Mal stood at the foot of the great mountain; the world was cast into the shades of silver; as Mal’s dream took shape, the clouds covered the mountain hiding its peak from view. A fog rolled in gently at first as Mal walked along the road. Every step caused the fog to ebb and swirl around her feet.
With every step, it got thicker, and the trees at the side of the road eventually disappeared, followed quickly by the stone road that she walked on. Sensing the danger hidden in the fog, Mal started to walk faster, but every step took her deeper into the fog. Eventually, the fog got so thick that Mal couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
Knowing that danger was following closely behind, she looked around; a slight gust of wind parted the fog and showed her a path leading off in front of her. Picking up the pace, she dashed along the track before the fog could close and hide it from her view.
Sensing the danger was falling further behind her, she kept up the ground-eating pace as the ground started to rise in front of her. When she got to the top of the small hill, the fog lay heavy around the foot of the hill. She stood shivering in the night air, listening for anyone approaching.
Looking up to the mountain that was ever-present in Mal’s dreams. Mal watched as a dark-winged shape skirted the bottom of the clouds, its head ripping back and forth, looking for prey.
With nowhere to hide on the top of the hill, Mal froze, knowing that any movement might be seen by the creature and hoping that its eyes picked up motion rather than still objects. Its wingspan was massive, and with a body proportional to the size of the wings, the scale of the creature was overwhelming. Suddenly it tucked its wings and dived the sound as it travelled through the air was a high-pitched whistle, when the wings opened to break its fall the sound was like thunder. Mal watched in horror as it headed straight for her.
She didn’t have time to react; the dragon had travelled so fast it was on her before she realised just how fast it was travelling. Mal watched in horror as it opened its huge mouth, and she could see fire deep within its toothy maul.
Finally, just as the dragon was just about to breathe fire on her, she ducked. The heat from the fire it spewed forth made her skin feel dry and taunt.
It dived into the fog and spewed forth fire, coating the ground and trees alike. The glow inside the fog let Mal follow the dragon as it circled the hill closing off any escape routes before Mal could make her escape.
With a massive crash, the dragon landed, its heavy body causing its talons to dig deep into the soft soil of the hill.
Its head lowered until its mouth was right in front of Mal; the smell of rotting meat and sulphur flowed over Mal, and she almost gagged on the scent. The enormous golden eyes just looked at her appraising her, and Mal felt lacking.
Mal sat bolt upright in her bed, sweat dripping from her back, but the dream was leaving her with just a feeling of dread and being hunted. Shrugging off the feeling and throwing off the covers, she decided to get up, knowing she wouldn’t go back to sleep anytime soon.
When she left her room and entered the main chamber of the accommodation they had been assigned, she was pleased to see Master Killian sitting with a small lute singing lightly to himself.
“Master Killian, how fares The Black Bard?” she asked.
“Ho, I like the sound of that title Commander. The Black Bard fares well, but I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to get up, not that I know what time it is down here as there is no daylight, so I’m not sure if it is the middle of the night or not,” he said with a slight flourish “and pray to tell what keeps our glorious commander awake tonight?”
“Bad dream, so I thought I might as well get up,” she said with a shrug. “Mmm, is that kuffa?”
“Yes, though it has been brewing for a while, so it might be a bit bitter.” He replied, getting up and pouring Mal a cup of the hot black liquid.
They sat for almost an hour with Master Killian singing gently as he played the small lute to pass the time.
“Do you think that they would mind if we went for a walkabout their city?” Asked Mal when Master Killian had finished one of his songs.
“Don’t see why not we aren’t prisoners after all,” replied Master Killian. “I, for one, would love to see around the dwarven city a bit, but that’s the nosey bard in me,” he grinned.
Walking to the front door of the building, Mal opened the door to see two Dwarves standing guard outside the door.
“Were ya geeing?” said the first guard in a gruff voice.
“We were looking to have a look around the city if that’s ok?” responded Mal wondering why they had guards.
“Master Hammersmith say you’d wanna dander round. I’m Farth cam on end fally me saw ye donny get lest”
“Farth, what time is it?” asked Mal.
“Near morn time, Yeh hangry?”
“A bit yes,” replied Mal after she had figured out what he had said.
“I’ll takes yeh ta a bakery where yah can stuff ya bake,” said their guide.
“Bake?” asked Master Killian.
“I, your bake,” responded Farth but seeing the look of confusion on Master Killian’s face. He gestured to his face, “Your Bake.”
“Ah face, sorry makes sense now, thanks,” replied Master Killian, trying not to offend.
Farth led them to a bakery, although the smell of the freshly baked bread led them just as much. Entering the bakery, the smells almost overwhelmed them the noise of a group of dwarves in front of them eagerly interacting with the bakers' staff. The baker saw Farth and welcomed him warmly, a few minutes later, they were eating wonderful fruit pies, and a cup of the strongest kuffa Mal had ever tasted.
“Gud, ante they,” said Farth with a mouthful of a bubbling fruit pie.
Mal could do nothing but nod in response by wiping the juice from her chin while chewing a large bite.
After they had finished, or as Farth would have said, “Stuffed yer bake”, Farth took them for an impromptu tour of the dwarven city.
Mal was impressed by the architecture as it was a wonder how the stone pillars held up impossible heavy roofs. Finally, they arrived back at the room with the colossal tapestry hung on the wall.
“Farth, can you tell me about this tapestry, please.”
“Ye, tis the grandest battle in dwarven history, that thar is. Ye sees a thousand years ago there was this demon army that wanted to conquer the world. Us dwarves didn’t think they should, so we stepped in and helped the elves and humans and saved the world. The Bards sing songs about it all the time.”
“You sound like you wish you had been there yourself?”
“Ye kidding ma? Us dwarves loves us a good fight almost as much as we like digin for metal.” He said with a grin and absently rubbing his hands together “Nothing gits us wound up like a good battle story.”
When they returned to the chambers, they passed the bakery, and Mal bought some more of the bubbly fruit pies. Entering the main room, Mal found everyone up and breaking their morning fast.
“Where have you been?” snapped Tomi. “I thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t go unaccompanied anymore.”
“Master Killian was with me, and so was Farth; besides, I haven’t seen one human or non-dwarf since we got here,” snapped Mal in reply.
“No offence to Master Killian, but if you go anywhere, it will be with at least one of us; we have sworn an oath, don’t forget,” replied Tomi, his hands on his hips and his stance spoke volumes on his position on the matter.
Mal looked from Tomi to Darr to Dareon and finally to Prince Salistar; she gave in, seeing that she would have no quarter with any of her friends.
Throwing her hands up to ward off any further argument, “You are right, sorry we couldn’t sleep and decided to see a bit of the dwarven city. It won’t happen again.”
“Time will tell,” responded Tomi, sitting down and finishing his food.
Setting the small sack of pies on the table, Mal said, “I brought you back some treats, they were lovely just out of the oven, and I hope they will be as nice cold.”
Coughing slightly to change the topic, Master Killian spoke up, “Commander, if you don’t mind, I was wondering if I could go and talk with the dwarven bards to see what information I can get about the demon while you talk with the king,”
“Sounds like as good a plan as any; we will catch up later then,” she replied and with a nod of her head Master Killian slipped out of the room.
Close to an hour later, a message from Master Hammersmith arrived requesting that the Dwarven Magi council would speak with Mal at her convenience.
Looking towards Prince Salistar, she said, “Well, we are just waiting for Cardvork Ironspike to let us know when the King will be available to speak with us. You know where I’ll be if you get word.”
“Tomi, are you ready?” and turning to the messenger, she said, “Lead on, please.”
Mal and Tomi followed Farth, who led them through the city to a larger building. The beautifully carved arched doorway was more than tall enough for Mal and Tomi to enter without ducking. Inside the building, stairs led up to the upper floors, and doors led to either side. Stone statues of Dwarves lined the corridor, the escort led them to the left-hand side door before knocking and entering the room.
“Master Hammersmith, your guests,” announced the messenger.
Mal looked into the room over the messenger’s head and saw several dwarves sitting at a table. A fire burning in the hearth to dispel the cold. With the light from glow lamps around the room, Mal could see stacks of scrolls covering the table and all of the shelves in the room.
Looking up, Master Hammersmith broke the conversation with another dwarf and smiled when he saw Mal at the door.
Getting up and running over to meet Mal at the door, he said, “Commander, I didn’t expect you to drop everything and come running but thank you for coming nonetheless,” beamed Master Hammersmith.
Leading Mal into the room, he continued, “Let me introduce Master Silverleaf and Mistress Iron-claw, two of my colleagues here,” gesturing to the two dwarves that he had been chatting with when Mal arrived.
“Hello to you both, please let me introduce my friend and childhood companion, Tomi,” she responded.
Gesturing to a couple of seats, Master Hammersmith sat back down at the table and waited for Mal and Tomi to take a seat.
“I’ll stand if that’s okay and leave you to your discussion,” said Tomi.
Mal nodded to Tomi before she took a seat and addressed Master Hammersmith as Tomi took position by the door. “Master Hammersmith, I believe your Magi Council wished to talk with me. Is it about the Demon Délíntra?”
“No, my colleagues have some questions about your form of magic. If you wouldn’t mind answering their questions. They don’t believe me that your body of light was golden,” he said with slightly raised eyebrows which led Mal to think that he had been arguing this point with them.
Master Silverleaf cleared his throat and threw a sideward glance at Master Hammersmith before turning his attention to Mal. “Now err, Commander, my colleague here is under the impression that your body of light is golden and that you have lines of power that connect you to your men, is that right?”
“Yes, that is correct,” responded Mal.
Wrinkling his eyebrows and setting himself up for an argument, he leaned a bit closer. “I understand that it was the first time you’ve done magic; it is quite common for a beginner to be overwhelmed by the experience, so you might not have understood what you saw or experienced,” he said all with a straight face as if he was saying that the sky was blue.
“No, it was definitely golden in colour; the lines of power that connected me to my men are all different thicknesses though if that makes a difference,” she said.
Taking a deep breath, she relaxed and looked towards Tomi; the golden line of power shone bright and thick the pulse was moving back and forth between them. “Yes, it is definitely golden in colour, and the connection between Tomi and me is more like a rope than a thread.”
Looking back at the three dwarves, she could see a silver fire surround each of them like a second skin, “The three of you are glowing silver,” holding up her hand, “but my hand is glowing golden. What does it mean?”
Rubbing his hand over his face, Master Silverleaf responded, “Commander, what you are describing is something that has never been recorded before. As far as I’m aware, it is impossible. Every scrap of knowledge we have talked about is that the body of light is silver and that the thread connects you to your body and not others. The fact that yours is golden is troubling indeed.”
They spent the rest of the day talking about magic, and most of it was stuff that Mal didn’t understand. When Mal told them how she healed Barthel again, they shook their heads and commented that Mal was wielding magic they knew nothing about as far as they were concerned.
Mal found that she liked Mistress Ironclaw, who had squeezed Mal’s arm when she noticed that Mal had been getting concerned that the magic she had was unknown to them.
“Don’t fret, dear,” she had said with a reassuring smile, “Even though we study all the time, we don’t know everything, and your magic could be a form that no one has ever found before.”
Mal paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white with anger.
Finally, Prince Salistar spoke up, “You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet if you keep pacing like that.”
Stopping suddenly, Mal looked at Prince Salistar, then at the carpet and realised that she had been pacing again. She threw herself into the armchair beside Prince Salistar.
“If Cardvork Ironspike says ‘Tomorrow’ one more time, I’ll bounce something off his head.” In frustration, she said in frustration, her hand inching involuntary towards the heavy lamp that sat on the table beside her.
“Well, as long as you don’t throw that lamp at me.” Said Prince Salistar with a nod towards the lamp.
Mal snatched her hand back from the lamp as if it had just burnt her hands. Smiling, she said with a light laugh, “I think you are safe enough.”
Master Killian walked in and said, “How’s her mood?”
“Getting shorter,” replied Darr and Tomi at the same time.
“Well, I might have an idea that might lift her spirits.” He replied with a grin before walking over to Mal and Prince Salistar. “Oh, Commander of infinite patience, I bid you a good day and possibly some good news,” he said with a flourish that only a master bard could pull off.
Tilting her head to the side, the look she gave the Black Bard let him know she wasn’t in the mood for one of his games. “Just tell me your good news; gods know I could do with some.”
“I found a tavern that some of the Kings’ soldiers frequent, and I’ve been singing a few songs for them. Man, they love a good battle song; I waited until they were wound as tight as a bowstring. Then I told them they heard nothing until they heard the ballad of the mountain princess. I had them in the palm of my hand, literally begging to hear the ballad. I told them that to do the ballad justice, I would need a larger hall and a bigger audience,” he grinned with delight. “If the king won’t let you come to him, maybe we can get him to come to us.”
“Well, at least someone has a plan for how to get to see the King. Who knows, your idea might even work; the gods know that mine isn’t,” replied Mal trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice and failing.
Two more days passed, and Master Killian continued his touring of the bars of the dwarven city. As a master bard, he played the audience like he played the lute. Every tavern he played, he left almost feverish. Every time he was ready to go, he told them of the ballad of the mountain princess that became the Commander of the Black Watch and how she single handily fought and defeated an Orge in single combat. When they roared to hear it, Master Killian would always say “Maybe tomorrow,” something Cardvork Ironspike kept saying to Mal and Prince Salistar.
As the days passed, the crowds gathered to hear Master Killian sing grew, and fights had broken out more than once.
On the fifth day, Master Killian had let slip that Commander Malderia and Prince Salistar were thinking of heading back to their lands since they had pressing matters to attend to.
The following day Cardvork Ironspike had arrived for his usual morning appointment. Mal was expecting the standard “Maybe tomorrow” from him, but he entered the room with what looked like a forced smile on his face.
“You’re in luck Commander, the King has been able to move some meetings around and will be able to receive you this afternoon,” he said, throwing a look at Master Killian’s way that spoke volumes.
“Thank you Cardvork, we appreciate everything that you have done to help us get to see the king and understand the difficulty you faced to get us to meet him so quickly,” replied Mal standing up and offering her hand to the Cardvork.
Startled slightly, he looked from Mal to her hand before taking it and kissing the knuckle and beating a hasty retreat.
Laughing a rich, happy laugh, Mal spun Master Killian around the room. “Thank you, Master Killian, the Black Bard, has earned his keep this day.”
“The hard work is still to come; persuading the dwarven king to join our cause lies ahead of us,” replied Master Killian.
They sat down to discuss the up and coming meeting. It was clear since arriving that the King didn’t want to have anything to do with them. Cardvork Ironspike’s excuses were flimsy and weak.
“Dwarven purity, maybe? Since the dwarves haven’t been seen in years. Maybe they dislike or distrust humans,” said Prince Salistar.
“I find that hard to believe the dwarves we have met have all been cordial, friendly and open. I haven’t sensed anything from any of them. What have you sensed Master Killian when you spoke with the bards?” asked Mal.
“Open and friendly, every one of them, but I suppose that is the temperament of a bard always seeking out information. Do you think it could be because you are a woman? I know that the King is a conservative. So he might have ideas that women should be seen and not heard?”
Mal clenched her fists at the thought and though not happy with the idea that a man might think she is too fragile to do anything. “I suppose that we should take that into account. Salistar, you should do most of the talking, lets see how cordial the King is.”
“Ok, then since that’s settled, we need to change into formal clothing to meet the king,” said Prince Salistar getting up and heading to his room.
Thirty minutes later, the group was fully attired, their armour was polished, and boots blackened. Mal gave everyone a once over and announced that they were suitable. Since they had seen lots of dwarves over the last few days and most carried a hammer or short sword, it was agreed that they would go armed to see the King.
When they exited the accommodation, Mal was pleased to see Farth waiting for them.
“Ello thar Darlin, lang time na see,” said Farth in his strong accent that took Mal a moment to understand.
“Farth, great to see you. Are you escorting us to meet the King?” replied Mal.
“Ey, Darlin tis this way, let go and see the king.”
Farth led them across the dwarven city to a large building that had guards patrolling around the outside.
“Looks impressive,” murmured Mal.
“The king’s hall seats over five hundred dwarven warriors,” whispered Master Killian, who walked just behind Mal and Prince Salistar and had heard Mal’s whispered comment.
Entering the Hall, they walked along a corridor leading between the statues of dwarven heroes, finally stepping into the central Hall itself. The site of near five hundred dwarven warriors met them as they stepped into the light from a roaring fire in the centre of the room. The heat from the fire was fierce; a gap of twenty feet separated the nearest table of dwarves and the fire.
Mal’s gaze over the tables and saw a raised dais with several dwarves laughing and joking. Farth led them through the tables and past the roaring fire towards the raised area. The dwarves watched them pass; their passage was met silence that flowed across the room like a silent wave in front of them. All eyes in the room followed them, with the dwarves nudging each other and nodding towards them.
As Farth led them up the steps, he raised his hand and waved to the dwarves sitting there, who all stood as the party approached.
“Let me get ya a tankard, take a seat; the big nob will be with you shortly,” he said informally.
Noticing that the central seat was empty, Mal and the party took a seat on the bench to the left that they assumed had been left for them to sit on. After Farth returned with tankards of dwarven dark ale.
“Master Killian, wud ye sing wan of yer wee songs for us while we wait?” asked Farth.
“What bard would say no to such a large audience and a captive one to boot,” replied Master Killian, taking a large swig of the tankard and wiping the froth off his chin with his sleeve.
Master Killian sang all of the battle songs he knew the dwarves would like based on his observations over the last week. His voice rose and fell as he sang, the silence in the Hall a testament to the captivity of the dwarves who loved a good battle story. They hammered the tabletops to show appreciation and joined in some of the songs.
“How do they know the songs so well,” whispered Mal to Prince Salistar.
“The tune is a common one which bards use to tell a tale, so the chorus is easy to learn.”
After Master Killian had sung about six songs, he turned to the dwarves. “Friends, my throat grows dry; please excuse me while I take a drink of some of your wonderful Dwarven ale.”
Roars of approval greeted his words as the dwarves gathered in the Hall banged tankards and drank deeply.
As Master Killian turned to retrieve his tankard, he saw a Dwarf approach a single golden circle upon his head singled him out as royalty. His arms were bare from the shoulder, and his arms’ muscles spoke of years of practice swinging the Warhammer that was on his hip.
Bowing lowly while saying “Your highness” in a voice that Mal and Prince Salistar could hear over the noise the Dwarves were making and announced the arrival of the Dwarven King to the party.
Mal, Prince Salistar and the rest of the party stood for his arrival, but none of the other dwarves did.