Halfur rolled his eyes. The passage on the page was one he never agreed with.
Three worlds are one. Within, without, below. The man who denies one denies them all.
He closed the book. He’d been reading for several hours and had grown stiff from laying propped against a tree. He put the book in his pack and stood. The dwarves had been keeping under the Coldwood once past the Titan’s Arm. A forest canopy was feeble cover but it was slightly easier to walk beneath than the open sky. He’d kept his eyes down as best he could, but could not completely avoid the pull of that vast expanse. This was the longest he’d spend on soft ground as well, and his knees were feeling the uncomfortable looseness one avoided by treading hard stone.
“There’s some good rock coming,” said Neri, perched on a low hanging bough. He’d been sitting there as long as Halfur had been reading. Halfur was beginning to think Neri had taken his post in the Owl Guard much too literally. He looked through the narrow strip of trees they’d camped under and saw nothing but grass. He nodded all the same, trusting Neri’s farther sight. He heard a rush of foot steps coming from the road and slowly turned his head. Istan was running fast as a hare, with Hale just behind him.
“Halfur,” Istan said through heavy breaths, “we met some dwarves on the road. They’ve seen your uncle.”
Halfur raised an eyebrow. He’d mentioned offhand to the humans that he was curious where his uncle had gone. Most in Thrond had assumed he’d gone to Cloud Hammer, but Halfur thought it more likely he’d gone to some roadside alehouse to distract himself with tales from the open road.
“They’re waiting at our camp,” the boy said. “Come along and meet them.”
“Istan,” Hale said, “how do you speak to an elder prince?”
“It’s alright,” said Halfur. The humans lead him to the road and to the top of one of the countless hills they’d been endlessly traversing. A sea of one shade of dark green surrounded him on all sides but south, where the Coldwood offered a meager dose of texture to the bleakness of the surface world. The human’s camp sprawled over the hill in four clusters of pavillions, each surrounded by a ring of small soldier’s tents. Salimod and the fat old knight with the bearded upper lip were speaking with a group of dwarves in the center of the camp. He saw a row of faded peaks rising ust above the hills to the north. The Wayward Rift, they were called; a small range that jutted out of the ground a few miles west of the Ladder to the Moon. Halfur eyed them longingly as they closed on the dwarven travelers.
“Hail, Dread Highness,” said their leader, an old man with a snow white beard tucked into his belt. His band seemed somewhat well to do. Their clothes were worn but well made, their weapons simple but well forged, and they looked a hardy bunch. There was a tall half-dwarf with fire orange braid that went down to his waist. His braid was bound at intervals by blackened steel clasps, and his beard was cropped a paltry few inches below his jaw, with only a the hair on his chin hanging down to his chest. It was braided and bound as the braid hanging down his back. He alone carried a fine weapon, a curved two handed longsword of elven design, though it looked mountain forged.
“My name is Tharkun,” the old dwarf said, “and these are all my sons and nephews, except our guide.”
“Val Tommalt,” the half-dwarf said as he bowed, “at your service, Dread Highness.”
“Tommalt?” Halfur raised a brow.
“My mother hails from the Red Mountains. My father is a lesser cousin of the March King of the Shield Lands.”
“You’re a long way from home,” Halfur was curious about this half-dwarf from Ronehelm.
“I’d be an even longer way, but there’s good work in these parts. I stay at an outpost near the Dawnwood and help merchants and sojourners find shorter paths between the Pillars. I haven’t seen Curtainwall in near thirty years. Prince Lobuhl was on his way to that outpost four days past. The Green Lion, it's called. He was making a good pace, so he’s likely made it there by now.”
“Master Tommalt is far more informed than I,” said Tharkun. “I did not recognise your royal uncle, Dread Highness. For all the time I spend on the road, one would expect me to know the names of every monarch from Canthor to old Provosa, but I can’t keep track of who rules where anymore. Seems most thrones can’t keep an arse on ‘em for more than a fortnight now days. Your king father excluded, of course, Dread Highness. He’s had a good long reign. May it last until the final tide.”
“That would make things simple,” Halfur replied. He looked to Val. “You must hear news from the Marches.”
Val shrugged. “I do, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. You have interests north, Dread Highness?”
“My mother hails from the Red Mountains, and I often read from northern texts.”
Val nodded slowly. “Well, rumor says some of the March Kings are conspiring to wrest power from High King Talan, which tells me all there is normal. There’s a truce with Nirmo. High King Talan and King Akihud signed a treaty on the Field of Tears on the break of spring. And Brott Ysling sent his brother Yorn south to the Shield Lands, ostensibly to bolster the border in case Eruhal looks north again. Some think they may if the orcs stop playing nice.”
“Derrion seems too sensible to retreat from one beast into the jaws of another.”
“Oh I agree. But tavern talk isn’t bound by the shackles of reason.”
Halfur nodded, then thanked the half-dwarf for his information.
“May I ask you a question, Dread Highness? It’s a rare chance to speak with one such as yourself.”
“You may ask.”
“How goes the battle with Goblin Town?”
Halfur raised a brow again. “I suppose half the world knows they were on the move.”
“Hard to hide so large an army. I'm amazed they were able to mobilize and keep them all together. My friends in the Starwood that keep me abreast of affairs in the east. Thrond is more well loved than Goblin Town on any day, but the goblins have laid waste to the southern reaches of the forest, and have incurred a great deal of hate. Many too are concerned for the Red King and his northern queen. Tradesmen look to the future anxiously.”
“We’ve a solid defense in place," Halfur replied. "My father’s faced more than his share of foes. They have numbers, but I’m sure the old man will have them half scattered by the time we reach the Tall Hill.”
Val nodded approvingly. Halfur couldn’t shake the feeling the man knew more than he should of Thrond’s dealings, or of any place’s dealings. He decided it safest to repeat his thanks and leave his company. They ended their rest the following morning. He and his company would never have stopped if not for the humans. They meandered along at an appalling gradual pace. It was another four days before they finally passed the wood-walled township of Corn Hill and crossed into High Alden’s borders. The Coldwood was behind them now, and they were trapped under the cloudy grey sky with no respite till they reached the Tall Hill. Cavanal Hill, the massive hill High Alden’s capital city rested on, was impressively high for a hill. It rose steeply on all sides, towering above the other hills that rolled like green ocean waves for miles in every direction. The surface of the hill was flat, except for the western end where Salimod’s castle lay.
Halfur understood why the castle was named the Tall Hill. When they crested Cavanal Hill and approached the city, he saw that the castle was built atop a large spur of rock that jutted like a horn from the western end. The castle was built in stages up the spur of rock, with its three keeps and four towers rising in ascending order to the top of the spur. The tower on the highest keep was of a decent size and build. It was a round drum that rose a good hundred feet above the castle’s upper walls, and was capped by a spire of ash timbers tall enough for trebuchets to be mounted beneath it.
“The Pillar of Autumn,” said Neri, “decently made. I’ve been curious to see it up close.”
Halfur scanned the crowd for his sister. Yemi was easy enough to find. She was riding behind Gislain on the girl’s horse. Yemi’s eyes were big as harvest moons while she struggled to stay mounted on the horse. Cara was nearby watching with a smile. Nearby her was Noxi on his ungainly lizard, and Dennel on his mottled grey courser. He and Noxi were quiet and sullen. They seemed to be sharing some sort of unspoken exile. The ponderous older knight was clearly revelling in their silence.
They passed through the city on their way to the Tall Hill. It was lined by wooden walls with squat towers that bristled with archers. The city looked like a collection of wood and mud hovels, with larger buildings of middling quality at regular intervals. There were squares filled with stalls, men corralling herds of swine and sheep, and thousands of hens that clucked incessantly. Guardsmen in plain ring shirts eyed the dwarven soldiers suspiciously. No doubt they envied them their full suits of enameled plate maille. The city ended an acre away from the castle. A road of smoothly lain stones snaked like a river through the dark grass that was perpetually kept damp by the heavy mist that hung at all times in the air. There was no moat around this castle, rather there was a wall of sharpened stakes bordering the wall of stone that was built into the spur of rock. Crowds of peasants came running to greet their king’s return. Salimod raised his hand and Ser Walsh flung handfulls of copper coins to the crowd. “Hail the Autumn King!” they shouted.
The first keep was a small building with a narrow courtyard. Titan, it was called, though it seemed a glorified guardhouse to Halfur. Men were training with arming swords and bucklers, and stopped their drills to gawk at them as they marched by. A long, sloping ramp that lead to the second keep. The second keep was taller, though no wider. It did have a larger bailey, though, with row upon row of brightly colored flowers. The air was sweetened by their scent, and it was nice to see other colors than dark green and grey. Halfur assumed the rows of flowers were the reason for the second keep’s name of Garden. The third keep, Sky, was double the width and triple the height of the other two, and out of its rear wall rose the Pillar of Autumn. The bailey was spacious as it could be, given the limited space on the spur of rock the castle was built on. There were trebuchets and mangonels, multiple guard houses, a large stable and several kennels. As they passed the kennels a thin black dog slipped passed the kennel master and ran towards Salimod. “Oy, git back ‘ere!” the kennel master shouted as he chased down the gangrel creature. The training yard was filled with quintains and targets and a covered space with racks of weapons and shields. Over a hundred men were being busily drilled with every sort of weapon. Salimod’s castellan clearly took his stewardship seriously.
The central keep’s door was atop a long, steep and narrow stair. A dry moat filled with spikes surrounded the keep, crossed by a short draw bridge that lead to a sturdy oaken gate reinforced with steel bands. Halfur turned to get another look of the castle before following Hale through the oaken gate. The three smaller towers were in plain view, connected by the long walls that ringed the spur of rock the castle rested on. High Alden’s banners snapped in the wind. They were large and vividly hued, each bearing the cold fire colors of autumn; orange, red and gold bordered with flecks of brown. The colors of Salimod’s lords bannermen were raised on metal poles in between the inner wall’s crenelations, spaced a dozen or so feet apart. There were many similar to the autumnal colors of the kingdom, with some in shades of greys and blues, and a small banner of plain white almost hidden from view. Halfur chanced a quick look upward to see the red candle burning like a small red moon in the fading evening light, then he turned and entered the castle.
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It felt good to have stone over his head again. The keep’s ceiling was high and vaulted with lit braziers forming a series of aisles leading to the Great Hall. Neri had parted from their main group at the second keep, where he and his Owls were to be put up. Halfur had his Stone Guard and regular infantrymen with him. The regulars were to be housed in an underground chamber dug specifically for dwarven guests. “I pitied your sister when last she came,” Salimod had explained. “Your guards are welcome to see the castle, of course. Doubtless they’d like a look at the place, and they’re welcome to accompany you anywhere you go.”
“The Stone Guard will suffice,” Halfur said.
Salimod had smiled at that. “I’ve no doubt.”
Salimod wisely made no attempt to impress the dwarves with his castle. In its entirety Sky was tantamount to an average gathering hall in Thrond. Halfur did enjoy the tapestries hanging from the walls. He complimented the intricacy of their designs, and inquired about some of their meanings. The humans readily told him the stories they depicted, but he wondered what meanings were behind them. One in particular caught his eye. It was a sea grey hill with four humans standing around a small stone house, sewn from the vantage of a bird. The man by the upper part of the building was tall and lean, with short cropped hair like Salimod’s. He wore a crown of autumn leaves and held a scepter made of rich dark wood. His robe was indigo, dotted with stars and striped with lightning. There was also a young woman with stars in her hand, an old woman surrounded by children, covering her heart and holding aloft a loaf of bread, and an armored warrior of ludicrous proportions.
“This is a mausoleum,” Istan said while pointing at the stone house, “royalty or rich lords are buried in them. The man at the top is Alden Gace. The one on the right is Arwyn, his granddaughter. She’s holding stars in her hand because people say she always had her head in the sky. Her husband was a bastard from Ronehelm, and not allowed to rule as King, and he plotted against the kingdom with bandits. She had him hanged in front of all the realm, and didn’t cut him down for nine whole days and nights.”
“No,” Gislain had crowded in front of Halfur and had her face less than a nose length from the tapestry, “she let him hang for nine years. And the bottom one is Dowager Queen Morta. Her sons all fought each other, and they all died and left her Regent till her daughter’s son Piter the Storm came of age. She’s covering her heart because she’s sad, and holding the bread up high with her other hand because her children won’t stop fighting...”
Halfur closed his eyes and held his breath. He wanted to shove the children aside, but he reminded himself they were not Yemi and Audun, and they were not in Thrond. He turned his head when he heard a snicker and saw his little sister gloating over him being overwhelmed by these foreign children. He thought for a moment, then reached between them with his left hand and pointed at the fourth figure in the tapestry. “And who’s this one? He looks mighty.”
They stopped their arguing and their crowding and turned to face him. “Astartes,” they both said.
Halfur cocked his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He never existed,” said Hale from behind.
Halfur turned in his direction, and with an awkward sigh turned away. It was going to take him time to become accustomed to being surrounded by people who’s waists were level with his chin, and who preferred to stand so close. “Tell me of Astartes,” he said with a sigh. The younger ones were quiet, thanks to Hale. They were always quiet when he spoke, though they’d talk over Cara, and even their parents.
Astartes was apparently born six generations after Alden Gace led the first ousting of the gnolls. He was sired by a crofter’s daughter and a big Stonearrow orc, and was conscripted when the Provosian King sought to annex High Alden. He slew a hundred men, and as a reward a suit of blue plate maille was made to fit him. He charged with the Grand Sortie, an assault that drove the Provosian back through the Towers of Wind. Halfur knew the history of the Arcadian conquest of Provosia. King Daelus had made a secret pact with the vassals of Provosia, and rode unchallenged through their lands when the Provosian vanguard was away. He had heard nothing, of course, of this half orcan hero. Astartes was a bull in human form, his armor a shell of blue steel, and his spear glowing with blue fire. What Halfur took particular note of was the large emerald Astartes held aloft in his offhand.
Istan yammered on about the mythic warrior as they were shown their apartments in the keep. Their rooms were underground and dimly lit by iron ensconced rush torches. There were mantles decked with candles as well, all bound together in a thick spread of melted wax. None of the dwarves were fatigued yet, but only the younger human children had energy to stay awake. Hale promised him some time in the training yard the next day, so he lay in his overly soft feather bed and read. Then, when Yemi had come down and was asleep in her bed, he went up to the Great Hall.
The Tall Hill was larger than it seemed from the outside. The walls of each keep were made in the same fashion as their curtain walls, giving the impression they were equally thick. Halfur could see that this was not so. There were numerous points in the wall where he could see slight recesses, mostly behind tapestries. He had to remind himself that the castle was not built to keep secret passages from his own kin, but theirs. He nodded at the human guards standing vigilant throughout the Great Hall and quietly introduced Zul, the Stone Guard who followed him. The guards spoke briefly with Zul, complimenting him on his heavy armor. Zul was one of the more amiable of the Stone Guard, a reason he was sent. After the human guardsmen seemed sufficiently at ease, he dismissed Zul and cordially asked if any would mind him touring the castle grounds, giving the excuse that his dwarven eyes were more accustomed to lower light than the bright of day. They bowed their heads and informed him that the Tall Hill was to be as much his home during his stay as was his own kingdom. He thanked them, complimented them on their vigilance and courtesy, then climbed a set of spiraling stairs within one of Sky’s turrets. He noted that Istan was not exaggerating the dark and claustrophobic nature of castle tower interiors. The walls were drab stone with no carvings, sparsely lit, and the stair wound tight and steeply upwards. Halfur felt a moderate increase in respect for the guards and soldiers of this castle, imagining how difficult it would be for a line of men in badly fitted mail and and wide brimmed kettle helms to quickly ascend to the walls.
A stiff breeze coursed through his thick pelt of red-gold hair as he neared the top of the stairs. When he exited he felt refreshed. The castle was dry and dusty compared to the crisp, moist air that rushed over High Alden’s sea of hills. The stars were bright and clear, the red candle most of all. Halfur took quick notice of the sky. It was a reflex he’d developed over the years. No matter what his environs, he wanted to be aware of every detail surrounding him. Seven of the Twelve Legions shone in the sky, three of them marching with fewer soldiers than in Halfur’s childhood. He noticed Noxi walking towards him. At first he thought him to be a gargoyle on the wall, leaning over a crenel and staring downward, ready to pounce on unwary invaders. The goblin was now noisily padding Halfur’s way, his cloak snapping like a banner in the warm spring wind.
Noxi flourished when he came close. “Dread Highness,” he said loudly.
“It’s truly you?” Halfur asked.
“Sadly, yes,” the goblin feigned a melancholy look. “My old boss is much more fun, of course. I heard you was in the party that came to arrest me.”
“I was on my way to your camp, but it was my uncle who wanted you in a cell. I happened to be caught up in the storm.”
Noxi nodded his head and looked over the wall. “Yes. ‘Tis a storm brewin’ alright. Nice to catch a moment in its eye.”
“I do appreciate calm,” Halfur replied.
“Don’t we all, mate? It must be eatin’ you up inside, bein’ here when there’s trouble back home.”
The air was still warm but steadily growing cooler. A bright flame in the sky called Halfur’s gaze upward. It was Nolofin Shadowbane, the Giant Slayer, the brave elflord given a place in the sky for battling the black orc Ner’Gal Wyrmcloud. Ner’Gal was ten feet tall, if legends were to be trusted. A beast in the skin of a man, he was named Lord of Tears and King of Shades, and condemned as the dark enemy of the entire world. Nolofin died gruesomely under Ner’Gal’s gigantic morningstar, but a piece of his icey white sword Soul Fire broke off in the orc’s ribs. The shard worked its way into the orc’s heart over time, killing him before he could complete his senseless genocidal crusade. Halfur had always enjoyed the tale as a boy. He admired Nolofin for his quick thinking; reefing down on his sword just before he died so that the blow from the orc’s mace caused the blade to snap. Gund’s sister Genneth laughed when Halfur said Nolofin should have used a spear, or even a bow. He looked up just in time to see Nolofin’s star flicker one last time before fading into a faint orange haze, miniscule and dispersed, a spiral of dust drifting slowly into oblivion.
“It’s a sad thing to see, ain’t it?” said the goblin. “I used that one to find my way in the south, when I was a young lad.”
“The new star is bright enough for two,” Halfur feigned disinterest. “It does vex me, lollygagging here while my realm is assailed.”
“You must wish there was ought you could do to help yer kin.”
“Naturally. But what is there for me to do for Thrond whilst in High Alden?”
The goblin nodded. “No safer walls than Obrus’s stony maille. This castle has some mighty thick walls too, but not so thick as you’d like, methinks. And certainly not so thick as they seem.”
Halfur raised a brow and nodded agreeably. “I did notice some peculiarities in the masonry.”
“Aye. Hard to hide such things from clever dwarven eyes.”
A pair of watchmen came upon them in their patrol. Noxi bandied some pointless words with them, embellishing some of the rumors the guards had heard of his stay in Thrond, and minimizing others. “Dennel just gawked at the monster while it almost ate me alive! It’s arms were as long as an orc is tall, and it had three pairs of horns…”. The tale of his inopportune centaur encounter quickly became as outlandish as the tales of Astartes and Ner’Gal. When the men asked after their princess, Noxi was surprisingly discreet. “The poor creature fainted is all. It happens when you spend too long in the mountain, then come out too sudden. From what I’ve heard, I wasn’t much help. Jumped up and frightened her apparently, before the dwarves threw me in their dungeons.”
“We wish you would’ve kept him,” the older of the soldier’s said mockingly to Halfur. “All he does ‘round here is drink all our wine and tell wild tales.”
“Lies!” Noxi thrust a long goblin finger at both the men. “I only drink beer and you both know it!”
The men laughed, bid them a restful night, then bowed to Halfur and continued their patrol. “Good lads, them,” Noxi said. “There’s worse watchmen, which is why they’re up here on the walls.”
“They keep their sharpest eyes fixed outward?”
“They do,” Noxi shrugged and leaned against a merlon. He was just tall enough to see over the crenels, where Halfur would have to stand on the tips of his toes. “Inside the keep’s for old men who say pretty words to the king, and pretty men who say old words to the queen.”
Halfur nodded. “I’d like to have a closer look at their masonry. maybe I might learn something of use.”
“I’m certain you would. Best keep it to yourself, though. Don’t want to offend them, if you sniff my wind.”
Halfur was starting to like Noxi. He reminded him of Ridzak, only he was intelligible. “Well, I don’t want to wound anyone’s pride. I’d best choose a discreet time.”
“That would be best, yes. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Your kin doesn’t tire quite as quick as theirs, so howabouts you stay awake till late again next day? Should be easy enough to peek at the walls around halfnight.”
“The northern walls looked the most troubled.”
“Naw,” Noxi was loud, and waived his hand emphatically. “The real trouble’s to the east. If you wanna go probing about the stonework, do it there. But like I said, don’t be too vocal about your findings. This lot’s real sensitive. Last thing they need is a pampered dwarf princling telling them their masonry’s no good.”
Halfur chanced a casual glance around the walls. There were a dozen on patrol, and half of them were nearby. Some of them looked their way with pompous grins on their faces. Noxi was playing the game well, keeping to his usual bombastic manner, the behaviour of a man with nothing to hide. “maybe I’ll have one of my men inspect their stonecraft for me. Then I can attend to my more pampered duties.”
“Yes, now you’re cookin’ over a fire! Have that golden owl take a peek for you. Then you’ll be free to loaf about with your fellow highborns.”
Halfur nodded in agreement, then lingered long enough to share some more brief banter with another pair of guards passing by on their patrol. He feigned a yawn and left them to Noxi’s wild tales. When he came to his sleeping chamber only his Stone Guards were awake. He lay awake in his bed till dawn, thinking carefully over his every move and word for the next day.