Champions of the Gods (2 page)

The cry of a terrified infant echoed through the crystal chamber. Whill ran blindly through the maze of luminescent shards. His reflection darted this way and that on the mirror-like crystal walls as he tried desperately to reach his child.

“Whill!” Avriel cried out somewhere nearby.

A heavy thrumming sound pulsated through the chamber, vibrating the floor beneath his feet and causing the reflections to quiver.

“Whill!” she called out again.

The voice was so close, just around the next corner.

“Avriel!” Whill called out.

The cry of the infant tore at his insides. He caught a glimpse of the babe in the reflection to his right. A dark form loomed there as well.

The gleam of a raised dagger caught his eye…

“NO!”

Whill jolted awake and grabbed at the looming shape standing over him. In a flash he had a dagger to the phantom’s throat.

“It’s me, sire, Avalyn.”

He stared wild-eyed as the world came rushing back to him.

It had only been a dream
.

“Avalyn…I’m sorry,” he said and carefully released her.

The young woman was clearly shaken, and she took a step back. “I’m sorry, sire, you were having a bad dream. I was trying to wake you.”

“Sire!” Two guards came rushing into the room, alert to some danger by Whill’s initial cry.

“It is alright. Please, return to your stations,” he said, waving them off.

Whill tried to sit up, but the pain in his back proved too great. Avalyn hurried to help him and propped pillows behind his back for support.

“Thank you, Avalyn. Again, I apologize. I think it best if you do not try to wake me in the future.”

“Yes, sire. Would you like anything for the pain?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just help me to dress. I need to see Tarren off shortly.”

The process of bathing and relieving himself was often tedious, not to mention slightly humiliating. Whill hated being so dependent on his servants. It had been a week since he had returned to Del’Oradon. The infection was all but gone, due to the diligence of his healers. Still, the pain remained, and while there were remedies for such agony, Whill did not like to partake too often, finding that they left him groggy and unable to focus.

Avalyn dressed him in an immaculate white suit with a silver silk sash that went over the right shoulder and crossed to the left hip. Matching silver buttons adorned the waistcoat which, like the pants, had double-stitched hemlines meant to stand out. His white boots had a similar stitch, and silver buckles crafted with the image of a gleaming sword. Last came the silver crown with its thirteen spear-like spires.

When he was finally ready, he asked that his wheeled chair be brought to him. Avalyn offered to push him as always, but he graciously declined, wishing to get what exercise he could. Whill wheeled himself into the hall, and his personal guard followed close behind as he made his way through the castle to Tarren’s quarters.

Tarren had been waiting for Whill. The boy offered a wide smile, one mixed with excitement and apprehension.

Whill couldn’t help but grin wide, pride swelling his throat. Tarren stood before him in his smart recruit uniform. He had expressed a wish to join the military academy many months ago, but it had yet been impossible, as he had been trapped in the Watcher’s body.

“Look at you,” said Whill, extending a hand and giving Tarren a firm handshake. “You wear the uniform well.”

“Thanks,” said Tarren, beaming.

“So, you’re ready for training?” Whill asked.

Tarren shrugged. “I passed the dwarven trials. How hard can it be against a bunch of human kids?”

Whill laughed at that. “Don’t get too cocky. They’re going to give you a hell of a time because of who you are.”

“I’m used to it,” said Tarren.

“And these aren’t dwarf boys, go easy on ‘em.”

“I’ll try.”

Whill marveled at how much Tarren had grown over the last year and a half. He was almost a teenager, and his voice had even begun to crack a bit.

“Your parents would be proud, Tarren,” said Whill.

Small tears shimmered in the boy’s eyes, yet he smiled. “Thanks,” he said and hugged Whill in his chair.

“I’ll see you when your first semester is up,” said Whill, his own tears pooling.

Tarren eyed him knowingly. “Good luck in the north. Watch your back.”

Whill gave a small laugh. “I will.”

He was on his way to meet with the council when Lunara found him in the west wing.

“May I speak with you?” she said, eyeing Avalyn. “Privately.”

“Of course,” said Whill, nodding to his nurse.

Avalyn gave a small bow and left them.

“What is this about?” Whill asked, concerned by her heavy air.

“I am returning to Elladrindellia,” she said, unable to look at him and instead staring out over the sunlit courtyard beyond the veranda.

“You wish to return to your people? How long have you felt this way?”

“For some time now. With Tarren gone to the academy, I am no longer needed here.”

“Of course you are,” said Whill.

She finally turned to him and smiled kindly, touching his face delicately. “You have your servants, your doctors. What use am I to you now?”

Whill didn’t know how to answer. It was he who had pushed her away when she tried to get close. Now he realized how much he had come to depend on her in his life. The last six months without Avriel had been torture, only lessened by Lunara’s constant presence and her profound optimism. But also, Whill realized, her love.

“You are one of my closest friends, Lunara.”

“Yes…friends.” Her gaze dropped to the floor and tears pooled in her eyes. “I am honored to be your friend, Whill. But my heart yearns for something more. It is not fair to you, and it is not fair to my princess. During the tea ceremony that you unwittingly performed with me, I gave you my heart, and never shall another have it. I must return to Elladrindellia. I will become a priestess of my goddess Kellallea and serve my people in any way I can.”

Whill knew that her mind was made up. And there was no point in trying to convince her that Kellallea was not one to be worshipped. They had already been down that road more than once. Lunara was devout, and the news that Kellallea had shown herself to Avriel only strengthened that belief.

“Let us have one last dinner before you go,” he said.

Lunara tucked her silver hair behind her long ears—a mannerism that Whill knew well.

“I have already made arrangements. An elven escort will arrive within the hour.”

“You
have
been thinking about this for some time,” Whill noted.

“It is for the best,” she said and bent to give him a hug.

He held her tight, wishing that he didn’t have to let her go. It was she who let go first.

“Goodbye, Whillhelm Warcrown. Until we meet again.”

“Thank you, Lunara, for everything.”

“It was my pleasure, sire.”

She bent quickly and kissed Whill before turning and hurrying away. Whill was left on the veranda overlooking the courtyard, feeling as though everything was slipping through his fingers.

“Go on, lad. Tell Agnar what ye done told yer mother ‘n’ me,” said Roakore.

Helzendar sat up in his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

“I been to the Mountain o’ the Gods,” he said.

Agnar didn’t look surprised. Indeed, he had heard the rumors.

“It be a miracle ye pulled out o’ yer coma the way ye did. Ye be blessed,” said the holy dwarf.

Roakore was impressed by Agnar’s self-control. He knew that the dwarf had a million questions on his mind.

“They sent me back with a message,” said Helzendar.

“Nah, lad, tell it like ye told me. From the beginnin’,” said Roakore.

“Alright. Well, I remember flying back here on Silverwind, well, some o’ it. After that it gets fuzzy. I had a lot o’ crazy dreams while that dragon venom was pumpin’ through me veins.” Helzendar snorted and spat on the floor at the mention. Roakore and Agnar did the same. “Then I floated up out o’ me body, I did, or I’m a yellow-bellied dragon whelp! I floated up through the mountain, past the clouds, and on into pure darkness. But then a light appeared, a light at the end o’ a tunnel. It became brighter as I flew toward it, and for a time I was blinded. But then it all went away, and I found meself sittin’…at the table o’ the gods.”

Agnar pressed his fist to his chest and held it there firmly. “Glory be to Ky’Dren,” he whispered reverently.

Helzendar nodded. “Aye. Glory be.”

“Who was at the table?” Agnar asked, unable to control himself.

“A lot o’ dwarves. The table stretched on as far as the eye can see left and right. It was full o’ ale and meat, fowl, fish, and taters. Pipe smoke rose up and curled around pillars a thousand feet high. I saw me grampa and me uncle, though I ain’t never met ‘em, I knew it was ‘em indeed. Others there were as well. Including Haldagozz.”

Roakore grinned to himself and nodded happily at that, discretely wiping a pesky itch in the corner of his eye.

“Across from me sat Ky’Dren and the gods o’ old. Azrokea himself sat at the head o’ the table,” said Helzendar, watching Agnar’s reaction.

The holy dwarf only stared, enthralled.

Helzendar continued.

“Ky’Dren said that it was not yet my time. That I had more to do. He told me to go back and spread the word o’ the gods…”

Agnar leaned forward so far in his chair that he almost fell out. “What…what be the word o’ the gods, lad? What did they say?”

“They said that a dragon scourge was soon to be sweepin’ across this land. To help us in our fight, they’ve given us their blessin’. It be a gift.”

“What gift?” Agnar asked in nearly a whisper.

Helzendar reached out his hand and mentally lifted the book of scripture from the holy dwarf’s grip.

Agnar gasped and fell to his knees. “Glory be!”

“They have blessed us with the ability to move not only stone with our minds, but anything.” Helzendar lowered the book back into Agnar’s trembling hands and reached out to the fireplace twenty feet away. He pulled, and a long snaking tongue of fire darted out toward him. With a flick of his wrist, it receded.

“And it ain’t only the descendants o’ Ky’Dren be havin’ this power. The gods have blessed others—those they’ve deemed to be deservin’ o’ the gift.”

“Glory be,” said Agnar once more as he stared at his own hands. “How will we know?”

“The gods said that they would appear before those who be worthy. In their dreams.”

Agnar stroked his long beard. His eyes were wild and full of possibility. “To think that
I
could wield such power…could be such a weapon o’ the gods…”

“This ain’t about who the gods pick and who they don’t,” said Roakore. “It be about a scourge o’ dragons aimin’ to wipe us out. Ye be one o’ the best dwarves I be knowin’, Agnar. If’n the gods see fit, ye’ll be visited. Until then, I need yer advice. What do we do with this information? How do we present it to our people?”

Agnar pondered that as he stroked his long gray beard. At length, he nodded to himself. “I think we be callin’ a gatherin’. Tell ‘em like it be.”

Roakore thought of Nah’Zed and what she had done when he had presented her with new information about the gods. The announcement would change dwarven culture forever.

For good or for bad, this be the beginning o’ a new age.

“Ye think…ye think they’ll be able to handle it?” he asked Agnar.

“It be a blessin’ me king,” said Agnar. “What harm could come o’ it?”

The next day, every dwarf in the city was summoned to the gathering. Roakore and Helzendar, along with Agnar the Holy, stood high upon the dais overlooking the crowd of thousands. Agnar raised his long scepter and silenced the crowd, who stared up at Helzendar. Having heard of his miraculous recovery, they were all quite curious to see him.

With a nod from Roakore, Helzendar stepped forward to the edge and addressed the crowd. “Dwarves o’ Ro’Sar, I been returned to ye by the glory o’ Ky’Dren and the gods. I been to the Mountain, and they’ve sent me back with a message.”

The crowd stood motionless, hanging on his every word.

“Like Ky’Dren o’ old, I been blessed by the gods. As once Ky’Dren was given the power to move stone with his mind, so too have I been given power. Behold!”

Helzendar reached out and mentally took hold of the fire of a torch a few feet away. The flame flared up into a spiraling serpent that snaked its way through the air toward the young prince. The crowd gasped and uttered shocked exclamations. They slammed their fists to their chests and bowed low.

Releasing the fire, Helzendar mentally pulled a stream of water from the nearby basin that had been provided for the showing. The water floated over his head and swirled in a circle. Firewood that had been placed on the dais lifted into the air and joined the water, and so too did many large stones and a gleaming shield of steel.

The crowd cheered and cried out to the glory of Ky’Dren. Some of them even passed out, so enamored were they by their prince’s power.

He let the many spinning objects fall to the ground and addressed the crowd once more. “It be a great blessin’ indeed. But I be not the only one who’s been gifted. The gods told me that a great firestorm be coming, and they will bestow this blessing on many others. Those who be chosen shall be visited by the gods in a dream.”

“It be true,” said Roakore, coming to stand beside his son. “I been visited by such a dream.” He reached out with his mind and lifted the lumber at his feet, and then the steel, followed by the water.

The crowd began to chant loudly. Tears streamed down bearded cheeks and proud smiles lifted many faces.

Roakore was deeply heartened by their apparent joy. He thought of Nah’Zed then, wishing that she was there to share in the glory of the gods.