Second Delve
Everlasting Heroes must be like Melbourne trams or London buses. Manfred was still trying to come to terms with Ubadah’s story. I have been searching half my life for a Hero and then two turn up at the same time. Not only that, one of them was practically under my nose the whole time. I really must be going senile. They had been in Tamarlan for two days now and he had had the time to recuperate a little from the rigours of the journey, enjoy some reasonable food for a change, and savour a few pints of foaming ale. Beer was Manfred’s last remaining vice and he was determined never to miss an opportunity to indulge. He had taken the time, though, to talk in detail with Ubadah and had tried to understand both Ubadah’s and Dammar’s motivations. So far, he had drawn a blank. At least Gamyon seemed to have come to terms with Ubadah’s arrival and seemed relieved now that he knew that his regency was safe. That hadn’t stopped him taking Manfred aside for a quiet word, ‘just to make sure you take him away from here with you when you leave’. Manfred had to smile. Always the pragmatist, he thought. He had taken breakfast with Gamying and Aglaral. They were both eager to find out what Manfred’s plans were and to meet Ubadah. They also reminded Manfred of a thorny little problem he had been putting off: Kris. Now, as he sat puffing on his old briar pipe; ok so he still had other vices too; he was pondering on the problem. Kris seemed to be an enigma. Something inside him told Manfred that he needed to solve the puzzle. I hate it when my gut tells me something that my head can’t understand.
Oh well, it can wait no longer. Manfred emptied his pipe into an ashtray, carefully returned it to one of his many pockets, and rose to seek out Master Kris, erstwhile Bard of Karo. He found him sitting quietly in his room, a guard on the door. The guard let him in without question. Kris smiled at seeing him. That’s unnerving; he must be getting pretty bored and lonely here by himself.
“Kris, we need to talk,” Manfred began.
“It’s OK, Manfred; I have been doing a lot of thinking these past couple of days. I don’t want to go through your mind probe. I would like to tell you everything. I hope that at the end of it, you’ll understand and let me continue with you on your journey.”
“Well, that will depend on what you have to tell me. It won’t be just my decision either. Just take your time and start at the beginning.” Manfred sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Kris as he told his story. Manfred had always thought that he was a good judge of character and he was certain that Kris told him the truth.
“I’m not really a bard, although I seem to have some natural talent for the profession. I am from Karo and I have made the journeys that I told you about, but I was a ship’s cook. We were sailing on the Middle Sea, heading into Dar-el-Beida to find a cargo to bring back to Karo when we were attacked by pirates. Most of the crew were killed. Some of us, the least likely to cause trouble, were kept to be slaves. I continued to work as a cook, but instead of being paid, I would get a beating if the crew didn’t like the food I prepared. I tried to find a way of escaping, but we were watched too closely. We sailed west, further than I had ever been before. I don’t know how far we travelled, but eventually the Middle Sea ended in a narrow strait. We sailed through into a large sea or ocean and turned south. We hugged the coast and sailed for several days before we put into a port town, which I learned was the pirates’ home base. The town was called Cap Ghir and it was linked to an inland city located in a mountain valley, called Taruwdant. Cap Ghir is the hub of a pirate organisation; masterminded from Taruwdant by a man they call the Wolf. He is said to command an army of undead and often takes the form of a wolf and kills prisoners by ripping out their throats. I saw him only once, from a distance, and he reduced me to a quivering jelly of terror. I don’t suppose you find that surprising, since I’m such a coward. I was taken to Taruwdant and put to work in the kitchens. I kept my head down and worked hard. I knew that there was no chance of escape and resigned myself to a lifetime of slavery. I don’t know why, perhaps it was my work ethic or the desire to stay out of trouble, but I was selected for special attention. I was interviewed by a series of people, culminating in a meeting with one of the Wolf’s lieutenants. I now know that he was a wizard. He looked very much like you do, except that his hair was very curly. He said that I had been selected for a special mission, which would earn me my freedom, if I did well. If I failed, I would be tracked down and used as wolf meat. By the time my throat was torn out, I would be begging for death, he told me. He forced his way into my mind. He raped me mentally. I could not keep him out. It was terrible; he knew all of my secrets and fears. He placed images in my mind of what would happen to me if I disobeyed. He gave me a new history, as a bard. He told me I had to travel to Elannort for an important meeting of the Wise. I was to ingratiate myself with you and try to join any expedition that was mounted. I was to learn as much as I could about a powerful sword and the hero who would wield it. I was to pay particular attention to a red-haired boy. I feared for my life, for my very soul. I’m sorry, Manfred. I was too weak to resist his evil.”
Manfred sighed and looked at the pathetic, cowering man in front of him. “I’m sorry, too, Kris. I should not have threatened you with a mind probe. I can help you to heal and to forget. If you will let me into your mind, willingly, I will try to soothe the hurt.”
Kris hesitated and looked concerned but he finally agreed. Manfred laid his hands on the bard’s head and concentrated. He looked into the frightened man’s soul. He had been telling the truth. Frisa the Curly-Haired had planted many evil neural links. It was a wonder that Kris had been able to function at all. His fear of wargs was planted deep. It was little wonder he had reacted as he had on the Ice Stair. Manfred did what he could to remove the planted suggestions and remove the fear. Manfred removed his hands. Kris seemed a little more relaxed and less fearful. “Tell me, Kris, how were you to be contacted?”
“He said that his servants would seek me out and collect any information I had. I thought that the wargs were doing that. I’m sorry for what I did. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
“I will talk to the others. I will tell them only what they need to know. I think that you should continue your new profession as a bard. There will be many stories yet to be told before this war is over. I would be pleased to have you along to record them. You were correct when you called this a quest for knowledge. Every snippet that I learn fills in more of the gaps. It would appear that Weylyn is behind much of our troubles. How he became corrupted, I do not know. I wish I knew where Dammar fits into all of this, if indeed he still lives. What am I supposed to do about Ubadah? There are so many questions still to answer and problems to solve. I see that there is goodness in you, Kris. I also feel, without any real justification, that you were sent to us for a purpose and that you will have an important role to play before all of this is done. I have done my best to remove the evil that Frisa planted. There will be echoes of it for the rest of your life. You have the power now to resist them. The choice of your future is yours. Will you join us?”
Kris was very emotional. There were tears in his eyes and his voice wobbled. “Thank you, Manfred. I will be forever in your debt. I would like to continue with you and become the official Bard of Elannort, should I prove worthy. Consider me a sort of apprentice in the meantime. I have been working on a short piece concerning the journey so far. Would you care to hear a little of it?”
Manfred agreed and settled back in anticipation. I hope he’s not too bad; otherwise, it will be difficult to convince the others. Kris spoke in a loud, confident voice, which modulated well and expressed the emotion he was trying to convey.
The wargs attacked in waves,
Snarling and gnashing their jaws.
The firelight flickered in the hut
Burning the last of the splintered doors.
Two warriors stood tall,
Blades flashing in the firelight’s glow.
Two wargs fell dead at the door
Yet their vicious attack was not slowed.
Again and again, the wargs attacked,
Two heroes fought as one.
As on the floor the wizard slept,
Spent from the work he’d done.
Harder and harder, the beasts pressed forward,
Still the two blades powered.
While deep in the dark at the back of the hut
The bard in craven fear cowered.
No mercy would the wargs provide,
Injured now, the two men wearied.
Death stared them all in the face,
Each their own god they queried.
When all seemed lost, the wizard woke,
From the depths in which he’d slumbered.
From in his cloak, withdrew his staff
And to the doorway lumbered.
In voice so strong, he bade them leave,
Or feel his wrath be vented.
The wargs just laughed to hear such words,
And for the kill presented.
But wargs it was who died that day,
From wizard’s fire intended,
Blue fury from his staff did flow,
And pelts of wargs incended.
For Manfred he did save the day,
And wargs were killed or banished.
For when they saw the wizard’s wrath,
Into the mountains vanished.
A great victory was won that day,
In a mountain hut so cold.
Two men, a coward, and a wizard true
The craven and the bold.
Manfred was pleased and relieved; it still needed a lot of work, but it wasn’t complete rubbish. I’m not sure incended is actually a word.
Two days later, a group of travellers left Tamarlan. There were still four of them, but Ubadah had replaced Gamying. The Heir-Regent was remaining at home to help his father prepare for the likely upcoming attacks. Gamying had again tried to convince Aglaral to stay and take up service in the Tamarlan army. Manfred was pleased that he chose to stay with them. Aglaral had readily agreed that Kris remain with them when he heard the wizard’s explanation. Gamying had not been so forgiving. Ubadah didn’t seem to care much either way. That one seems to look down on anyone who is not as noble or powerful as he is.
They left on horseback, heading due east, skirting the foothills of the Mountains of Death. Manfred’s plan was to find New Hope Pass and cross the mountains by that route, meeting up with the Doom River. They carried small one-man boats in their luggage and Manfred planned to ride the spring thaw down the River Doom as far as Two Rivers. It would then be a short, easy trek to Elannort. This route also had the benefit, or risk depending on your point of view, of maybe finding the elusive New Delve. Manfred had a feeling that there was important information to be found there, perhaps even knowledge of what had happened to David son of Dwahir son of Davit and his followers.
The journey east took three days, but was uneventful. First the Devil Mountains and then the Mountains of Death rose on their right, like impenetrable black walls. The mountain peaks, high in the distance, were white with snow and Manfred did not look forward to the chill of the high places again. There were no paths leading into the mountains and no sign of any passes by which to cross the dense barrier. A few times, they noticed dark shapes away in the distance, seeming to track their progress. The wargs will follow us, but I doubt they’ll want to risk another encounter. Close to Tamarlan, the countryside was pleasant farmland, bathed in warm spring sunshine and bursting with new growth. As they moved further east the land began to change, becoming less green and productive until it became a barren landscape of broken rocks, dotted with patches of snow and ice. Eventually they were riding on solid ice and had to slow their progress to protect the horses.
At night they pitched a tent, made from tanned animal hides, and slept two at a time, huddled together for warmth. They made no fire, because there was nothing to burn. Manfred found the close contact interesting. He was able to read much in the minds of his companions. Kris was much happier now. He didn’t even show much fear for the wargs tracking them. He was enthusiastic about his new role as writer and bard. Manfred was amused by the clumsy attempts at rhyming that were constantly in his head. Aglaral continued to worry about his family and debate whether he should have taken up Gamying’s offer to stay in Tamarlan. Manfred was pleased to note that the debate always ended with his desire to serve the Balance and his loyalty to the old wizard winning through. Ubadah was something else. His mind was full of constant grumbles that sometimes would surface enough for him to gripe about. It was too cold; the food was not adequate; he didn’t like sharing accommodation, especially with lower class persons such as soldiers and bards; he shouldn’t have to carry his own luggage; he wasn’t shown enough respect and deference; people should ask his permission to speak or do things; and so it went on. Manfred felt depressed by it all. Ubadah is going to be trouble, I feel it in my old bones.
They saw no living things during their journey, other than the ever-present wargs. On the afternoon of the third day, their horses tired and hungry, they came upon a track leading up into the hills. It was no more than a goat track. Manfred had hoped it would be good enough to ride the horses further, but that was not going to be the case. They hobbled the horses and prepared for another cold night. Manfred and Aglaral took the first watch, while Ubadah complained about having to share a tent with a commoner. The sky was clear and a half-moon gave just enough light to make it impossible for someone to creep up on them unnoticed. The wizard and the warrior sat in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Manfred was thinking about his last hot meal and pint of ale. Much more of this dry tack and I’ll begin to fancy roast warg. He was roused from his thoughts as Aglaral jumped up and drew his sword. No more than five yards away, Manfred could see a pair of red eyes, shining out of the darkness like brake lights in the fog. The horses whinnied and struggled against their restraints. A single warg approached and stopped three feet from them. Manfred held a hand on Aglaral’s leg to signal no action. In his head, he heard a single word over and over. Parley.
The warg observed them. Manfred smelled the unmistakeable stench and, despite himself, a shiver ran up his spine. He resisted the temptation to reveal his staff. The warg spoke. “Master comes soon. Destroy you he will. We let you pass. Hungry. Horses for safe passage.”
Manfred had been worrying about the horses throughout the journey. He hadn’t brought a groom from Tamarlan to take them home because he knew that the wargs would attack and without his magic, they would have no chance. He had become resigned to losing them. He stood up and the warg took an involuntary step backwards. That’s good, nice to see a bit of respect for singed fur.
“Tell your master that Manfred the Magician will be waiting for him at Elannort, with a few tricks that he’s not expecting.” I hope I can think of something. “Tell him that he is a traitor to the Balance and that he will pay for his crimes. Tell him that the time for atonement will soon be upon him. Tell your friends, that if I see any of you again on our journey you shall feel the wrath of my staff.” He withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and showed it to the warg, which took another step back. “We accept your offer, not out of fear but out of practicality. Have the decency to wait until we are out of sight and earshot. Be gone!” The warg growled, turned on its heels, and disappeared into the night. A message was left in Manfred’s mind. Next time your throat. Manfred shivered and it wasn’t from the cold.
“I wish there were another way, Aglaral, but we have no way of protecting the horses and we cannot take them with us. I will at least cut them loose to give them a slim chance and make the wargs work for their meal.”
The rest of the night passed peaceably and next morning, after more cold tack they prepared for their climb. Ubadah was in full complaint mode. “I am a king. I do not carry my own luggage. It is unheard of.”
“It will be heard of,” Manfred said, “because the story will be faithfully told by our bard, including your whingeing and whining about it. It’s quite simple really; we each have a small boat, which we’ll need to descend the other side. If you don’t carry one, you’ll not have one when you need it. Equally, if you don’t carry food and water, you’ll not eat and drink. Is that clear?” Manfred had finally had enough.
“How dare you talk to me like that?” Ubadah demanded. “I will have you flogged!”
Manfred sighed and cast his eyes upwards in disbelief. “I should have taken you over my knee and given you a good spanking when you were a child. You are still not too big for it.” Aglaral and Kris tried to stop themselves but they both burst out laughing. Ubadah went bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment but said nothing further. With a huff and a grunt, he picked up his pack. Manfred cut loose the horses and gave each of them a smack on the rump. He knew there was little chance that they would not become warg meat very soon, but he could hope. Ubadah led the way up the track and set a firm, steady pace. Manfred let him have his head. He really is a king after all, not to mention a hero as well. I’ll just have to put up with being tired before this day’s out.
Although the path was narrow, the climb through New Hope Pass was relatively easy. The day was clear and a pleasant temperature. The snow and ice had melted and although there were a few loose rocks that were a bit treacherous, the climb was far easier than anything they had attempted on the journey to Tamarlan. Ubadah set a brisk pace and Manfred was forced to call for regular breaks to catch his breath and to take a drink of water. Kris seemed to be finding the pace as difficult as Manfred, but Aglaral was unperturbed. The path wound around a single high mountain that had a unique shape at its peak. Viewed from below, it was difficult to discern, but Manfred knew that from a distance it looked like a huge domed bell. They were climbing towards the summit of Mount Doom. Manfred had seen its imposing visage often, viewed from the south, but he had never climbed it or seen it from the north before. He knew all of the old stories. It was said that if you heard the bell toll you knew that Death was on his way to collect you. Do not wonder for whom the mountain tolls. Manfred kept his stories and thoughts to himself.
By mid-afternoon, they reached the snow line and climbing became more difficult. Aglaral said something to Ubadah and took a turn to lead. He set a slower pace, more suited to Manfred and Kris. By late afternoon, they reached a high plateau. The domed top of Mount Doom rose several thousand feet above them. A snowfield stretched in front of them. Manfred was pleased. He knew that they had finished their climb. A short way west and they should find the Doom Glacier. All being well, tomorrow they would begin their descent, but tonight he wanted to find the entrance to New Delve before it got dark. There had been no sighting of wargs all day; it seemed they had kept their part of the bargain, more out of fear than ethics, Manfred thought. Here, though, on the snowfield the evidence of their recent presence was abundant. The snow was pocked with the criss-crossing paw prints of many wargs. At one point, a large red stain darkened the snow. All over, their spoor fouled the pristine environment.
With the sun setting in crimson splendour behind the saw toothed peaks of the Mountains of Death, Manfred scanned the dark rock face of Mount Doom for a cave or a doorway. Just when he was about to give the order to pitch the tent for a cold night on the ice, he noticed something odd. There was an area of snow that was clean, unmarked and unfouled. He followed it to the sheer wall of the rock face. There was no evidence of an opening or a door. He concentrated and sniffed the air.
“There is a scent of magic here. The door to New Delve is in front of us, but it is hidden from us. Search for any clues, hidden runes, or strange marks.” The others did as he bid, while Manfred reached out with his mind in an attempt to read the magic. “There is old magic here. It is similar to the feeling I had at the exit door from First Delve at the Warning Falls. That is a very good sign. I wonder if it is as simple as knowing how to open that door?” Well, here goes, give it a try. It’s about time I had a bit of luck.
Manfred crossed his fingers. “Bahl Shamim.” He spoke the words in a clear, loud voice. Just as he said them, the sun dropped behind the mountains and darkness fell. It seemed to be an eerie coincidence. Rather good timing, if I say so myself. The last rays of the sun illuminated a shimmering change coming over the blank rock face. Where there had previously been a solid rock wall, there appeared a roughly hewn archway and tunnel leading into the mountain. As darkness fell, Manfred wondered whether it was real or whether he had simply imagined it by wishful thinking. He took out his staff and muttered a few magic words. The staff began to glow with a yellow light that allowed them all to see clearly. There were dwarf runes carved above the archway. 'Second Delve. New hope for the dwarf peoples. Enter friends without fear.' Manfred translated the runes. “It seems that David son of Dwahir son of Davit was successful in establishing a new delve, after all. I wonder what became of them all. Shall we take them up on their hospitality and go in?”
The question was largely rhetorical, as the alternative was a night on the snow. The four travellers entered the archway and began a gradual descent along a rock tunnel into the heart of Mount Doom. Manfred’s staff illuminated the walls of the tunnel, which were decorated with dwarf runes. Manfred moved slowly, studying the runes as much as checking where his feet were falling. He stopped at a place where there were more runes than anywhere else.
“The runes are a kind of diary of the delve’s history. They tell the story of the expedition, the establishment of the delve, their hopes and plans for the future, and they recall the disaster which befell them. I wish that I had the time to study them more; Dia son of Din son of Dane will want to know all of the details if by good chance our paths cross again. Come, we must find a place to rest tonight. I will tell you their story after we have eaten and before we sleep.”
They moved on again and the runes quickly petered out. Before long, the tunnel opened into a large chamber, hewn out of the heart of the mountain. It would not compare with the Jewelled Caverns of Devil’s Mouth but in the yellow light of Manfred’s staff, it was an impressive sight nonetheless. The Hall of the Mountain King; they achieved much before they met their fate. The walls of the chamber were decorated with precious stones that reflected and seemed to amplify the light from the staff. The chamber seemed to be a central meeting place. On a high dais in the centre was a large, decorated stone seat, the throne of the Mountain King. Tunnels ran off the main chamber in all directions, like spokes of a wheel from the hub. It would take weeks to explore this place thoroughly.
Manfred scanned the runes above each tunnel and selected one to explore. As they crossed the floor of the chamber, their feet crunched on something brittle underfoot. Manfred glanced down and realised, in horror, that they were walking on the bones of the dead. They picked their way more carefully, trying not to disturb the remains. There had clearly been a battle here, but from the look of it, the only casualties were dwarves. Manfred looked back at the others. Aglaral and Ubadah seemed to be all right, but Kris was in obvious distress. His breathing was rapid and shallow and there were tears streaming down his face. He has the emotional feeling to become a good bard. The warriors have seen it all before.
The air in the chamber was fresh and cold, evidence of a good ventilation system. Their boots were throwing up dust, though, that began to make breathing more difficult. Manfred didn’t want to think about where the dust originated. They entered the tunnel he had selected and it became less dusty. Small rooms had been carved out of the rock on both sides of the tunnel. They contained sleeping and cooking areas and more skeletons, including those of children. It looks like the women and children waited here, while the men fought. They found an empty room, empty of skeletons that is, with a fireplace and a stack of ancient wood. Manfred decided that they should spend the night there. They offloaded their packs and set up a makeshift camp around the fireplace. Kris built a fire and Manfred soon had it burning. The natural ventilation took the smoke away, high above them. Manfred stowed his staff and they sat in the flicker of orange flames and took an unappetising meal of dry tack and tea. Manfred used the time to mind-search the delve for signs of life or evil. He found nothing.
“We are safe here. There is no need to post guards tonight. We can all sleep and be well rested for the journey tomorrow. We must get back to Elannort and prepare for the battles which are surely ahead. Before we sleep, I will tell you what I learned from the runes. I’m afraid that the story is very much a repeat of the early days of First Delve. After a long journey, many hardships, and much searching, the dwarves identified Mount Doom as the place to establish their new home. They called it Mount Hope in those days. The early days were difficult, because they had few provisions and they had to build the delve from a very basic cave structure that existed when they found the place. Everything went well, though, for the first hundred years or so. The mining proved to be very profitable and they established trading links with a group of humans who lived in a forested area south of the mountains. I believe that this is now the Forest of Doom. They began to prosper and the women started bearing children. Unfortunately, their digging disturbed something evil. The original evil that had been liberated from First Delve became Gadiel the Dark God. When he was diminished by Gilgamesh, he fled north looking for a refuge to regenerate himself. Seeking the comfort of the womb, he sought out a place deep under the Mountains of Death, where he thought he would be undisturbed. It was a sad trick of fate that the dwarves should again disturb him. It is written that when he was awoken from his troubled dreams the mountain rang like a bell tolling. Mount Hope was renamed Mount Doom on that day. The last entry corresponds to the year 50300, two hundred and ninety-seven years after the dwarves left First Delve. Gadiel summoned a small army of the undead. The battle of Second Delve was short and one-sided. Gadiel sat on the throne and watched as the dwarves were slaughtered. After the battle, he dispatched the undead to take over the Forest of Doom and hold it as a staging post for future battles. He was still rather weak and left for the Northland in search of something; the runes are not specific. We know this because one dwarf survived the slaughter and hid in the caves until he could complete the story. He realised it might be important that people in the future learned what happened here. When he had completed his self-appointed task, he left the delve, in the hope of finding his way back to First Delve to warn the dwarves there. Since he never arrived, we must assume he met his end in the Mountains of Death or on the Frozen Wastes. He wrote one last thing and I don’t know from where he learned it. When Mount Doom tolls again, Gadiel will return to claim all of FirstWorld.”
Despite the warmth of the fire, Manfred’s audience shivered. They slept fitfully that night, plagued by dreams of Gadiel’s awakening and visions of the future. Manfred woke them before first light and they left the delve just as the sun was rising between the teeth of the Mountains of Death. It was another fine day. At least the weather is on our side. We must make haste. I must have news of Simon. Ubadah was complaining again, but this time Manfred managed to ignore him. They set off away from the rising sun, needing to shade their eyes from the snow-glare. The snowfield was crisp and firm, so walking was relatively easy. Manfred stopped after a few minutes and pointed south through a gap in the mountains. “The river winding down the valley is the River Doom. The large forest is the Forest of Doom. Cast your eyes directly over the middle of the forest, as far as you can see. If your eyes are good you can just make out the High Tower at Elannort. Home is in sight. We will need to climb down the Doom Glacier and follow the river until the worst of the rapids are past. Then we will use our little boats and float past the Forest of Doom, right under the noses of its inhabitants, and on to Two Rivers. We will camp tonight below the snow line. Tomorrow night we’ll be in Two Rivers and the night after you’ll be tucked up in your warm beds at Wizards’ Keep.”
Manfred was as good as his word. The day was an exhausting one, filled with Ubadah’s moans, but uneventful. The Doom Glacier’s surface was pitted with rocks, ranging from the size of house bricks to huge boulders. The journey down the glacier was difficult and had to be taken slowly. In places, they roped themselves together for safety. As usual, Aglaral and Ubadah found the going much easier than Kris and Manfred. The end of the glacier was an impressive sight. Chunks of ice, rocks, and water plunged at least five hundred feet into the head of the river. The noise was incredible. Manfred thought it was as if the glacier were giving birth, in agony, to the river. Such thoughts made him think again about Simon. Over thirty thousand years ago for him and possibly only hours ago for Simon, a birth occurred that changed everything. In that moment the multiverse had been created. Manfred felt