The Belromanticum

Chapter 55

Time continued its inexorable march, bringing with it sorrow and joy. Sorrow when Ujaala, Shaluvia, Alia, and my Kharsoomian boys, Beltorys and Hadirseen, died. We laid each of them to rest and I wept for the time that would not pass for me. My boys each fell in the distant Red Wastes after having lived full lives in service to Clan Abibaal. I would not see their graves, in the shadow of the onyx trees of the Forest Issatesh, for many years.

Not even the war could keep me from journeying to Stellanmark to pay my respects to the woman who had been my beloved companion during my earliest years. I was taken aback when I beheld the other two Mythseekers. Velena and Xeiliope were from longer-lived people than Alia, but now their age was impossible to hide. Velena's once raven locks held thick silver streaks and the lines were deep on Xeiliope's face. Even my children by the Mythseekers, Rina, Hadrian, and Xeilyphon, had children and grandchildren of their own. I spent many hours next to Alia's plot in their little family cemetery, thinking of our time together. There were but two stones there, one for Alia and the other for Cull, and melancholy gripped me when I imagined all the others that would soon join them.

There was joy when Sarakiel and Lysethe bore children, though little Janniah would be the last Sarakiel bore for some time. The child Lysethe bore was Dioscoro, who like his siblings Faustan and Deimara was a wizard, though his legacy would be a dark one.

In the west, the Arkohnum Gate held. The Heacharid camp had festered into a city. Permanent structures now sprouted from what were once fields of gold and now was a cracked and blighted wasteland. I took to calling it the Golden Wastes and the name stuck long after I abdicated my throne. The siege ebbed and flowed like the tide. A tide of blood.

Jerrika Grendel and Mu-Baoth guarded the bay at Uraraoi. The privateers ranged out through the Turquoise but their hauls had diminished. It seemed the Heacharids were doing most of their shipping overland or by rivers. Though the Heacharids had not tried another seaborne assault, that did not mean they wouldn't.

I no longer feared sudden collapse. What troubled me more than anything was my dwindling number of soldiers. Already there were gaps on the palisades, gaps that would have been far wider had I still needed a navy. Zuunkhorun was small and insular, and it simply could not support the casualties we sustained. We slew hundreds of Heacharids for every one of us, but they had all of Aucor to harvest. If not for the Deadwall, we would have fallen long ago.

I was considering what I could possibly do over my morning mug of chocolatl. With the protection of Uraraoi came that benefit at least. Though the beans I acquired could not compare to the Pelesamatu variety, it was good enough, the bitter, complex flavors giving me fertile ground to ruminate.

Because of my fondness for it, chocolatl gained popularity in Zuunkhorun. Trade was difficult, as anything coming from Uazica had to pass through the Strait of Trelyr and span the Turquoise. I had managed to import a few plants, husbanding them in greenhouses. Eventually, the Zuunese would cultivate their own varietal, of which I confess I am not fond.

As I sipped the bitter beverage, I reached out along Diotenah's whispers. The heaviest concentration of my wights were at the Arkohnum, hidden in hills and warrens, the famous Deadwall. Others waited in the mountain passes. I felt my tent sisters resting in the palace and Jerrika and Mu-Baoth beyond the bay. In this strange way I knew the kingdom. It was the body of my dead soldiers.

Wind kissed my shoulder, the delicious sensation of every hair on the back of my neck raising covered me in shivers. "Zhahllaia."

"You have been troubled of late, Master Wizard."

"I've been troubled since we began this."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret is a strange word. I mourn every Zuunese death and I can only hope it is balanced against Heacharid suffering..." I shook my head, unable to grapple the enormity of what I had unleashed.

She kissed me. "I think often of the boy who took me from my lamp on that distant beach and I look now upon the shah before me."

"You would style me a shah?"

"You speak like a civilized man. Now come with me, they've arrived."

I stood. "Why did you not say anything?"

"I wanted time with my husband, no matter how brief."

I softened, gently kissing her ineffable lips. "I love you, my Wazira."

She led me down to the palace garden. I was somewhat disappointed that there were but three of them standing with Sarakiel and little Janniah. The visitors were half-dwarfs, their length of bone courtesy of their father. Their complexions also carried a slight bit of green from him and his mother. I could at least take some credit for their brilliant green eyes.

"Grandfather!" cried Eltuil, the eldest of them and Threch's first child. I embraced the lad.Ladindeed. Though he was still young by dwarven standards, he was in his sixth decade.

"You look well." I embraced his two sisters, Ognagith and Balmarra. They were his youngest siblings, barely out of their third decade. "And you two, lovelier every time I see you. Where are the others? I thought I was getting the whole brood."

Ognagith pouted. "We are not enough?"

I hugged her again. "Oh, you think to tease the old man, hmm?"

"The others will be along later," Balmarra explained. "Our mothers too."

"I had the kitchens prepare a feast for all of you. I hope you're hungry."

We ate Zuunese food, the hearty flavors of the fertile valley filling our bellies, and we drank watered oghul. I was once again struck by the incongruous sight of my grandchildren looking older than my wives and their youngest aunt and uncle barely having learned to walk. Another strange feature of eternal life. Lysethe would bear children who lived long after their grandnephews had died.

"Tell us of the war," Ognagith said as our meal was ending.

"You have a mind for war?" I asked.

"No need to sound so surprised," Tanyth scolded.

"Tharwihr is a peaceful land," I explained.

"Hence her interest," Zhahllaia remarked.

Balmarra laughed. "Ognagith is fascinated. She knows the history of every battle the Firnóg have fought." Dwarves had divided themselves into seven tribes. The Firnóg were those who settled in Chassudor. Or perhaps more accurately, beneath it.

"It is quite unlike any war I have seen in my homeland," Tanyth said. "The number of soldiers upon the field...it seems like madness."

"Itismadness," Sarakiel intoned.

"They are like goblins," Maireili said with a tone of helpfulness.

"Thanks to Zuunkhorun's unique geography, there are a limited number of places an enemy can attack," Zhahllaia explained. "There is Ironmotte to the west, which is accessible by land and Uraraoi to the east, accessible by sea. A few mountain passes are navigable, but Heacharid doctrine relies on their numbers, making the passes unappealing routes. We used bandits and privateers to provoke an attack on our defenses."

"The intent was to use the strength of the Heacharids against them," I said.

"I don't see how inexhaustible manpower is a weakness," Ognagith said.

"Not that one. The Heacharids are relentless once they fix themselves on a prize."

"But they turned away after Axichis."

"Your sister said you know your history," I said, smiling with pride. "Yes, they paused. That was all it was intended to be. Axichis was so costly it provoked a civil war. The Heacharids had to sort that out before they could once again turn outward. I thought if an island could do that, stronger defenses and more resources could do much more."

"And how is the plan?"

I chuckled. "As well as can be expected. Nothing unfolds as it does in the mind. We have secured Uraraoi, but we have other troubles." I related our concerns over our faltering reserves of soldiers.

"You mention Jegu and Besh...these are humans?" Eltuil asked.

"Besh were here first," Zhahllaia said. "They were subjects of Qammuz. The Jegu came later, from Jhobai. They are both human."

"I was told the Khaltóg occupied the Zuunkhor Mountains."

"They do. They've sworn loyalty to Zuunkhorun," I said.

"But I have seen no dwarves since we arrived."

"The guard, the handsome one, I think he might have some stone in his family," mused Balmarra.

"The dwarves were in the mountains when Zuunkhorun swore loyalty to the shahs of Qammuz," Zhahllaia said. "They paid their tax in ore and weapons and the shahs let them be."

"The Jegu made war upon them, but it's my understanding the Khaltóg surrendered swiftly and have been relatively content with the arrangement," I said, "Although they are used as scapegoats at times."

"You think the Khaltóg will solve your problems," Ognagith said.

"In your time as king, have you sent emissaries to the dwarves?" asked Eltuil.

"I had none they would receive. The dwarves do not trust us. From what I understand, to them, their taxes are a bribe that keeps humans from their homes. They are willing to pay, they are willing to trade, but that is the end of it."

Eltuil smiled. "You called us here to be your emissaries."

"I called you here because I wanted to see my grandchildren. I called yourmothershere to be my emissaries."

"You would entrust this to us, grandfather?" asked Balmarra.

"Gladly," I said, hiding what trepidation I might have felt. They were only half-dwarves and from a different tribe, but they were what I had. If I could not have faith in my own family, I was well and truly lost.

***

My grandchildren departed and spent some months in the lands of the Khaltóg. They returned with the welcome news that the Quoin of Gazelum had extended an invitation to his lands. I chose to go only with my familiar, my grandchildren, and a minimum bodyguard. These were Zuunese women trained by Shaluvia and her successors, as loyal to me as my hetairoi. I wanted the Khaltóg to understand that I came in a spirit of trust.

We journeyed north from the capital, where we met the Quoin's people. The dwarves have existed on Thür since the Fourth Strata, but they have changed. I believe the tribes of them as they stand are not as they once were, but I am not certain. The Khaltóg were those native to Aucor. Unlike the Firnóg of Chassudor, who were famous for their beards, the Khaltóg instead cultivated impressive mustaches. Some hung free, often to their belts, others were braided into their thick hair, while others were thick and sculpted with beeswax.

Some fools will claim dwarven women sport the same hair upon their face as the men. The same number of dwarven women have beards as human. It was a foolish prejudice and I'm afraid one that has only gotten worse as dwarves have joined humanity as a race navigating its final millennia. Ghouls, growing no hair of their own, often have strange beliefs about it in others.

The Quoin's delegation waited on the road leading to a sculpted archway leading into the mountain itself. A carriage pulled by aurochbugs was at the center. These draft insects were one of the older breeds, the ones that only saw daylight rarely, and fidgeted and preened in the sun. Surrounding it were dwarven footmen in matching livery. Their armor was heavy on their upper bodies, while being nearly absent on their legs. They carried pikes in their hands and axes on their belts.

Two dwarven women in brocade gowns and fine jewelry stood before them, hands folded under their ample bosoms. Like most dwarven women, they were blessed with voluptuous bodies, heavy breasts, thick thighs, and expansive buttocks. Their hair was piled high atop their heads and decorated with jeweled combs, one was raven black, the other a deep auburn. Their features were cherubic and lovely, their eyes wide and a deep blue that was nearly black.

"Welcome Your Majesty," said the black-haired one as they both bowed.

"Thank you. Which one of you is Quoin? Or is it Quoina?"

"Neither one of us. I am Strombella Stoneborn, and this is my sister Bhaznella. Our father is the steward of the mines and has charged us to be your escorts." She looked to my grandchildren. "Welcome back."

"We're honored to be here," Eltuil said.

"I am to meet with your father?" I asked.

"Yes, our father is the Quoin of Gazelum."

"You did not bring much of a bodyguard," said Bhaznella.

"Every dwarf I have ever encountered has been honorable," I said. "I do not believe your people would send assassins after me."

"You have a high opinion of dwarves."

"I've been privileged to have some of your people in my family."

Bhaznella smiled. "Your grandchildren are well-mannered. I had never met one of the Firnóg."

Strombella leaned forward, "You should not refer to the Firnóg as our people."

"I meant no offense."

"And you have caused none. Each tribe of dwarves is a people unto ourselves."

The truth of what I had implied dawned upon me. "It would be as though you referred to the Heacharids as my people."

"I believe that is accurate. Now, if you will accompany me? The carriage will take us the rest of the way. Your...serpent? Will it..."

"She will accompany us. You have as much to fear from her as you do me."

Bhaznella's eyes flashed. "If half the tales we've heard are true, that is a great deal."

They escorted us into the carriage, while my bodyguards marched alongside. The aurochbugs trundled into the darkness and the dwarves unhooded their lanterns. The perfume of the two dwarven ladies permeated the interior of the carriage. Dwarves have a natural mineral scent and their perfumes take gentle mushroom scents that are subtle and complex.

"What have you heard?" I asked, as the carriage went into the dark.

"That you are a mighty wizard who commands the sky."

"We are far away from the sky down here."

"Something to keep in mind," Strombella teased. I found I enjoyed her cheek.

"You know more of me than you. I beg a favor from you two noble ladies. Would you tell me more of the Khaltóg? I'm eager to hear about you in your words."

The two dwarven sisters shared a look. Bhaznella brushed a strand of auburn hair from her cherubic face. "I would be honored, Your Majesty."

Bhaznella told me of the Khaltóg. When the original fourteen dwarven matriarchs came from deep within the earth already heavy with the first children of their tribes, the Khaltóg sisters were the ones who did not migrate across the world, remaining in Aucor. They prided themselves not only on their stonework but on the intricacy of their weaving, employing a variety of silks from any number of subterranean creatures. They had battled both goblin and ghoul, as well as other races I had yet to encounter.

Her lecture was unprepared and thus scattered, but I would not fault her this. She was eager to tell me of her people and I was eager to learn. If I was to forge bonds of friendship, I would need to know more of the people whose friendship I sought. I had read extensively in the libraries of Zuunkhorun, but I judged this more valuable, for it was what she believed to be important.

It was difficult to reckon time in the perpetual dark, but I believed it would be around sundown when we arrived at a small village on the banks of an underground river. I wondered if this was a tributary to a river I knew, or if it winded along secret pathways a surface dweller would never see.

"The village Milgrum," Strombella explained. "The closest of our settlements to the surface. We will be taking you to the magistrate."

"I thought I was visiting your father."

"He is some more distance deeper still."

Ahead a manor emerged from the gloom, carved from the living rock. Its lanterns were glowing toadstools, a fungus I would grow well-acquainted with during my time inside Zuunkhor. Outside the manor, a household's worth of servants clad in livery waited. At the head was who I could only assume was the magistrate, a dwarf in his late middle age with long, iron gray mustaches and a heavy golden buckle beneath his expansive belly. The two women flanking him were handsome, their age leading to a pleasing weight. We stepped out of the carriage to greet him.

"Welcome to Milgrum, Your--" the magistrate's greeting ended in a yelp as Quiyahui slithered out of the darkness to alight next to me, coiling her body and tasting the air.

"My apologies," I said. I spoke the local dwarven dialect, having practiced with Zhahllaia. I was not adept and my accent was thick.

"No apologies necessary, Your Majesty. I knew you are a wizard and a wizard has a familiar. I simply had not expected a beast so grand."

We exchanged introductions. The magistrate's name was Dhuram Ironriver and he was honored by my presence but confused as to why the Tyrant of Zuunkhorun would want to visit the Khaltóg people. I promised to explain and he insisted that it would be over a sumptuous supper. As he ushered us into the manor house, we were enfolded in the clean scents of the mine.

"Tell me," he said, switching to Zuunese. I was pleased to allow him to grant me this courtesy. He nodded to my grandchildren. "Their grandmother is an orc?"

"Indeed she is," I said with a wistful smile. "Was."

"Then I grieve for you," he said, touching his chest.

"You're kind," Ognagith said, looping her arm through his. He was taken aback, a blush rising to his cheeks. His wives exchanged an amused look.

"You must tell me more of the orcs," he said.

Ognagith was only too happy to charm the magistrate. I turned my attention to his wives, finding a pleasant pair of women who reminded me a bit of Sarakiel. The magistrate set a fine table and I was exposed to Khaltóg cuisine. It was not far from what I'd had in Firnóg settlements while we searched for Mira and her party, though the flavors were subtly different. Dwarves ate a good deal of mushrooms and farmed the great insects of the caves. Their meals were hearty, with a lovely mineral aftertaste to most of the dishes and strange spices that could only be cultivated in the dark.

The Khaltóg had a wonderful tradition in which, after a meal, it was customary to retire to an outdoor fire and enjoy several mugs of beer, a pipe, along with scraps of bread and a delicious, meaty honey. It was a time of reflection and soft conversation that would allow the fatigue of the day to sink into the bones and make sleep come quickly. The balcony looked out over the town, its toadstools glowing in the dark of the cave. I sipped my beer and listened to the soft breezes of the cave. Quiyahui settled next to me and I stroked her feathered head.

"Your Majesty, if you would enlighten me," Dhuram Ironriver said, taking the stem of his pipe from his mouth. "What is the purpose of your errand here? It is my understanding you have pressing concerns aboveground."

"That is true. We fight a war against the Heacharid Empire."

"I always thought Zuunkhorun was their vassal," Strombella said. "As we are to you, you are to them."

"Both situations I would like to change," I said. I turned to Dhuram. "I would be pleased to explain. My errand is no secret. My goal is to alter the relationship between Zuunkhorun and the Khaltóg from what Miss Strombella describes to something more like friendship.

"What does that mean?"

"I plan to create a position on my Council to speak directly for the dwarves. In that way, the Khaltóg will have representation and my ear. I will be able to serve your people and I hope in time that we will cease to think in terms ofyourpeople andmypeople."

His bushy eyebrows shot up. "A position on the Council?"

"Equal to my Master of Horse or Master of Wolves. I plan to call it the Master of Stone, if that's amenable. I wish to cause no offense."