Chapter Seven
A pigeon landed on the window sill in front of the sorcerer's face. Adley had been awaiting something. He sensed all afternoon that something was brewing, had seen in his reflecting pool armies gathering somewhere to the west. He had seen the elves gathering archers and scouts, had seen dwarves hastily forging weapons and armor for a large army. The pigeon cooed quietly, staring the man down, unblinking. Adley brought a hand forth to touch the bird. The gray bird had a ring about his left ankle, a ring of platinum, vines carved in intricate patterns. “Horlarl, my friend, come forth,” he said at last.
A deep red mist began forming about the bird, slowly swirling, entering the room from the window. An arm was the first formation, forming from the left leg of the bird. The elven king was completely transformed within minutes. “Greetings Adley,” the elf announced, “as I can see in your expression, you know the game is well afoot.”
“Aye, your majesty, how may I be of assistance?” The sorcerer bowed low, then knelt on the step in front of Horlarl. The elf explained the situation, shared with him the battle plan, and told what he needed for his friend to perform. Adley agreeing that his services could be useful, offered, “You will need more than just one magician, I can bring my two apprentices, Emiras and Blind. They have become very adept over the past few years, and compliment each others skills beautifully. I may also be able to call upon the Reapers Guild here in Sorga.”
The elf stood in thought for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and at length said, “All for one wizard, I fear the price of their services may prove quite costly for the kings of Atalmor. However, every inch of assistance we shall receive will be greatly valuable. If you could negotiate a reasonable price, then the aid of the Reapers will be greatly appreciated.” Horlarl looked haggard and tired, almost hollow, for his time was near an end. “The land of Atalmor must win this battle, else we will all perish, or worse, be enslaved by Fael.”
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Sir Wyrmwood had been on a flight of his own, of sorts. Being carried by the great talons of Kemda, the giant eagle, the dwarf was protesting every chance he got. “Ye get to ride atop the damned thing, why do ye make meself hang from the stupid bird's claws?”
“Because, my dearest Wyrm, you refused to fly. I had to do something,” Lady Lisann yelled down to him. The truth is, Wyrmwood had actually preferred this method of travel over the other option. He hated being transported magically.
They soared through the north-western corner of Gumlor, traveling toward Jire-Rey, the largest city in Jire and the home of Wyrmwood's brother, King Bareet. Mighty gusts of wind had helped the three tremendously, pushing them twice as fast as Kemda could normally fly. They arrived at the south gate in Jire-Rey before the suns had set to the west. Kemda set Wyrmwood gently on the ground before she landed and allowed Lisann to dismount. “Stay here, Kemda, we will be prompt with our inquiries,” the woman bade the eagle.
Once inside the city, which is not exactly a city, it is more of a complex of tunnels carved into the Great Hill. The tunnels went every which way, expanding far below and well beyond the Hill itself, with doorways and corridors dug for homes, forges, etc. The pair made their way to the middle of the complex where the king's home had been for many years. Along the way, busy dwarves hustled by, never paying mind to the newcomers, though a few older ones who knew Wyrmwood bowed or saluted them. The way was easy for Wyrmwood, but the low ceilings proved challenging for Lisann, who had to duck and even crouch low at times to navigate.
Outside the king's residence, another blue-bearded dwarf met with the two. “Me brother, Wyrmwood. How have ye been all these years? We have all missed ye. How fares Tystyl? Who is this lovely lass?” Bareet had tears in his eyes as he regarded his brother. He loved Wyrmwood with all his heart, had never given up on him. Never fully understanding why Wyrmwood had left, Bareet had never lost hope that he would see his little brother return to his side, ruling the dwarves of Jire.
“Me boy fares well, an' this be Lady Lisann, Lady of the North Forest. Enough with the pleasantries,” Wyrmwood said as Bareet kissed Lisann's hand, “We need yer help.”
“Anything for me brother,” returning his smile to his usual stern expression, “We heard what has happened in Caryn, figured ye would need us. The swordsmiths are already hard at work making extra swords for the army coming out of Sorga.” Bareet noted the surprise on Wyrmwood's face at the mention of the army coming from the mainland. “I had me priest do some seeing. He seen in the glass a boat with hundreds of fighters. Horlarl sent word this mornin' The Reapers are comin', so we been steady at work, making extra axes an' swords.”
“Aye. Is ol' Willy still smithing? I need to have a word or two with him.”
“Aye, he still teaches the young swordsmiths an' armor makers.” Bareet smiled again, “Ye needin' a new axe?”
Wyrmwood considered this, but declined. He came in closer to Bareet's ear and whispered, “I need me green ore.”
Bareet, always a wise dwarf, warned, “ 'Tis no wood on this island can burn hot enough.” He then added slyly, “but I meself have a way.”
A long, long way down they went, the tunnel turning sharp corners every now and then, descending into the belly of the mountain. Lisann had been handed off to a yellow-bearded dwarf who was to keep her entertained until the brothers returned. At the end of the several-mile tunnel stood a pair of heavy silver doors, secured by a crystal-link chain and a tremendous silver padlock. Bareet, always secretive, even to his brother, had asked Wyrmwood to turn around whilst he opened the giant lock. Upon opening the doors, Wyrmwood understood why he had been so secretive. In the midst of this great room, a room roughly the size of Jire itself, was a crystal cage holding an immense red dragon. The dragon looked up when the dwarves strolled in. “Ah, Master Bareet brought his brother, Good evening, Master Wyrmwood,” it said sarcastically. “Spill it, dwarf! What would you have me do?”
“Calm down, Suvious,” Bareet yelled, “I will be freein' ye soon. There be a war brewin' outside. I will let ye go as soon as we win.” Suvious grinned, flashing his razor-sharp yellow teeth. Wyrmwood stepped forward, bearing a very large chunk of a greenish-yellow ore. “We need ye to smelt 'er. Yer fire's the only one hot enough.”
“I will do this for you, only if you agree to free me once it is done,” the dragon reasoned. He seemed to seethe hatred for the dwarf who had been his captor for nearly a century. “I will smelt it and enchant the metal for the weapon you are planning to make the great King of Caryn.”
“Bah, damned wyrm, ye always know what's about,” Bareet grumbled. “I will free ye when ye are done, then. But only if ye promise, upon yer miserable life, to leave this island and not return.”
Suvious bowed his large head, said, “Upon my life, you have my word.”
Bareet, returning to the entrance of the tunnel, summoned a smith's apprentice. “We need a furnace block, and the biggest crucible ye can find.” The young dwarf bowed low, turned and was soon out of sight. A little while later, the apprentice returned, pulling a large flat cart holding the requested items along with a variety of tools. Bareet and Wyrmwood pushed the cart down the long tunnel, back to the dragon.
Hours flew by, and soon the dwarf brothers had a large ingot of an exquisite green metal. As promised, Bareet freed the dragon, smashing the crystal cage with an enchanted hammer. Suvious bowed low to the dwarves, who were cautious for fear of a swift fiery death. True to Suvious' word, he left through an opening in the back of the cavern. When the dragon was gone, Wyrmwood looked to his brother and said, “We need to get this to ol' Willy. Quickly.”