“It’s no use!” Cara pouted.

“What’s th’matter, Princess?” asked Kylie. “Did my sister muck up your hair so bad? It looks well enough from far away.” Kylie lowered to her knees and looked up at Cara, then nodded. “Yup, looks just fine from where he’ll see you.”

“Stand up,” Cara said, “before I send you to the gallows. Oh, I wish it was just my hair. Hair can be fixed.”

“Then what vexes thee, Princess?”

“She’s too skinny!” shouted Istan.

“Oy!” Hale cuffed Istan’s head from behind, sending a shock of his ginger hair over his eyes.

“Thank you, Hale,” Cara said, “but he has the right of it.”

They were seated on a bench in the plaza outside the Royal Tempus awaiting their dwarven counterparts. Yemi had thrice appeared with her strange friend in tow, and thrice expressed apologies for her older siblings, who she promptly ran off each time to fetch. Cara had been looking on with increasing woe at the buxom and voluptuous figures of the dwarf women, wondering more each moment how she could hope to attract the most eligible man in their kingdom with her willowy frame.

“I’m like a piece of parchment next to them,” she lamented.

“Well, what does that say about Keelie and me then?” her handmaid asked.

“You have a shape to you at least,” Cara said with another pout..

The children giggled and Hale smirked, and more than a few dwarves raised their eyebrows as they passed them by. “Oh, I want to die,” she buried her face in her hands.

“Now now, Princess,” Kylie sat next to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulders, “if ‘e doesn’t love you for your wits, then ‘e ‘asn’t got any ‘imself. And who wants a witless ‘usband? ‘e’s got a lot to make up for, if you ask me, bein’ shy of five foot tall an’ all.”

The children giggled again.

“‘Aven’t you got any kind words Prince ‘Ale? Come now, cheer your big sister up.”

Hale smirked again. “Big?”

Cara scowled and punched his shoulder. “Oh, you’re all just telling the truth. What would a prince of dwarves want with a feeble little stick woman like me. He’s got all these shapely flowers to pick from, and here I am, a dried up little reed.”

“Eh?” said a deep and resonant voice from Cara’s left. She turned quickly, and if she wanted to die before, she was ready to fling herself off the top of a tower now.

“Greetings, Dread Highness,” said Istan, an intolerably smug grin beaming across his freckled face.

Ror bowed. “And greetings to you, Prince Donkey Mane.” Ror playfully flicked back the mop of hair Hale had smacked over Istan’s eyes. Gislain jumped off the bench and tried to blend a curtsey with a dwarven bow. The result was her dark hair falling over her eyes, which Ror tried to blow back in place. Cara laughed along with the children at that.

“Here they are!” shouted Yemi. Cara almost fainted from the wave of relief that came with Yemi’s boisterous arrival. Halfur and Klar wore the same unmoved expressions they’d had the day before, and Yemi’s strange friend was gone.

“Where’s Audun?” asked Gislain.

“Halfur scared him away,” Yemi wrinkled her nose.

“Well,” said Hale, standing, “we’re all very much excited for this tour. Our mother speaks very highly of your capital city, and the citadel has been quite impressive to us in its own right.”

“Have you all eaten?” Ror asked.

He’s so considerate, Cara thought.

“We had breakfast,” said Hale, “but we don’t want full stomachs to spoil our tour.”

“Let’s take them to the gem caves!” Yemi shouted.

“That sounds lovely,” Cara said.

“They are,” Klar replied. “That’s actually a sound suggestion. But the nearest ones to Ormazzum are fairly deep. Perhaps we should finish with the caves?”

“No,” said Yemi, “not the boring ones. I want to show them the dancing stars.”

The older dwarves all looked at each other searchingly. Klar and Halfur both rested their eyes on Ror, who merely shrugged.

“I’ll show you,” said Yemi, “but after the city. We can’t show them all the city, though. That would take days.”

“That’s why I asked if they’d eaten,” Ror mussed her hair.

He’s so wonderful with children. He would make such a perfect father.

The ride on the Royal Tempus was delightful. Princess Klar was lively and even mirthful. The Prince Halfur was stoic, but spoke occasionally, and while his words were sparing they were not empty. More than once Cara found herself pondering over his comments and finding deep meaning in them. And Ror was charming as ever, making everyone laugh, even his stoic brother once or twice. When they stepped off the Royal Tempus they passed briefly though the antechamber they had first been greeted in on arriving at Thrond. Cara thought back briefly to the great braziers, and the bursts of light in the unfathomable depths of the mountain, and to Hale’s troubled talk. It seemed a long time ago to Cara, now that they were spending time alone with the Princes and Princesses of Thrond. She had felt a measure of fear then, on the other side of the doors, but she felt safe as could be now. She was glad her Aunt was marrying Balvor.

Just then a pair of women walked past and Cara’s heart sink. A mother and daughter, they seemed, both beautiful and strong. The mother’s face was plainer, but still fair. Her ample brown hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she wore a form fitting bodice of metal rings. Her bare arms were muscled and toned, and she walked with the confident swagger of a landed knight. The daughter had bright green eyes that were shaped like the eyes of a nightlion. Her hair was as black as coal, and tied into one luxurious braid that trailed down to her muscular thighs. She seemed dressed for travel, with a laden pack over her shoulders and a sword hanging from her belt. I’m fooling myself, Cara lamented, he wants one of them, not me. I can barely lift a sack of grain, let alone carry a pack while wielding a sword.

“What do bosom flowers look like?” Ror’s question shocked her from her thoughts. It shocked his half-sister as well. “They grow in High Alden,” he said to Klar, who eyed him dubiously.

Once again, Yemi saved Cara from embarrassment. “Let’s see the dancing stars first, then Ormazzum.”

“Why are you so eager to see these ‘dancing stars’?” Klar asked, her suspicion not even thinly veiled.

“Because,” the girl replied, “it’s better if we’re the only people there, and I’ve seen others later in the day, sometimes even at night.”

“All right,” Halfur said, “I say we go now just so we know what these besnozzled things are.”

“Alright, Fustilugs,” Ror hugged Yemi with one arm, then playfully shoved her to the fore of the group, “we follow your lead.”

Cara drank thirstily of the sights as they hurried after Yemi. When they pushed through the door to Ormazzum, a monolithic slab of obsidian polished to a mirror finish, they entered into what Ror called the Grand Bazaar. The plaza was the size of Cavanal Hill, the entire capital of her own Kingdom. Throngs of dwarves milled about the ground level, and all around were massive stairs that climbed in every direction up a labyrinth of levels carved into the mountain. Cara noticed with curiosity that each level was labeled, so to speak, by sculptures of living creatures that dominated the architecture of each level's stalls and shops. It dawned on her that they were the same creatures under the feet of the bears embossed on the steel walls outside Malgond. She meant to ask what the creatures meant, but was distracted when they took a sharp turn past a row of stalls filled with pungent herbs and smoked meats. Ror threw a handful of coins to each of the stalls, but took none of their goods.

"They put metal on everything!" Istan blurted. It was true. Cara saw ornately carved pieces of bronze, copper, platinum, silver, iron, steel and even gold on walls, pillars, stalls, the ground and even people's clothing. Bits of metal were woven into many of the gowns, doublets, robes and jackets worn by people from seemingly every walk. She marvelled at the richness surrounding her, and herself wondering how much of that wealth would find its way to High Alden after the wedding. She never felt poor in the Tall Hill, and her own people lived well for the most part, but here she could see no distinction between the nobles and the small folk. It seemed to her that there were only the rich, and the more rich.

The sharp turn took them to a wall that was broken up by a network of wide passages, each spreading out like lightning bolts into a vast web of interlocking tunnels and downward stairs. Yemi guided them deftly down for what had to have taken at least an hour. Cara almost lost her footing a number of times as the stairs turned on a dime against each other. Once, she reached out to stop a fall and her hand landed on Ror’s shoulder. It was a mountain of solid muscle, and his hair felt like a blanket of wool. She pulled her hand away before he turned back to look. Her cheeks turned a shade redder even than her hair, but he didn’t seem to notice, rather he cautioned Yemi to slow her pace.

At length they came to a dimly lit chamber with metal floors, walls and ceilings. Every surface of the place was embossed with images of bears in conflict with other animals, and the wall at the end of the chamber bore the crest of Narvi in gemstone mosaic.

“Yemi,” said Ror, “where are we going?”

“Not where you think,” she said, heedless of the caution in Ror’s tone.

Cara noticed nervously that all the dwarves in the hall were geared for warfare. Doorways lined the metal walls, and round hatches opened up at points on the floor. The soldiers bowed dutifully to the royal dwarves, and reverentially to Ror, but eyed her and her siblings with harsh suspicion. Cara felt a tide of relief wash over her as they ducked into a vacant passageway cut into the eastern wall. The passageway was very short, unlike most of the kingdom thus far, and her and Hale had to duck. When they came to the end of the passage, which was a sudden drop into a black chasm with only a row of ladder rungs carved into the stone wall, Ror called for a halt.

“Fusty,” he said to his little sister, “what are you doing ferreting around here? You know how angry pa would be if he knew you were scurrying about guard posts.”

“We can’t bring outsiders to military installations,” Klar added. “You know this, Yemi.”

“We can turn back,” said Hale. “We don’t wish to cause trouble for you.”

Cara had to admit she didn’t like the look of the path down. She could ride her big courser as well as any knight in her realm, but climbing down dark places frightened her. She feared the one misstep or slip of her hand needed to go tumbling down into the unknown.

“This doesn’t go to any soldiers,” Yemi insisted. “It just takes too long if we go the other way. The guard house is just a shortcut.”

“Lead on,” said Halfur, “I want to see where you’re taking us. I don’t suppose we’ll get to see you pick any locks along the way? I want to observe your technique, so I can proof my door against you.”

She furrowed her brow and stuck her tongue out at Halfur, then looked to Ror as if awaiting his permission to continue.

“Go on,” he said reluctantly. “Slowly though. Our guests live topside, and aren’t accustomed to climbing through the dark.”

“You’ve never been in a turret tower,” said Istan, “have you?”

“I don’t suppose I have,” Ror replied.

“They’re tall and dark, with only a few rush-lights along the way, and they aren’t always lit. You need to carry a torch. And they’re round and cramped. The stair in the Pillar of Autumn goes on forever.”

“It’s a race then!” shouted Ror. He and Istan then leapt down the pit, grasping the ladder rungs as they fell and plummeted down at frightening speed. Hale leapt after them, using his long arms and legs to gain quickly. Yemi was fast to dive down as well, while Halfur remained along with her, Gislain and Klar.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Halfur sighed, then gestured for the women to go first, and slowly came after them. The ladder went on long enough for Cara’s arms to tire. Her little sister was above her, and when she looked to see if she too was tiring she saw that Gislain had climbed onto Halfu’rs back. The dwarf seemed not to notice her added weight, and Cara thought back to Balvor hoisting the oxcart off the ground. That’s his nephew, she thought. She then began wondering if such strength was common to all dwarf men.

Her feet found a soft sandy floor at the end of the ladder. The room was entirely made of raw stone and sand, a natural pocket within Obrus’s seemingly infinite caverns. The air was damp and chill, and smelled of the explosive powders miners from her own kingdom used. A row of crystal sconces lit the room softly, and at the far end was a winding tunnel that glowed with a faint blue light.

“Are we safe here?” Cara remembered the plumes of light she saw when crossing the bridge past Malgond, and Hale’s talk of the deep air catching fire.

“Quite,” said Klar, “so long as we aren’t caught. I know where Yemi’s taking us now. I came here once with my mother, and father scolded her for bringing me.”

“Ror and I happened upon this place once,” Halfur said. “We were caught the second time we came. Dad gave us a beardful each. I suspected Yemi was bringing us here. She's wormed her way through just about every crack and tunnel in this blasted mountain.”

“Are you coming?!” Istan had run back through the tunnel.

They followed and the tunnel lead to an ohr-tempus ringed with raw crystals that glowed like blue fire. They weren’t ensconced, but grew out of the round stone walls surrounding the tempus stage.

“How do these crystals glow?” Gislain asked. Cara had been wondering the same thing.

“Ohr,” Yemi said impatiently. “Now can we go?”

“What’s ohr?” Gislain asked as the ohr-tempus hummed its way downward.

“It’s light,” her dwarven counterpart replied.

“I know, but how does it come from the crystals?”

“The ohr comes from beneath,” Ror explained, “somewhere deep. It’s not ordinary light. It has power, such as light from the sun, but of a different kind. It gives power to the crystals to give light, the tempus’s to travel, and gives spark to our mass forges.”

“Imanna’s fire!” Gislain blurted, wide eyed and gaping.

“Sure,” Ror laughed and patted her on the head.

When the ohr-tempus stopped, they disembarked into a long and narrow hallway with a tall ceiling. The walls were roughly hewn and the jagged stone glistened like a field of stars in the cool blue light. The hallway ended in an opening no taller than Yemi, leading into a long tunnel through which Cara and Hale opted to crawl rather than walk hunched, and at the end of that tunnel lie their destination. One by one they reached the end and hopped down a short slope. Cara slipped her legs forward and slid down, frightened of hopping down the slope in her long dress and dainty shoes, and found herself standing in a vast aqua colored geode that had been hollowed out with a leveled floor. It was huge, with room for at least a hundred people to gather inside.

The walls of the place seemed lit from within, the light flickering and shimmering, now soft, now bright. She felt as if she stood inside a wave of the sea that never broke upon the shore; bathed in mute calm and quietly defended while arrows from the sun glanced off its gentle armor. She felt safer here, and more serene, than she ever had atop the Pillar of Autumn, even with all High Alden’s armies surrounding her. And it wasn’t the light that had put her so at ease, at least not by itself. She felt a sense of consciousness within that light, a sense of being, as if the mountain, or something within the mountain, noticed her and had taken her into its care. If Obrus were truly a beast, then it was not a senseless one. She thought of tales she’d heard from ocean wayfarers of the great leviathans that would rise from the depths and swim alongside their ships, allowing the sailors to stroke their tremendous flanks while they rolled over the waters like old dogs grateful for a scratch. She’d been told that those great beasts, while monstrously strong, would never harm a soul, unless a soul attempted to harm them, and that they sang across the fathoms with the voices of infants. The World Dragon may have roared upon awakening; but now, here, it becalmed with whispered song while Cara and her siblings huddled under its wing.

She stepped across the leveled floor and touched the wall. Where her fingers pressed against it, the light grew dim, and she could see pinpoints of other colors forming all about her; green, red and gold. They darted around in threes, one of each color. The green would circle the gold and the red would orbit the other two in a wide arc, until it snuck in close and snatched the green away, only for the gold to snatch it back when the two eventually met again.

They stayed a long time in that place. At times they sat, at times they stood close to the walls. The children played a game for a time, where they would try to cover one light with their hands before it met with another. All the while they spoke, sharing stories of their kingdoms’ histories and asking questions. Hale spoke at length of the ways of Eruhal. He told tales of the Knights of the Vanguard and how brutally efficient they were, and he spoke longingly of the grand tourneys they held throughout their realm. Ror told of the provings, which Klar seemed to find dull. She spoke mostly of her dead mother, and how Thrond was in the days when she had lived. She spoke in depth of how her father had taken great measures to uplift the northern dwarves of Nirmo, which is how he first met Halfi. And she spoke of her mother’s beauty and sweetness, and how she preferred tending to her daughter and husband rather than to the needs of the kingdom.

They were all laying on their backs, watching the stars dance across the ceiling, when Cara remembered the story Hale had spared for later.

“Who is the greatest warrior alive?” she asked.

“Dad!” the dwarves all said in unison.

“How would you know?” Halfur asked Yemi, a scowl spread across his face.

“I know as well as you!” the little girl retorted, “You’ve only fought in one battle.”

“At least I’ve fought. You've only trained. Striking a quintain is not combat, Yemi.”

“How many battles have you fought in?” Istan asked Ror.

“Eleven. No, twelve,” he said.

Cara’s eyes went wide. “Twelve?”

Ror nodded. “When I was young, a large pack of gnolls managed to swim up the Nazrad, all the way up from the evershore. Half of them were picked off by archers from Canthor, and by the time they neared Obrus the survivors were wounded and fierce. It took three years to find them all. After that, we had a series of skirmishes with Primus. After that there were some human bandits in the Coldwood I was commanded to put down. That was when I was given my first command. And there's always Goblin Town. They prod at us now and then to keep from getting bored.”

He’s killed humans, Cara thought, he’s killed us.

“Why have you only fought in one battle,” Hale said to Halfur, “if I may ask?”

Halfur shrugged. “I’m not military. I work alongside the Guild Chieftain, mostly. Ror’s the only soldier in the family, save father and Lobuhl.”

“Is Balvor not a warrior?” Cara asked.

“He swings an axe well enough,” Ror replied, “but he rarely sees combat. It’s a pity; he’s quite strong.”

Cara pondered those words as the others conversed about battles. She wasn’t sure why, but it changed the way she’d been feeling about Ror. It made sense to her for a man of constant war to be dour and severe, as Lobuhl had seemed, and for a man mostly free of bloodshed to be joyfully disposed as Balvor. She wondered at how Ror could be gay and playful while having spent so much time in the thick battle.

Her thoughts began gradually drifting to the black mannarim stone as she watched the lights darting about. She wondered if Hale knew where it was, or had forgotten it. She thought of mentioning it, but felt a strange fear of it being discovered, as if the dwarves might insist she give it over to them.

“So who do you think is the greatest warrior alive?” she heard Ror ask. She turned her head and looked at Hale, but it was Istan who first spoke.

“Ser Gammon the Hay Knight!”

“We know Gammon Foss,” Ror said. “He and Derrion Second Son came to our first proving.”

“Did you cross blades with either of them?” Istan asked excitedly.

“No.”

Istan furrowed his brow and Ror gave him a teasing look. “I use a hammer.”

Istan exhaled frustratedly, blowing his thick red hair out of his eyes. “But did you fight either of them?”

“Halfur went against Gammon, I believe, but I fought neither of them. I didn’t fare well that day. It was long time ago and I wasn’t experienced.”

“Gammon handles a sword better than most,” Halfur said. “He wasn’t even a knight then and he disarmed me in four strokes. Derrion was more impressive to me, though. He made it well into the last rounds, and it took our Uncle Lobuhl to oust him from the ring.”

“Hale,” Cara said, “you said you’d tell me who you think the greatest warrior is. Remember?”

“I remember,” his voice was solemn. “You’ve all shared this secret place with us, so I’ll share this secret memory with you. Istan, Gislain, Cara, don’t breathe a word of this to Father. There’s no telling what insane schemes he’ll hatch in response.” He waited til all three had sworn oaths of secrecy before he began.

“There is an orc, an albino called the Red Eyed Goat, who had left his tribe and went rogue, along with a few dozen others who follow him. They paint their skin red and white to look like him, and they all wear horns and antlers on their helms. They had scaled the Towers of Wind and were assaulting holdfasts and razing crops within Eruhal’s borders. By the time I’d heard of them, they'd taken hundreds of captives and sold them to slavers from Miur.”

“That’s horrible,” said Klar. “I can’t believe an orc would do such things.”

“It’s no worse than what the Eruhali have done to them,” Hale replied. “Things are changing in the world passed our hills and your mountain. We live in safe places, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

“So is the Red Eyed Goat the greatest warrior then?” asked Cara.

“No.”

“Then why mention him?” Cara pressed.

“I’ll tell you if you’ll shush. One day, Ser Gammon asked me if I would ride with him to parlay with the Goat. We met him by the Sandystone Falls, on the orcan side of Aemy's Bridge. There I learned his name: Aze’Zul, once of the Dunewolves. He claimed that he and his followers are a new tribe called the Deadhands, but Ser Gammon didn’t seem to take that very seriously. Anyhow, Aze’Zul was alone, as he agreed he would be. He didn’t care that I had accompanied Ser Gammon, or that both of us were armed. All the same, Ser Gammon made an excuse for me, saying that I was King Verrold’s ward from High Alden, and that he wanted me to see the truth of matters before returning home. Aze’Zul then said that their plans for meeting had changed, that he had come, and that he wished to speak with the Hay Knight himself.”

“And who is he?” asked Halfur.

“Woten’Ku Netherclaw.”

Cara’s heart stopped.

Ror chuckled. “The King of Graves! I envy you. I’ve always wanted to meet him.”

“I’m not sure if I’m to be envied. It was a frightening experience,” Hale said.

“Were the Spear Brothers with him?” Ror asked.

“The Spear Brothers were camped to the south, and he waited alone a few leagues away by a young oak tree. He was almost as tall as the tree. Sitting on the ground, cross legged, his head was nigh to mine. His hand could nearly span my chest, and his bow was the size of a ballista! I ask you, how could anyone stand against a monster like that?”

“I’d love to try,” said Ror, his eyes gleaming hungrily.

“What did he have to say?” asked Halfur.

“His words were harmless enough, and he spoke calmly. He didn’t even stand. It seemed he made an effort not to frighten us. He simply expressed his desire for peace, and that he had bidden Aze’Zul to stop his attacks and patrol the lands between Eruhal and the nearby Strongholds instead. Ser Gammon said something that meant little to me at the time, but now I believe he was trying to warn me of the coup. He told the King of Graves that Verrold was not long for this world, and that he would be succeeded by one who knew the horrors brought on by war, and how to bring the Eruhali people to heel.”

“And has he?” Halfur asked.

“Has who what?” said Hale.

“Has Derrion Second Son brought the people to heel?”

“It would seem. I was returned to High Alden almost immediately after he took the throne, and kept under guard until then. But I’ve heard no tales of war since, and had Marcas ascended the throne there surely would have been.”

They decided to head back to Ormazzum shortly after Hale’s story, spurred by groans in several stomachs. Cara had paused at the entrance to the tunnel before leaving. She felt as if something were tugging at the fringe of her thoughts, beckoning her to take one final look. The geode glowed blue, and the dancing stars had gone, except for on the space directly behind her. There she saw them circling about, the red one about to sneak up and steal the green away from the gold, when a growing circle of darkness spread above them all. Black lines began to rapidly flare out like a web of branches across the entire geode, and a worm-like tendril came from the dark circle and reached towards the green star, breaching a hole through the web of branches. Just then a small blue light began to appear, fierce and bright and hot as lightning.

“Cara!” shouted Hale, already on the other end of the tunnel.

Cara turned instinctively towards her brother’s voice. “I’m coming!” she shouted. She turned back to the dancing stars, but they were gone, and the wall was once again gentle and blue as a summer tide.

They went to a cooking house and ate a meal so filling Cara imagined she’d never feel hungry again. They then went to the Craftsman’s Square to look at arms and armor. Istan was in the rare circumstance of being able to wear armor that Hale could not, though even Hale struggled to lift some of the weapons. After they saw the masterful work of the smiths, they went to admire the jewelers’ craft in the Dome of Light, where young dwarves learned to wrought fine chains and set gems into pendants and rings. The jewelers gave rings to Hale and Istan and necklaces to Cara and Gislain. There were many lovely chains, but none so perfect as the Autumn Triske their uncle gave her aunt. The gems in that pendant were the finest from the Araad, and so perfectly wrought by the most experienced craftsmen. And the chain! It shone like the moon, and light played on its links the way it played on the surface of a breezy lake.

The final place the dwarves took them to was the Hall of Suns, where grand statues were carved of the kings and queens of Narvi’s line. Cara often went into the barrows dug into the eastern slope of Cavanal to look at the statues of the Autumn Kings, but she felt now as if she looked at true statues for the first time. They were massive, each the size of a castle tower, and carved with such detail that she felt as if the statues might kneel down to introduce themselves to her. It made her feel small and insignificant, to look at the end of such great men and women looking down on her from mountains forged in their likeness.

She would never feel the same awe in her own people’s crypts. It made her sad, but happy as well, to look on such a wonder. She then looked down to the living dwarves, knowing one of them and his wife would one day guard eternity in this vast hall. She felt a strange loneliness as they left. Ror and Yemi had been quick to tell them the names of many of the nearby statues, and from the longing in Klar's eyes she guessed which was her mother, but as they exited the room, the names of the cold stone figures faded from her mind. Beneath them all were bones and dust, and nothing more. The door to the Hall of Suns closed behind them and the Stone Kings and Mountain Queens, now gone from sight, may as well not have existed. They left the long passageway to the chamber and after many turns, stairs and tempuses they reached the Royal Ohr. Cara was last to mount the stage. As the tunnel above and below hummed with immutable terrestrial power, she clenched her hand into a fist and felt the warm pulsing of her blood as it flowed through her palm and into her fingers.