Fate of Thorbardin

TWENTY-FOUR

There is nothing that terrifies a population of underground-dwelling mountain dwarves as much as an earthquake. Nothing can rain death upon a cavern as soundly, as quickly, as thoroughly as a great convulsion that shakes the bedrock of the world and collapses structures and caverns and pillars and caves that have long been considered solid and permanent. The crushing weight of such a cave-in can mark a permanent and fatal end, not just to lives, but to houses, villages, cities, even whole nations of dwarves.

Thus, when the ground shivered underneath and rumbles of sound, louder than thunder and twice as violent, shot through the great plaza of Norbardin, the celebration of victory and the triumph of King Bellowgranite’s return to the throne came to an immediate end. Cheers of laughter and hope, songs of delight and praise, all were replaced with cries of terror. The pounding of the drums ceased, though the loud percussion continued as rocks split free from the ceiling to crash into the streets and onto the buildings. Screams of pain replaced the sounds of revelry from one end of the city to the other.

The floor buckled and pitched underfoot. Dwarves who were dancing crazily lost their balance and tumbled to the ground. Youngsters screamed in fear, and elders shouted prayers or curses, depending on temperament. Everywhere dwarves dived for cover or fled, screaming, into the side streets or the imagined safety of sturdy buildings.

In the heart of the celebration, near the center of the great plaza, Tarn Bellowgranite wrapped his arms around his wife and bore her to the ground, protecting her body with his own. For a second he lay on top of her, heart pounding, eyes tightly closed as he waited for the lethal, crushing force of collapse.

But then the ground grew still again, and it seemed that the danger had passed.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” the restored queen said, grunting for breath. “But if a ten-ton rock falls on you, I don’t think you’re going to offer much protection.”

“Sorry,” Tarn said, quickly rolling to the side. “But it’s a quake-!”

“And your first instinct was to protect me,” Crystal replied, not unkindly, as she sat up and brushed herself off. “I think that’s marvelous. But doesn’t it seem strange that there would be an earthquake now, of all times?”

Indeed, her voice had a calming effect on the king, and it seemed to have the same effect on the world itself. At least, after the initial shock, the ground seemed to have grown still, and the rumbling slowly faded into echoes.

“Could it be over already?” Tarn wondered, standing on shaky legs and helping his wife climb to her feet. “It seemed terribly abrupt and quick.”

“I don’t think that was a natural earthquake,” Crystal said. “I’m rather more worried that it had something to do with the black wizard. I think we should investigate. Where can we go to get a look at what’s happening?”

“The Urkhan Sea!” Tarn said, holding on to his wife rather more than was strictly necessary for safety’s sake. Thankfully, the ground remained still, though the deep, thrumming rumble of unsettled bedrock continued to assault their ears, forcing them to shout just to be heard. “That’s where Otaxx and Brandon were going. Maybe there.”

“Let’s go!” Crystal agreed.

Gretchan knelt over Brandon’s bloodied form and touched his shoulder, closing her eyes as she concentrated on a prayer of healing. Almost immediately she felt him twitch then heard him groan-at least, she thought she did, though the roar of the churning smoke consuming the wizard’s body was all around, making it difficult to hear anything else.

Willim’s corpse had disappeared, but the unholy murk still churned, and the three columns continued to spume upward, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Each of the pillars extended like a great, black tentacle, the whole resembling a three-taloned paw reaching upward from some monstrous being, claws extended to scrape the sky itself.

“It’s the black wizard!” Sadie screamed. “He wants to bring all of Cloudseeker Peak down upon us! Look!”

That appeared to be the case. The cleric looked upward and saw that three great fires burned at the places where the smoke touched the top of the dome over the sea. They burned like cancerous sores, boring holes in the ceiling, eating away at the foundation of the rock, rotting the very roof over the mountain kingdom. They seemed to shed no heat, but they were terribly bright, casting a pale, sickeningly yellow light.

Tons of rocks were already breaking free, falling into the lake on three sides, breaking loose from each of the oozing sores on the upper dome of rock. The collapsing stone, some of it in the form of house-sized boulders, sent huge waves churning across the waters that had never been troubled by so much as a breath of wind.

In the glaring light of the unholy fires, it was possible to see to all sides of the great cavern, much as if the whole place had been thrown open to a noonday sun.

“Do something!” Sadie screamed while Peat dropped to his knees and covered his face with his frail, spotted hands.

Seeing that Brandon was sitting up, touching his healed shoulder in wonder even as he looked around at the monstrous scope of destruction, Gretchan rose to her feet and strode to the very summit of the Isle of the Dead, to the place where her cage had rested before the power of Reorx had blasted it asunder.

The priestess stood tall, resting the butt of her staff on the ground, and she leaned back to expose her face to the ceiling, to the blinding light of the infernal fires. Closing her eyes in concentration, clutching the rod of her sacred artifact in both hands, she raised her voice in a chant that pierced through even the thunderous chaos roaring through the chamber.

“O Father God of All Dwarves, Master of the Forge-hear my prayer!” cried the priestess. Her words echoed and resounded like a chorus of singing voices. The anvil on the tip of her staff glowed with a brilliance that outshone even the hellish fires on the dome overhead.

Suddenly, with a shocking lurch, the ground moved under her feet, and for an instant the cleric thought they were all doomed, that they were going to fall amid the rocks, tumble into the water, drown or be buried by the massive, cataclysmic collapse of the entire mountain range. But they were not falling. In fact, it was the lake that seemed to be going down and away from them as, with each passing second, the surface of the water appeared to recede farther and farther away.

Still, Gretchan kept her feet and sensed the movement as a steady, stable force. She held firm in her position upon the crest of the hill, with Brandon, Sadie, and Peat huddling nearby. It was clear to all by then that they were not falling.

Instead, they were being borne upward, lifted by the power of her immortal god.

Tarn and Crystal led a mass procession of dwarves out of Norbardin and down the Urkhan Road. When they reached the terminus, at the shore of the sea, they found hundreds of dwarves already thronging there, staring out over the underground lake. Whispered word of their arrival spread, and the crowd parted to allow the king and queen to move down near the edge of the water, though none dared venture onto the wharf because it was steadily inundated by the fierce, unnatural waves that pounded against the shore.

At first, Tarn thought they were seeing a place exposed to daylight, and he wondered if the whole top of the mountain had been shorn away. Very quickly he determined that the brilliance came from three distinct fires, places where the rocky ceiling of the cavern was being consumed by a foul, yellow fire that seemed to cut right through the stone. The brilliance was intense and surreal, surrounded by thick and churning smoke. The smell of sulfur and brimstone was thick in the air, and he had a terrible flashing memory of the Chaos War, when the fires had been living things, a scourge of destruction sweeping through Thorbardin.

And in that light, he saw movement in the center of the lake. He wondered if it were a volcanic eruption, some kind of disaster that sent the Isle of the Dead exploding upward. For that was what they witnessed: a movement of solid ground, an upthrust of the rocky knob climbing away from the water, rising toward the ceiling of the massive cavern. It was the whole island, and it was moving upward, away from the lake and into the air.

But it was not an explosion, and it was not flying; it was a true, living growth. Solid rock supported the upper surface, like a shaft of green plant shooting upward to seek the sun. The rock continued to grow, emerging from the water, pushing higher and higher through the vault of the great cavern. The yellow fires on the ceiling smoked and smoldered in the face of such power, but those blazes were corrupt, and they were dying, as the rising stone pillar was genuine, no illusion, and it was pure.

The rocky, shattered island continued to be elevated into the air, borne upward by a massive pillar of rock that emerged from the lake, lifting it ever higher. Water gushed away from it in a steady cascade, a churning whitewash of foam and current. It spilled down the sides of the stone surface, and it churned and tossed around the base, radiating outward with the force of huge waves. The swells struck the shores of the sea and rolled back upon themselves until the whole surface of the water was tossed like a gale-swept ocean, waves colliding and crashing, spray flying, breakers smashing against the shore.

And the force that caused the storm was not a natural pillar of stone, the king realized, as more water spilled away from the exposed rock and the pillar continued to grow, rising hundreds of feet above the lake, with water draining away enough that the watchers could make out details. Dwarves began to mutter or pray or shout in reverence and awe. For they all knew they were witnessing a miracle, the real power of their deity, the Father God of All Dwarves, giving his people a great and wonderful gift.

Crystal gripped Tarn’s hand tightly, and together, barely daring to believe, they made out the outlines of wide porticos and columned balconies, as pure and pristine as if they had just been carved by master craftsmen. Buildings and platforms came into view, with rows of windows and ornate, marbled vantages swiftly drying as the water spilled away. Tarn scarcely dared to believe it as he saw the outline of his father’s palace, the wonderful edifice near to the top of the city that had been destroyed during the Chaos War.

And it was coming into being again, all immaculate, still rising, with the top of the island pressing ever higher, toward the ceiling of the cavern. Where that ceiling had started to sag, weakened by the three fires of corruption, it would be supported, stronger than ever, by the might of the renewed stone pillar.

Tarn realized what was happening, though he scarcely dared to believe it. But he recognized the truth, and he spoke that truth to his wife:

“By the power of Reorx,” he murmured. “The Life-Tree is restored!”

Brandon was swept away by a sense of wonder-amazement at his own survival, at Willim’s death, and at the power of the god, made manifest in Gretchan’s prayer. He knew they rose higher and higher, and very rapidly at that, but the movement was so smooth that he didn’t even feel any difficulty in standing or maintaining his balance. They were drawing closer to the vile, yellow fires that had burned into the ceiling, but those infernal sores were being gradually doused, defeated by the glory of Reorx.

“The teeth of the dragon are no match for the power of our god,” Gretchan told him, and though he had no idea what dragon she was referring to, he was willing to acknowledge that the power of their growing pillar of stone was the most awe-inspiring display of force he had ever seen.

He became aware of a new problem, one that would affect only the four of them who happened to be on the Isle of the Dead as the miracle transpired. The surface of the lake was far below them as the pillar of rock continued to grow. The ceiling over them was very close and coming ever closer. They could look up and see the cracks and fissures in the roof, and it seemed clear that the pillar would continue to rise until the two surfaces met. That meeting would save Thorbardin, for the pillar would support the roof and prevent the catastrophic collapse that had seemed so imminent.

But it might be very bad news for the four dwarves standing on top of the pillar.

“Do something!” Sadie screamed. “We’ll be crushed!” She rushed toward Gretchan, but both Peat and Brandon seized her and pulled her away from the priestess.

“Sit still, woman!” Peat barked. “Can’t you see she’s doing the best miracle she knows how to do?”

“It may be the will of Reorx that we die here,” Gretchan replied calmly. “The pillar is rising, and it will support the dome of the mountaintop. But to do that, it must reach the ceiling. I would prefer to give my life to this cause rather than to have my death serve as entertainment for the black wizard. May Reorx’s will be done.”

“At least we can look for shelter,” Brandon pointed out, touching Gretchan on the shoulder. “Here, let’s find a niche or a crevasse where we might have a chance.”

A quick survey revealed a wide crack, just past the crest where the cage had been.

“A lot of good that will do,” Sadie said sourly. “So we suffocate instead of getting crushed.”

“Choose your poison,” Brandon said. In another minute he brought Gretchan, Sadie, and Peat to the edge and helped each of them climb down. The gap was narrow, only a couple of feet wide, but it was also more than eight feet deep. The four of them huddled there, feeling the mountain shudder around them, the pillar of rock continuing to rise.

Soon they could see the cavern ceiling in complete detail. It was close enough to strike with a thrown rock. The four of them ducked instinctively. Then there came a solid thunk, and the movement ceased. Rock spilled and gravel tumbled into the crack around them. It was completely dark and utterly still.

“But the Urkhan Sea is saved,” Gretchan said. “Glory be to Reorx.”

“Glory may be,” Sadie said sourly. “But it looks like we’re trapped in here. I wonder how long it will be until our air runs out.”

At last Tor stood at the top of the world. The summit of Cloudseeker Peak offered a magnificent vista on such a clear, cold day. After days of climbing, he and Kondike had mastered the last of the false summits, had moved along a knifelike, rocky ridge, and finally found themselves standing upon the crest of a huge dome of rock. They could see for-maybe for a hundred! — miles in every direction. Not even the eagles flew so high, the young dwarf thought with wonder.

When the mountain began to shake, he wasn’t even afraid. He turned his face skyward and trusted fate, and the mountain, to hold him aloft. The shaking stopped soon enough, in any event, and the minor earthquake did nothing to detract from the thrill of his accomplishment.

He did notice a few places where the ground had shifted and cracked, where some of the loose scree on the summit had actually trickled away, falling inward and down as if draining into some hollow cavity.

Then the dog began to bark frantically, even more urgently than he had when he had chased away the bear. He was circling one of those sinkholes, looking down, his tail wagging with undeniable urgency. The dog looked up at Tor then down into the hole and barked again.

“What is it?” Tor asked. “Do you smell something down there?”

In response, the dog scrambled into the depression. Kondike began to dig, frantically clawing at the rock, barking in agitation. Tor went over and helped him, using his hands to pull away the rocks and digging deeper and deeper toward he knew not what.

An hour later they had opened a hole into a compartment in the mountaintop, revealing a narrow space, and they heard voices! Tor scrambled back, alarmed and excited at the presence of the first people he had seen since departing Pax Tharkas.

He could only gape in astonishment and witness the teary reunion and the joy as Gretchan Pax climbed out of the hole and hugged her dog. Brandon Bluestone came next, and they were followed by two more dwarves he didn’t know. They blinked in astonishment and squinted into the sunlight.

They told Tor Bellowgranite that they were lucky to be alive … and that his mother and father were king and queen in Thorbardin once more.

“Look at lights on water!” Gus declared in awe.

He and his girls had come down to the lake via the East Road since the Urkhan Road had been crowded with so many big dwarves. The East Road was little used, and besides, it went the closest to the part of the shore where Gus intended to go.

The three Aghar stood alone on the shore and stared in wonder at a sight never before imagined. At least, as far as Gus knew, the Urkhan Sea had never looked like that before.

Beams of brilliant sunlight shot downward, penetrating the dome of the mountaintop in three places. The light reflected off the water, dazzling in the waves that were slowly settling back to the usual placid surface. There was a big pillar of rock in the middle of the lake, and Gus was pretty sure that hadn’t been there before either.

He didn’t know about the fire dragon teeth placed by the black wizard, of course, but even to a gully dwarf, the trio of holes seemed nicely spaced, the points of an equilateral triangle having a symmetry all its own. They were like splendid skylights, openings in the mountaintop that allowed light and fresh air into the undermountain kingdom. The three Aghar squealed in delight as they spied a bird, probably the first one ever to come to Thorbardin, swoop down through one of the holes, fly across the lake, then wing its way upward to fly out another one of the new openings.

“This way. We go to fine Agharhome,” he boasted, following his memory as they made their way along the steep, cliff-lined shore. “Plenty good town for gully dwarves,” he said. (Given recent events, he might be forgiven if his memory was a little sketchy on the latter point.)

Finally they reached a familiar spot, where several sewers from the ancient dwarf cities converged to run down toward the lake.

“Come down here,” he told his girls, sliding down the ravine, ducking beneath the low-hanging shelf of a familiar tunnel. Already he could smell it: rotten cave carp, freshly hauled up from the spawning shelf!

Unerringly he made his way back to the Fishbiter house, a doorless hovel along a shelf of rock, one of many doorless hovels where unknown numbers of gully dwarves had tried to eke out an existence over the years.

“Girls wait here,” he whispered conspiratorially as he stood outside the entrance. Reluctantly, they agreed, and so he strode inside.

“Mam!” he cried. “Pap! It’s me, Gus! Me come home!”

“Huh?” Pap said, looking up in irritation from the flat rock that was the only piece of furniture in the Fish-biter house. “This my seat!”

“Gus?” Mam said. “You still alive?”

She looked rather confused.

“And this my carp!” declared his big brothers Ooz and Birt, elbowing each other as they hovered over the decaying scrap of fish. They glowered at Gus, though for some reason they weren’t glowering down at him as much as they used to. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, Gus would have thought that they were glowering up.

In fact, they were.

With an easy cuff, Gus knocked his bullying siblings out of the way and picked up the skeletal remains of the fish.

“Hey, Berta, Slooshy!” he said, calling to the girls who were still waiting out in the sewer trough. “Come here, see! Gus got food!”