CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  HALLOWED NEWS REACHES AUBRELON

  Sitting at the royal table inside the throne room of King Brock’s magnificent castle, located in the center of Aubrelon, Queen Rayma of The Dwarven Mountains sat wondering why the leader of The Human Kingdom Lands had been suddenly called away. After a few minutes passed the queen heard a voice off in the distance that was getting louder with every word.

  “Keep him entertained, Falldrim. With that one everything is urgent,” continued the voice. “I will not keep Rayma waiting any longer. Cast a spell on him if you must.”

  The dwarf queen looked over at the throne room doors. Within a few seconds the two guards that manned it opened them and King Gideon Brock stepped quickly through and walked up to her.

  “Forgive me for my absence, Rayma,” nodded King Brock. When he took his seat he sighed and smiled. “I had to deal with a situation. But please, let us talk.”

  Queen Rayma smiled up at King Brock and grabbed his hand. “You have been so good to Prince Basrak and me. We are without want here.” Then Rayma released Brock’s hand and sat back, searching for more words.

  King Brock, seeing her inner turmoil, spoke up. “Rayma. Rayma, you and Dormir would do no less for me. I know if the situation were reversed that you would take Princess Octavia and Marianna...” Then Brock patted the dwarf’s hand as his voice trailed off. “If she were still alive...”

  “Gideon, I miss her. I miss her grace and beauty within these halls,” lamented Queen Rayma. “You and Dormir are kings of kingdoms. You have peoples to protect. You have evils to stop, as you both did together over a year ago. You grew closer together through war and both experiencing the weight of great responsibility to your kingdoms.” Then she grabbed King Brock’s hand in return. “It was Queen Marianna who became my friend as well during those times.” A second later Queen Rayma smiled again happily. “I am glad you still have Octavia.”

  “I see Marianna in her even more now that she is of age,” replied King Brock wistfully. “I have not seen my daughter in months now that she is at The Wizard Citadel.” Then he smiled back at Queen Rayma. “Master Tharadol keeps Falldrim abreast of all her progress. She is doing well and hopefully will move onto becoming a true apprentice once she passes the tests.”

  Queen Rayma took a drink of apple cider that was in a glass in front of her. Wine. Ale. Mead. To her those paled in comparison. No fruit could match the apples from Aubrelon or the juice that came from them. Even though she enjoyed the refreshment, King Brock could tell that there was more.

  “Gideon, if things get worse in the mountains...” started the dwarf queen.

  “Please Rayma, I trust Dormir. If...” interrupted King Brock.

  “Please Gideon, I must finish,” continued Queen Rayma. King Brock nodded in apology and the dwarf queen spoke again. “If the fighting gets worse, you said that you would take in the older dwarves, young mothers and children.”

  “Yes, that was true the day you arrived here and it will be true if Dormir tells me that the time has come,” assured King Brock.

  “But Dormir is stubborn. You know that,” reminded Queen Rayma, smiling. But she was not happy.

  “A dwarf? Stubborn?” joked King Brock as he opened his eyes wider.

  “As stubborn as a human is prideful?” countered Queen Rayma.

  “Only because we are friends can we talk like this. Imagine if our peoples heard us now,” laughed King Brock. Then he softened. “I am sorry. Please continue.”

  Queen Rayma took another drink of cider and set the glass back on the table.

  “If you receive a message. If Dormir feels the time has come. I wish to go to meet my kin and bring them here. I know that Basrak will want to go. And despite what my husband wants, I have told Basrak that he has my blessing.”

  Seeing that the conversation had taken another serious turn, King Brock took a drink of cider. After he sat the glass back down, he tipped it back and forth as he thought.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I will add some of my Valor Masters, along with a battalion of knights to assist in the journey. The fleeing dwarves will be in no danger. I promise you that,” said King Brock, sitting forward, his face serious and confident. Then he sat back, thinking. “You know Prince Basrak will not return here if he goes with you. He will go back to the mountains to fight with his father. Even though I understand Dormir’s reason for sending Basrak here, I also understand Basrak’s heart to fight, not just with his father, but for his people as well.”

  “You are a wise king, Gideon. An experienced father as well. I figured you would surmise as much,” replied Queen Rayma. “I ask that you do not stop him. He is young, but in his heart, he is a fighter. Though he has been well cared for here, his heart and his mind are in the mountains. I cannot keep him here any longer. I am surprised that I have been able to make him stay this long.”

  King Brock looked across the table at Queen Rayma, scratched his gray, hair-covered chin, and then clasped his hands upon the table. After a few moments he spoke clearly. “Do you give me your word that you will return here with your kin, if it indeed comes to that?”

  Queen Rayma of The Dwarven Mountains nodded.

  “You are my friend, Rayma, but as with you and Marianna, Dormir is closer to me. I cannot, in good faith to a good friend, let alone an ally, easily turn away from his wishes,” announced King Brock. Then the leader of The Human Kingdom Lands sighed and his voice began to trail off. “If he was to lose you both when I promised him your safety...”

  “You have my word,” assured Queen Rayma. Then she stood up from her chair. “King Brock, I thank you. Your understanding knows no bounds.” As she bowed respectfully, both King Brock and Queen Rayma could hear the clanking of Falldrim’s staff coming toward them.

  “I will leave you to your other guests,” smiled Queen Rayma, remembering King Brock’s words before he had entered the throne room.

  As the dwarf queen turned to walk away, King Brock assured her, “You are my friend, Rayma. I always like talking to you.” Then he cursed under his breath and shook his head. “This next one, however...”

  When the guards opened the throne room door for Queen Rayma, Falldrim slightly nodded to her and then walked through.

  “Please my lord. Brethren Balcon of The Holy City is still here to see you. He has been sent at the behest of High Priest Liam Jarstinian. He says it is urgent,” announced Falldrim.

  “Yes, yes, I remember. Send him in,” replied King Brock, flippantly waving his hand.

  The sage bowed then pointed at one of the guards and he walked into the hall. After a moment the guard came back with a smug looking, middle aged man in robes. After walking to the table, Balcon bowed and waited to be seated.

  “Please Brethren, have a seat,” said King Brock as he refilled his glass, now wishing it was ale or mead.

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Balcon, giving King Brock a sour look.

  Always “sir.” Never “my king.” Never “your highness.” Or even King Brock, for that matter. The man’s devotion to Elion was almost without parallel. But it was Liam Jarstinian who was the high priest. Not Balcon, thought King Brock. And for good reason. Balcon was more learned. Exceptional when it came to the Holy Scriptures. But his heart for people was far from where it needed to be as the high priest of The Human Kingdom Lands. The fact that he had opposed the sanctuary of the exiled niece of Elf Queen Ilsa Lightshower was recent proof of that.

  When King Brock grabbed another glass, Balcon stopped him. “No thank you. This will not take long. Certainly not longer than the time I was made to wait,” announced the Brethren pompously. Then he placed his arms on the table and pressed his hands together.

  King Brock watched as the light from the stained glass window above his throne reflected off the Brethren ring Balcon wore. Then the man spoke. “The high priest, myself, and all of the Brethren thank you for letting us know of the invasion into The Dwarven Mountains.”

  “Of course,” replied King Brock. “To say that this occurrence is not only a surprise, but exceptional would be an understatement. The prayers, help, and knowledge from The Holy City in times like this is crucial. High Priest Liam Jarstinian has always been, and always will be, an ally and friend.” Then Brock smiled. “Whether he sits as the leader of The Holy City or not.”

  Balcon grinned uncomfortably as he listened to the final few sentences of King Brock’s reply.

  “Thank you for your kind words. Not only for our high priest, but for all of those living in The Holy City,” spoke Balcon with a slight nod. Then the Brethren’s face became more serious. “You speak of The Holy City’s prayers, help, and knowledge. Prayers went up to Elion the moment we received your message. Help is why I am here.”

  Intrigued, King Brock began twisting the hair at the end of his gray beard.

  “And the knowledge?” asked King Brock, following Balcon’s lead.

  Balcon stood up and King Brock stood and motioned for the guards to open the throne room doors. Then the king looked back at the Brethren.

  “Go to Dwarf King Ironhearth’s aid, if need be,” assured Balcon, with a self righteous look. “But I was sent to tell you this. Knowledge of the location of the Scepter Sword of the King Priest has been revealed to us. And we have sent a small group to acquire it.”

  King Brock squinted his eyes at Balcon as he tried to fathom the words he had just heard. Then he opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, but he didn’t. Balcon spoke.

  “Some believe Elion has forgotten about Danaria. That he left us to create new worlds,” began Balcon, his face a mix of sorrow and disdain. However, his face then became thankful. It was something King Brock never thought he would see. With King Brock still speechless, Balcon continued.

  “Elion is the god of all creation. He can create a new world or a thousand, if he chooses. But make no mistake. Elion has not forgotten us...”

  King Brock, stunned, watched as the Brethren bowed. Then as he turned to walk away, Balcon finished, his face full of faith and assurance.

  ...and he never will.”