from forming.” Her face was set in a rather neutral expression, and as always, Runid found it difficult to interpret her intentions.
“Why,” interrupted Rukthar. “Why can we not go through the Veil? Let’s just seize what we can and decide what to do with it afterwards!” His fists clenched with frustration over the others’ reluctance.
"Again with your heedless force. Is this how you run things at Fellspire Keep? We do not know what is causing this anomaly. What if we send our people into danger, into death even?” Dumar exclaimed, and Stonelore made a sound of shaking rubble to signal his accordance.
“What if we don’t and others take everything before we can get to it? And the Spire is none of your business - don’t dig where you don’t belong!”
“Take what? The forming of a Nexus doesn’t guarantee anything, rare as it may be! It could mean or be almost anything,” the Deepholme Dwarrungar barked.
“Power, Warden,” Viandrel stated. “Power is what could be gained by taking action, not mere material possessions.” The Sovereign shifted slightly in her seat, her face betraying no emotion while she spoke.
Runid furrowed his brow, unsure of the implications in her words.
“Remember, the Nexus forming isn’t a singular oddity. The rather violent disturbances in the weave may have subsided, but the fluctuation in the magic they have caused is still going on. Can’t we all feel it? Everywhere around us and in our own bones as well? Even our lands resonate with this, even the Mountain Mother shudders,” the Dark Elf motioned at her surroundings. “We don’t know if there will be something to loot, but knowledge gained is power, too,” Viandrel concluded.
“I don’t care,” Rukthar snapped. “Whatever pragmatics you have to use to convince yourselves to do something - anything - is fine by me. But do not think that Turollgur will forgive if there are indeed riches to be had and one tries to cheat us out of our share!”
Dumar swelled with anger. “You loathsome - “
“Greed instead of protectiveness, anger instead of unity,” the Keeper Monolith interrupted and shook his head in sadness. “Steinvolk should be above this - most of all in times of grave importance.”
Dumar growled at this, and Rukthar pounded his fists on the armrests of his throne, but both otherwise held their tongues. No Dúrtharán would ever speak up or go against the Keepers.
Outside, a new gust of wind howled along the cliffside, and while the agitation of air wasn’t able to penetrate the magic barrier, it nonetheless pushed in a fresh breath of mountain scents. The current was tinged with the herbal flavour of evergreen trees and a crisp dash of the snowy peaks.
“I agree,” Runid nodded and began to stroke his bronze beard. “I agree with all of you. We have to act to stay informed, but we must not rush into this without due consideration. We Steinvolk might have our differences - but this? Something like this has never happened before. The Keeper is right, let us not argue. This is complicated enough without reviving old feuds, and if things do not settle down after all, we might need the combined strength of all Dúrtharán to protect our own. The honoured Viandrel has also made a valid point. We’d do well to avoid the Court’s ire, and we should be careful not to risk our standing with the Lady,” he mused. “Even if the squabbles of the High Fae keep them occupied most of the time, neither the Court nor the Reach and the Wilds will look kindly on Dúrtharán pre-empting them in taking action - if they will tolerate our presence at all.”
“It is out of concern for all Steinvolk that I want to act,” Rukthar said to Runid, and he seemed a tad calmer after the Eldersmith’s words. “We might even find something out about the disruptive havoc in the weave. Who knows which opportunities might pass us by if we hold back?”
“I think we all want and need to have a presence at the site,” Viandrel answered the Turollgur’s appeal. “How else could we stay vigilant?”
“Be that as it may,” Dumar replied, his tone still challenging. “Even if we decide that something needs to be done, we can’t send a pack of ruthless, plundering Trolls -”
“Do not dare use this slanderous name in my presence, Dwarf!” Rukthar roared and slammed his fists on the armrests of his Council throne, sending a new wave of chittering and fearful cowers throughout the entities hiding all around.
Dumar exploded. “Dwarf?! I shall teach - ”
“Discipline, both of you,” the Elemental resonated with overpowering volume, the sound more akin to an avalanche than that of actual, shouted words. The upper layer of earth on Stonelore’s body rippled, and his aura emanated furious disapproval.
Dumar inclined his head and continued speaking.
“Forgive me, Craglord Rukthar,” he said with a modulated expression and careful voice. “But my argument still stands: a Turollgur war band would do more harm than good. The Darkin impediment regarding daylight is a hindrance, but even so they should not investigate for fear of angering the High Fae. Dwarrungar can’t venture that far from the Warding Shadows, and sending a Keeper would be out of the question. I also doubt that the Eldersmith wants to endanger Volk of the Forge-City.” Dumar looked over to Runid, eyebrows raised.
“It is not a matter of want,” Runid answered. “But I cannot with good conscience expect any Dúrtharán to walk into this on my command.”
“What if someone were to offer?” A new and unfamiliar voice rang out and carried through Eirengard’s Hall - so unlike all the others, it drew everyone’s attention.
“Who dares to speak without invitation?” Rukthar roared and looked around.
Anxious whispers and agitated words mingled with the echoes of his shout, and a small commotion broke out in the shadows.
Runid frowned.
----------------------------------------