Chapter Fourteen
The door was open. Wyrmwood couldn't believe that the elf would just leave it open, yet there it was open wide for all to see inside. There sat Horlarl, sword across his lap, waiting. Bareet skidded to a stop when he caught up to his brother. Cautiously, the two dwarves entered the room, looking to the side for any elves that may jump out from a shadow.
“Welcome, I suppose I can grant an audience at this time,” Horlarl announce as if he were in his throne room.
Bareet's face turned red as he snarled, “Damned elf! Tell me why I shouldn't kill ye right here in yer own damned house!”
“I will not, for there is no reason for you noble dwarves not to kill me,” Horlarl began flatly, “but remember who gave your people a start on this forsaken island, and who tolerated your insolence when you began working so closely with humans.” That last bit was directed at Wyrmwood, who was becoming more and more unsettled as his stare bore into the frail elf in front of them.
Bareet shot back, “Aye, me kin remember who put us to one mountain, who told us not to make babies, 'For the greater good', ye called it! Well, ye've lost this day. Yer army of elves can't win Caryn back, can't win against what's good fer real.” As he inched closer to Horlarl, the elf started to rise.
“Only one,” Horlarl said to Bareet, “I will only battle one of you at a time, it only seems fair. The other can stand outside and wait until I am done with the first.”
Bareet looked to Wyrmwood, nodded, and stepped out of the room. Horlarl then made a sweeping gesture with his hand, closing the heavy iron door. The vent grates in the door were too high for Bareet to see through, so he motioned for Kryzzl, who then easily hoisted the dwarf to rest on his massive shoulder. “If the battle goes the wrong way...” Bareet winked at the dragonkin, who nodded knowingly.
Wyrmwood dropped the head of his great axe to the floor, allowing the handle to come to rest on his shoulder while he spat on his hands. Horlarl stood easily with the tip of his sword pointing down to the floor. Once Wyrmwood secured his grip, Horlarl raised his sword in a defensive posture and they began to circle about the room, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Horlarl's eyes were steady, watching the dwarf's, which were gazing determinately back.
The elf made the first move, taking his sword in a wide arc in front of him, drawing a dirk from it's sheathe in the other hand. Wyrmwood raised his axe defensively, making it a barrier between himself and his opponent. The dwarf knew, from seeing Horlarl fight in the past, that even though this elf was old, he was a very accomplished swordsman. The slender blade of Horlarl's sword was working through many different thrusts and slashes, forcing the dwarf on the defensive for many minutes.
The patient Wyrmwood was content to be on the defensive for the time being, watching the elf's movements closely, searching for a hole, a pattern, anything that would give the advantage back to the dwarf. After a few minutes, Wyrmwood found that pattern. Horlarl seemed to have a few thrust-thrust-slash routines, that he continually and now predictably performed. Horlarl knew, too, that Wyrmwood only needed one solid blow to send the elf to the grave.
The dwarf would not get that chance, by his reasoning. Horlarl thought he had been working in a difficult pattern, for it was the same one he had used to defeat a very adept dwarf many centuries before. The only difference was the dwarf centuries before had used a pair of smaller handaxes instead of one great axe.
Wyrmwood waited patiently, circling the elf, parrying the strikes. The dwarf knew his strike had to be perfect, for once he used the magic of the axe, it would drain most of his own energy, and he would be quickly out of the fight.
Bareet watched the dance, the elf moved swiftly and gracefully, Wyrmwood bouncing his axe and it's handle off the swords, fending off the cruelly sharp blades.
Horlarl was beginning to tire, the weight of his blade wearing down on his ancient body. He knew that if he did not get inside the dwarf's defenses, the fight would soon be over.
Wyrmwood saw it, too. He knew Horlarl was tiring, could see him slowing down. Wyrmwood dropped his axe to the floor, dragging it behind as he started a wide circle around the elf, gaining momentum and throwing sparks from the stone floor. A groove was being cut in the stone as he was speaking the words that would activate the axe's magic, still moving faster and faster, until he was circling the Horlarl before the elf could even turn a complete spin. Calling upon the strength of his ancestors, Wyrmwood, still running, heaved the axe above his head and brought it down with a mighty swing, severing the elf's sword arm cleanly. Horlarl only stood there, knowing the battle was lost, looking down at the blood pouring from the wound.
*******
The battle in Caryn was over, a thousand bodies or more littered the field in front of Fael's tower. Elves and dwarves alike were shaking hands and looking all about the battlefield. They had come to a quick agreement, at Tystyl's suggestion to stop fighting and talk. When not a single elf could say why they were fighting the dwarves, they conceded that this battle simply should not be. They had fair trade agreements, and the dwarves never mined very close to Strungvali, certainly not close enough to cause any alarm by the elves.
And so all had agreed, no matter what their leaders worked out back in the valley, that the elves and dwarves would not, should not, be at war, for neither side had truly wronged the other.
Tystyl's pocket began to vibrate. At first, it was a gentle humming sound, but soon grew to a violent shaking that had the king off balance, struggling to stay on his feet. Reaching into his pocket, he then remembered the gemstone he held. He removed the gem, set it upon the ground, and watched it jump like a flea on a dog's back. Omarus materialized before Tystyl could even get a sword up, but the man looked confused and dazed, as if trying to get a bearing on what was happening. He blanched as soon as he saw the stern face of Tystyl.
Omarus thought then that he surely had died, for the last time he saw the king was when Tystyl had been shot in the neck with a poisoned crossbow dart.
Tystyl reassured him that he was indeed alive, and ordered him bound until he could properly be dealt with.
An elven priest cleared a small patch of blood-soaked ground and started a spell, one that would reopen the portal back to the valley of the elves. Once the portal was opened, Tystyl, Lisann, and Erimas rushed to step through, with Lebouf and Sunuva leading the remaining elves back into the valley.
The scene was a grisly one. Elves rushed about, trying to enter the house of Horlarl, but it's doors were magically sealed once again. There were several elves with long, wide cuts along their chests and sides, bleeding out on the ground.
The priest that had opened the portal ordered his apprentices to begin healing at once, while he moved to the sealed doors to attempt to open them. Once all of the elves had come through his portal, it's magic faded away.
The doors came open with an explosion that sent all who were on the steps in front of them flying, debris raining down on them. Jak, who had been just outside the house, rushed in past Tystyl and his group, running to the center room where knew Horlarl would have gone. The going was easy, since the dwarven brothers had cut a clear path earlier. There they all were, Wyrmwood, Horlarl, Bareet, and Kryzzl. The elf was lying on the ground in front of the others. Jak jumped over to him, scooping the old elf up in his arms.
The younger elf exclaimed, “Father!”, which brought surprised looks from all. “Father,” he said a little more softly, “what have they done to you?”
Horlarl, still alive, replied, “It's what I have done to myself, my son. Do not avenge me, for these dwarves fought with honor and loyalty, something I should have done myself...” His voice trailed off for a moment as he looked up to his son's eyes. “May you rule this land with better intent than I did. Take my ring, may it bring you luck and peace...”
The old elf's eyes then went blank as he passed over from the mortal realm to the place of darkness.
Many questioning looks were sent Jak's way, for no one, not even the elves, had known he was the son of Horlarl.
*******
The day of Horlarl's funeral was a very solemn one. Tystyl, Wyrmwood, and Lisann attended the service early that morning. The elves laid their king beside his father in the garden next to the king's house.
Later that evening, the elves held a grand coronation for Jak, the son of Horlarl.
*******
To Tystyl, Horlarl's death served as a reminder for himself to never let personal agendas affect his judgment while ruling his kingdom. Tystyl had never had many personal agendas anyway, except perhaps keeping his people safe from threats, outside and in.
The journey back to the City of Caryn was quiet, with Tystyl leading, Kryzzl, Lisann, Wyrmwood, and Bareet following. Veering from their path only briefly to travel to Fael's tower, where the dwarves were still holding both Fael and Omarus prisoner, awaiting the return of the king and his band.
In the city of Caryn, on the Day of Court, Fael was tried for his treason. Convicted almost instantly, he was sentenced to death. Omarus was also tried and convicted of treason, however his sentence would be less lethal, though no less harsh. Omarus was sentenced to life in the mine under the city of Caryn alongside the dwarves that were soon to be at work, mining the rich veins of the same green ore from which Infernous had been forged.
Fael was hanged the next morning. He was beheaded immediately after, then his body burned, for one never truly knows with wizards, after all. His tower was also burned to the ground.
Later that evening, in the castle of Caryn, Wyrmwood was dining with Lisann and Tystyl. The dwarf leaned in close to Lisann, removing a chain from his neck, revealing a half-moon pendant he held under his tunic. He motioned for her to hand her pendant to him, and when she complied, he put the halves together to reveal the inscription: “When at last we reunite, may the gods smile and may we be Forever Happy”.