Tales from the New Earth: Volume Two Page 7

  “Now wherever I go, I'm forced to bring along a compliment of nursemaids with me. When I visited you, my friend, they waited nearby.”

  Shandon looked at the council members sourly.

  “My advisors here think it is for the best.”

  “My lord, we must ensure your safety,” one of the female councilors protested. She was wearing armor, simple steel, and had her brown hair tied back in a braid that hung down her back. Her heavy face was almost pretty but was dark with concern.

  “We have no way of knowing if all of the rot within our city has been purged, and we simply cannot lose another ruler. It would shake the confidence of our people at the worst possible time, especially with the newest attacks on our perimeter by those cursed goblins.”

  “Goblins?” Simon blurted out. “You've seen goblins too?”

  Shandon leaned forward and stared down at him.

  “Too? You have encountered these monsters, my friend?”

  Before the wizard could answer, Opheilla interrupted.

  “My lord, our young guest is still recovering from his wounds. Could I request a chair for him. He is sagging from the simple effort of making this short trip.”

  The king looked concerned and stood up abruptly. He clapped his hands twice and from behind the dais two dwarves, one male and one female, appeared. They were wearing simple white tunics with some device embroidered on the chest.

  “Your majesty?” the female servant said.

  “Seats for our guests, please,” Shandon told them. “And some refreshment. Hurry now.”

  Both of them bowed.

  “At once, sire,” the man said and, more quickly than Simon would have believed, they disappeared behind the dais and reappeared with two comfortable chairs and a small table.

  Once the wizard and the cleric were seated, Simon sighing with relief, the two servants left and returned with a tray of cups of dwarven tea and freshly baked biscuits that they left on the table between the chairs.

  Shandon had waited patiently while his guests were served and now smiled as he watched them sipping their drinks.

  “There, that's better,” he told them. “I apologize for the lack of manners on my part. Now, Simon, tell me about your experience with these goblins.”

  “Yes sir,” Simon replied.

  He began to explain about the air elemental scouts he'd sent south to look for a new location to live in for the residents of Nottinghill, back when they had decided to move because of wight attacks.

  “In the old country of Mexico, they came across these huge mounds,” he said, using his hands to indicate the shape of the structures. “Only two of the scouts that I sent down there returned alive,” he added bitterly. “The others were destroyed by the goblins. Apparently these creatures have magic-users among them. One of my scouts, whom I luckily recalled while he was in captivity, claims that he saw a goblin wizard.”

  The councilors stirred and a ripple of uneasy conversation passed between them. Shandon was frowning down at Simon, but he wasn't really looking at him, but instead seemed to be thinking deeply.

  “How long ago did your scouts run into the goblins, young man?” the female dwarf who had spoken earlier asked him.

  “How long?”

  Simon tried to figure out how much time had passed. He'd been unconscious for six months, and the people of Nottinghill had lived down south for at least a month before that and...

  “Maybe eight months ago?” he replied hesitantly. “Possibly more. I'm sorry but with all that's happened to me, it's hard to give you a precise answer.”

  “Understandable,” she told him with a little smile and looked at Shandon. “Sire, it has only been a few months since the first incursions by these creature along our borders. They are obviously beginning to expand and, if they act anything like the goblins from the old tales, they will spread like a plague unless they are firmly repulsed. They respect and fear only strength.”

  “Yes, thank you, Ulanda,” the king replied with a sigh. “I've read all of the lore on the subject. Only a massive show of force will make them back off and leave us in peace. Even so, they usually return, sometimes years later, to try again. At least, that is what our historians tell us.”

  He rubbed his eyes and Simon noticed just how tired his friend looked.

  The burden of rule, he supposed.

  “We will discuss this after our meeting with our guest,” Shandon told the council. He sat back on his throne and looked down at the visitors.

  “My friend, I called you here mainly to allow my council to meet you face to face. Stories grow with the telling and none of them have ever met a wizard before.” He winked. “Your deeds go before you, and tales can take root in the imaginations of others. You have defeated four primal dragons, and yes,” he held up a hand as Simon began to protest, “I know that you did not do it alone. Nevertheless, you were instrumental in their destruction and your name and reputation are now spoken of far and wide among my people. Simon O'Toole, dragon slayer.”

  Simon snorted in disgust and both Shandon and Opheilla chuckled.

  “Your modesty becomes you, sir wizard,” Ulanda told him approvingly. “I will admit, I had no idea what kind of a person a wizard would be, and a human one at that.”

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the council.

  “But my king has spoken highly of you and, to be honest, you are not as, um, intimidating as I imagined.”

  Simon had to grin at her tone.

  “Thank you, councilor. I've never been, and hope I never will become, intimidating. I'm sure you all know the story of how my people were wiped out.” There were general nods all around. “And how those of us who survived were Changed by the lords of Light. My powers are still very much a mystery to me. I certainly never asked to become a wizard. In fact, in my old life, wizards and mages, dragons and, quite frankly, dwarves, were legends and tall tales.”

  More than one councilor laughed at that statement and Shandon looked amused.

  “I don't know the root causes of your distrust of magic-users, but I'm sure you have your reasons. I can't just tell you to trust me and expect you to do so; that would be foolish on both our parts. All I can do to reassure you of my good intentions is to ask that you weigh me on my deeds, not my words. Your king,” he glanced at Shandon, “has told you about my battles with the primals. He may have put more weight on my involvement in these clashes than I would have, but he is essentially correct. I've tried my best to stop those monsters from destroying what is left of the human race, and I intend to keep on doing that until they are all destroyed, or I am. I hope that will at least show you that I only seek to help and not to harm.”

  “Well said!” an old councilor sitting to the right of the throne spoke up heartily. “Well said indeed. Actions, not words, impress our people, sir wizard. And your actions have at all times been honorable.”

  “I agree,” Shandon said as he stood up. Simon jumped to his feet instinctively and the king waved him back to his seat with a smile.

  “I was impressed by this young man from the first moment we met, when we confronted the primal black dragon. Do you remember that, my friend?”

  Simon had to laugh.

  “How could I forget? When you and your group popped out of the ground in that drilling machine, you scared me half to death.”

  There were amused chuckles from many of the councilors.

  “Well, you impressed me that day as well,” Shandon told him with a firm nod. “A skinny boy standing up to one of the legendary primals? And winning? Oh, I knew that there were great things in store for you, my friend. And I was correct, as we all know. So, councilors,” he continued and looked at the dwarves around his throne. “What say you now? I have named Simon O'Toole as dwarf kin and reaffirm that title and commitment again. What is your opinion?”

  “I say that you were right to do so, my lord,” Ulanda said as she rose to her feet. “My sword, my shield, my blood defend him from those who would be
counted his enemies.”

  One by one, every dwarf stood up. One or two seemed reluctant and Simon noticed that the king took note of them, but in the end all of the council was on their feet.

  “So be it,” Shandon said when everyone had risen. “My sword, my shield, my blood I offer in your defense, sir wizard, as I would to one of my own. You are kin to us now.” He smiled and shook a finger at Simon. “Don't embarrass us out in the world when you leave.”

  Simon was staring open-mouthed and speechless at this display. When the silence had stretched on uncomfortably long, Opheilla poked him in the ribs and he yelped.

  “Say something, for the gods sake,” she hissed at him.

  “Oh! Right. Um, okay then.” He stood up and bowed awkwardly to all of them. “My...my sword, my shield and my blood I offer to defend the dwarves from their enemies. I swear it.”

  He stood there, not really knowing what else to say, and then looked at the cleric. She had stood up as well and began clapping, a huge smile on her face. Apparently, he had made the proper response.

  The entire council, including the king, began applauding and there were shouts of delight mixed in with it. Shandon looked proudly down at Simon and gave him a subtle wink.

  When the room quieted, the council took their seats again, but the king remained standing.

  “Opheilla, I can see how tiring this has been on your patient. I think that it is time he was back in bed.”

  There were two broad steps at the front of the dais and Shandon walked forward and down until he was standing in front on Simon. He reached into a pocket of his tunic and brought out something that glittered. He offered it to the wizard.

  “My friend, I noticed that you somehow lost the medallion I gave you, the symbol of the friendship between you and my people. So here, take this one and wear it always. It will identify you as dwarf kin to any of my kind that you may meet in your travels when you leave us.”

  He lowered his voice as Simon took the chain and slipped it over his head, the heavy black medallion swinging freely against his chest.

  “And for the Light's sake,” Shandon whispered. “Don't lose this one!”

  And he stepped back and grinned up at the wizard.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Simon said and he gripped the black metal amulet tightly in his fist. “I won't. And thank you all,” he added, raising his voice, “for your friendship. If ever you need my aid, call on me and I will be here. I promise.”

  “Good. Now, back to bed with you, young wizard,” Shandon told him sternly, but with a glint of humor in his eyes. “It wouldn't do to have you fall flat on your face in front of the council.”

  Simon bowed and turned away, letting Opheilla lead the way back across the chamber. He was exhausted but elated as well. It had been a good day.

  Chapter 6

  “I still can't believe you didn't tell me,” Simon said as he sat up in bed, taking notes.

  Several days had passed and the wizard was starting to feel strong enough to be restless. Opheilla had distracted him by speaking to the head scribe of the dwarven archives, who had dug up a pile of old scrolls on magical theory. She had presented Simon with these and he had dived in with delight. The scrolls were written in the ancient language of magic, which he could somehow read. He still found that a bit creepy but didn't bother questioning it anymore.

  “About what?” the cleric asked as she put a hand on his forehead.

  He pulled away irritably.

  “About Shandon being king, that's what. I walked into that meeting scared to death and then I find out that I had nothing to worry about after all.”

  Opheilla stood back and stared at him, hands on her hips.

  “Do you really think that being a friend of the king guaranteed you a warm reception from the council? I assure you it didn't.”

  Simon stopped copying a spell that he had never heard of called Shatter and looked up at the cleric.

  “It didn't? But, they did end up being friendly, right?”

  Opheilla sat down beside the bed with a weary sigh and smiled wanly.

  “Some of them, yes. But I've spoken with Shandon since the meeting and there are still several councilors who hold little love for you, and never will. Their prejudice against magic-users simply runs too deep. They would dislike you no matter who you were or how fond the king was of you.”

  “Well, that's just sad,” Simon replied and picked up the vellum sheet that he was using to copy out the spells he'd discovered. “You'd think my winning personality alone would have endeared me to them.”

  The cleric snorted a laugh and stood up.

  “You'd think. At any rate, hurry up with your copying. I have decided to declare you healed, young wizard. Tomorrow is moving day. You are going home.”

  Simon dropped the sheet of paper and gaped at her.

  “What?” he asked weakly.

  “You heard me. You've lolled around here long enough. The world needs you, and your friends must be anxious to see you again.”

  “You really mean it?” Simon asked plaintively. “You aren't just pulling my chain?”

  Opheilla walked to the door and looked back at him.

  “I have no idea what that means, but yes, I really mean it. So learn what you can from that pile of dusty scrolls today. You won't be allowed to take them with you when you leave.”

  She turned to go and Simon called her back.

  “But how? How am I leaving? I can't cast any spells inside the city. Whatever your people use to dampen my magic won't let me.”

  “I'll be taking you to the city's edge,” she answered with a smile at his eagerness. “A patrol will meet us at the front gates and take you far enough away to allow you to Gate back home. However,” she added, becoming serious, “if you don't feel up to it, the king has offered to have you transported home via one of our drilling machines.”

  “That's okay. I'm good. But please thank him for me, would you? I don't suppose I'll see him before I leave?”

  “I'm afraid not,” she told him with some regret. “He's off again, checking on our borders. Being king isn't all pomp and circumstance, at least for my people. Shandon rarely sits still for more than a few hours. It's fortunate that he's under two hundred. We needed a young king in these dark times.”

  She gave Simon a final smile and slipped out of the room.

  The wizard stared at the closed door. Shandon is under two hundred years old? Good God, how long do dwarves live, he thought with wonder, when someone was considered young at that age?

  He shrugged and picked up the vellum again. He needed to decide which of these new spells was useful and copy them before he left, and time was running out.

  The next day, Simon was up early, too excited to sleep. He had discovered a handful of new spells that had potential and hoped that they would prove useful in the future. Besides the Shatter spell, he'd been delighted to find two new offensive spells; Lava Lash and Fire Imp. They sounded intriguing. There was an odd spell called Fairy Dust that he had found as well. He had no idea what it did, but the name alone was ridiculous enough to make him want to try casting it. Lastly, an ominous spell simply called Blind seemed to be useful. He wondered if it actually made people sightless permanently or just for a short time. He might find out one day, but it was a horrible thought and he doubted that he would ever use it.

  Opheilla arrived with breakfast and a sturdy backpack for Simon to carry his meager belongings in.

  He ate quickly as the cleric watched, amused, as he rushed his meal. When he was almost finished, Opheilla packed his few robes and assorted toiletries into the backpack, added the small pile of vellum sheets that he'd copied his new spells on and left it on the bed.

  Simon had already washed up and put on a clean robe. He'd chosen a cheerful blue one because of his upbeat mood.

  Once he'd finished eating, he set aside the tray, stood up and grabbed the backpack. He slipped it over his shoulders and made sure that it was settled on to his back
comfortably. Then he picked up his staff, turned to look at the cleric and smiled at her.

  “So, how do I look?” he asked.

  She looked him up and down and nodded in approval.

  “Excellent, my friend. Really good. Now that you are healed, I must say that there were times, early on, when I despaired for your life. Your soul struggled to free itself from your broken body and it was only your strong will that kept you connected to this world.”

  “Really? You never told me that!”

  “There was no reason to. You needed encouragement and I did what I could to provide that. And now look at you. Whole and sound of body and mind. Ready to carry on with your life. No healer could be prouder of a patient than I am of you.”

  Simon felt himself tearing up a bit and had to clear his throat several times before he could answer.

  “And no patient ever had a more dedicated healer than you, Opheilla. I owe you and your people my life and I will never forget that. I meant what I said to the king and council and it applies to you as well; if you need me, call me and I will be here. I swear it.”

  The cleric stepped forward and took his free hand in both of hers.

  “I know that, my friend, as does the king. The same applies to us, you know.” She tapped the medallion on his chest through his robe. “You are our kin. If you or your people need our help, you simply have to ask.”

  He nodded silently and she smiled up at him.

  “And now, sir wizard, the world awaits. Come along and let's get you home.”

  The walk from Simon's room to the front gate took almost an hour, because Opheilla took her time and walked unhurriedly through the city.

  Simon might have been eager to leave, but he wasn't impatient with her. They spent their time talking, looking at sights that he hadn't seen during his stay in Kingstone and discussing the various threats that had appeared in the world since he'd been laid up. The time passed quickly.

  When they reached the massive main gates, towering iron doors guarded by a dozen warriors, they were met by four scouts who were to escort Simon beyond the city. Their leader, a powerful looking woman named Vara, greeted them both and banged a mailed fist on her armored chest.