Hlaeth Chapter 44 – A Stroll ending in a King

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Truth, Hope, and Valor were reverberating inside words, ringing there, letting them know they were no lie, no exaggeration on my part, and just how awful the efforts behind what I had spoken of were.

Now, now someone from a place like that was here, and he wanted to return home. What was I going to let stand in my way, if I had lived through a catastrophe like that? Was what they were facing worse than what I had already gone through?

I had the weight of Heaven on high behind my words, they could all feel them reverberating, the Keeper trying not to shudder slightly at being confronted with such Virtues, Green that he was.

“If we may ask, Magos Aelryinth, what exactly is your purpose here?” the Patriarch asked gruffly, clearly trying not to be quietly awed at what he’d heard.

“I intend to return home. To do this, I must break the Iron Veil about your world. To do THAT, I must remove the reason why and how it exits.

“This means I must destroy the Yellow, leash the Portals that plague the Land, find the source of it, and either bind it or destroy it, whatever is needed.

“I am hoping that the Ironaxe will aid me in bringing the war to this invasion of this world, instead of sitting back and thinking your Mountain Ward will protect you for less than a century more.”

Aaaand wasn’t that another shoe to drop on them. “What?” Keeper Grayhand blurted out in shock.

“You were unaware the Wards are failing?” I asked simply. “The pressure upon them builds by the day, month, week, and year, slow and insidious weight coming upon them as the Yellow whelms slowly higher and higher and higher. It is like damming a river, only there is no way to vent the water.

“The dam your ancestors wrought is straining under the mounting pressure. You can feel the tension on it the same way you can when you thrum a wire being stretched. You can’t possibly put enough power into it to stop it, only delay it for a short period of time, and that’s if you marshal ALL your magical resources.

“It is time to make War upon the Yellow, not to sit and suffer a siege from it you cannot outlast, and I have the ways and means for you to do that.”

One way or another, they really wanted to hear what I was going to be saying now.

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The audience chamber was at the end of the entry halls, then up two flights of stairs climbing about thirty feet, sweeping around to the side of the mountain, with the chamber itself capable of opening out on the side of the mountain with great windows of stained glass conveying important moments of myth and history, spilling sunlight across the chamber towards the isolated great throne, the chair thrice the height of a dwarf and the dais it rose upon sitting high and alone over the lesser positions about it, which bore no permanent thrones.

Behind that throne was another cavern, and it was decorated with gold, throwing back the sunlight and proclaiming the wealth and artistic merits of the Ironaxe Clan.

The four priests walking with me instead of ahead of me seemed to be an important bit of protocol, indicating a level of support not common for first time visitors, and that I was seen as at least their equal, and so not a being to insult.

I took that in stride without problem. The ‘waste’ of so much gold was actually paying honor to their ancestors and forefathers, and so the highest form of respect for these people, so I didn’t begrudge them the goldweight… especially since it probably only amounted to twenty or so goldweight by volume, given how malleable gold was and how it could be spread out so thinly over things. What looked like something wrought in gold was actually plated in gold, another example of the skill of the dwarves, and an exercise in frugality while seeming to be excessive waste.

A typical visitor would likely think thousands of goldweight were on display, instead of a couple dozen. The dwarves probably got some quiet chuckles out of it.

A subtlety of step, and I paused with the four elders before the throne, itself wrought from Heartstone Granite from the core of the mountain, solid and immovable as the mountain itself. Different metals, gemstones, and carvings competed for space and vision, indicating the different levels of importance of the metals to the clan here.

Iron was indeed primary, but gold was not far behind, with minor silver, a scattering of copper and tin, some bronze and brasswork. They worked more with civilian goods than implements of war, so a fairly peaceable clan despite their name. Gemstones seemed to focus on diamonds and rubies, a good combination. Food and beer were of minor importance, yet still merited a carving, so there was at least some surplus of them.

I wondered if other visitors realized that the dwarves were telling them what they were good at right in front of them.

The dwarf standing in front of the throne to greet me was a full Fifteen, solid Silver, and if his Armor was highly-polished and adorned with gemcraft and precious metal inlays, all of those things were anchors for some obdurate smithcraft of the highest order, a suit of Armor truly worthy for a King Under the Mountain to wear upon the field of battle, a full Akt Slots filled with power. His black beard was streaked with snowy white, a sign of wisdom, not of age.

+V Heavy Fortification was no joke. Probably should take the next step, however…

His crown was gold and diamonds, no other stones, affirming those were paramount in importance. The Axe resting point-down before him was truesteel, not mithral or adamantine, indicating the importance of iron here. It was an Energized steel that could be wrought to QL 40, and it did indeed have all ten Slots filled, again a Weapon worthy of the King of a powerful clan.

“Magos Aelryinth ov Heaven, you stand before Hrom Ferrusfyr, Fist ov the Ironaxe, und King Under the Mountain!” Patriarch Goldhammer rolled out in a fine baritone, playing the herald with aplomb.

I bowed to the dwarven king precisely to forty-five degrees. He inclined his head to a similar angle to accept the honor. “I greet the Mountain King in the Hall of his ancestors!” I declared forthrightly, clasping my fists to him.

“A quick name du haf made for duself, Magos Aelryinth,” the strong tenor of the king answered smoothly, his dark eyes examining me shrewdly. “The unwhite flame even now begins to spread through these walls, und word has been sent on to the other eleven Mountain Kings und Clans, aye, even those with which the Ironaxe rarely deal, or haf… difficulties with.”

“Access to the vivic flame benefits all save those wedded to undeath and darkness, and by the mandate of Heaven, is to be given to all those worthy of its power, Your Majesty. I was happy to help,” I answered calmly.

“Und now du comes to the halls ov Ironaxe duself,” the kin noted shrewdly. “One does not do such things if one bin not seeking something, Magos!” he pointed out.

“This is true, Mountain King. I have a plan to crack open the Yellow, Burn it clean, shatter the Iron Veil, and return the gods to this world of Hlaeth.” I tapped Mortus Dius for emphasis, and the impact thundered quietly through the stone, popping open the eyes of the dwarves here. “With the aid of the dwarves of Ironaxe, I can accelerate these plans by basically an order of magnitude.

“I have come to ask the dwarves of Ironaxe if they wish to break the siege of the Yellow, tear it down, and bring back their gods from beyond the Veil.”

He kind of stared at me in disbelief. His eyes flickered to the elders, who all nodded subtly, one by one around me.

“Canst du work this magic, Magos of Heaven?” he asked warily. “The power, the power ov the Yellow, ov the Iron Veil, is beyond us und the might of all the priests ov the Rockborn gathered together…”

“Their power stems from the gods, and it is the gods who are maintaining the Iron Veil, Your Majesty,” I replied dryly. “The way to bring down the Iron Veil is to break the Yellow and Burn it away.” I shook my head at him. “This is a problem that has to be addressed by mortal means and magic, and the foundation of that magic is the simple flames of vivus, Burning away at the Yellow!” Thunder rumbled as Mortus Dius tapped down again. “I have seeded the foundation, and in time, with vivus Burning at the Yellow, the Mountain Kings could forestall its growth. With great efforts and dedication, perhaps they could even begin to beat it back.

“But I am here, and I intend to make war on the Yellow. If the Rockborn merely stand aside and do not interfere, I will prosecute this war and I will Break the Yellow, shatter the Iron Veil, and be on my way home.

“If the Ironaxe care to help me, then within the year this will be done, if not faster.”

Rolling silence dominated the Hall about us. I had naturally voiced something that should be completely impossible by their standards… but I didn’t exist at their levels and standards, I existed at mine.

The king was too good at the game to shudder, but could not hide a ferocious will to fight. You didn’t get to be a Fifteen by being less then eager to get to a fight! “Bin this true, Magos Aelryinth?” he demanded to know.

“I have been honored with a gift from the Heavens. A Sword, a Flame, and a Shield.

“TRUTH!

“HOPE!

“VALOR!”

The dwarves around me swayed on their feet. Mostly Good, the Words wouldn’t do them any real harm, but still, Truth’s Light shining down on their souls was and would always be a knife.

Hope would likewise always be a surging flame, and Valor a rising shield!

All the dwarves crashed down to one knee, but their heads were turned up towards a Light locked away, but the echoes of it blazed down from the akasha of their racial memory, and they Knew.

Knew the Heavens were still there, and were waiting for them, supporting them even now!

“A Truthspeaker. Someone only spoken ov in der legends,” whispered King Ferrusfyr, unable to keep the awe and reverence out of his voice. “How long has it been since a Truthspeaker strode the Halls Under the Mountains, Patriarch?” he rasped.

“Seventy und nine decades, my liege,” the priest of the Smith-Father replied with iron certainty.

“When the gods were still with us, and the Ironaxe were young.” The dwarven king pushed himself back to his feet, fixing me with a steely gaze. “Magos Aelryinth ov Heaven, du bin every bit as terrifying as those Speakers of legend.

“All the Ironaxe have bin yours to command. What would the Truthspeaker have ov the axes of the Rockborn?” he asked with absolute authority, and not a dwarf present dared to speak the slightest whisper against that pronouncement.

It was a moment, a human coming in and just like that taking over a dwarven kingdom.

I stepped past it. “Goldweight, Your Majesty. We are going to throw the bones of the earth at the Yellow, and watch it Burn.”

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