Chapter 38
"Keep gathering coal from the chute and water from the well," Hamezaar orders indicating both with a gesture from his hand. "Feed the elementals, they've earned greater care than they've received over the last century. Cairn, Iune, and I are heading into the vault."
"My lord! You can't be serious, they will not be welcome," Gundur insists.
"No one will be, including me," Hamezaar admits.
"At least let me join you!"
"You're the only one who can see in the Underdark," Hamezaar points at the Humans. "Although each of you is capable, the simple fact is Kanti's magical light is not enough. If we don't return in a day's time, return to the surface."
"We won't leave you," Kanti promises and Gundur nods emphatically.
"If we aren't out by then, no one will be left to leave," Hame explains to her. "My ancestors are a prickly lot and if they find us unworthy, then they are likely to kill us."
Roan and Hukir share a look and the big halberdier nods, "We understand."
The swarthy Dupari and Hamezaar share a look. Hukir pleads, "Come back Deep Lord. I believe we're going to need you before this journey ends."
Hamezaar nods and heads to a far wall, "Place your hand on the square plate."
Hamezaar reaches out and lays his hand against the plate before what seems like yet another mosaic of House Wyrmforge. This one displays four faceless figures, each displaying the symbol of House Wyrmforge on their chest, beneath the anvil of Moradin. The depiction has the All-Father's anvil emitting golden light that bathes each of the figures in the same shimmering glow. All four stand on a stage, beneath which, are the four square plates. Along the edges of the stage are broken figures, cut and battered to pieces, obviously found unworthy.
Hamezaar says a prayer to Moradin before he recites the chant,
"By Heart and by House.
By Trial and by Triumph
By Resourcefulness and by Ruthlessness
I seek entrance to the ancestor vault of Clan Wyrmforge."
Nothing happens. Hamezaar waits a minute longer, just in case there's a pause but then he feels the gazes of his companions and sighs.
"You'll need four my lord," Gundur points out. "That's the way of it. If I can-"
"Thank you Gundur!" Hamezaar snaps. "That will be all."
He doesn't have to look to know the Dwarf walks away sullenly. Hamezaar glances at the Minotaur and Drow before he sighs, "Let me try again, they will grant us entrance, they're just…particular."
He tries again and again…without any response. Hamezaar curses beneath his breath and slams his fist against the wall.
"Maybe too old," Cairn offers. "Maybe it broke, cause of Spellplague."
"I think they're being a pain in my ass," Hamezaar places his hand against the plate again. "I need this. I need it or all will be for naught. I need this damnit!"
He recites the words again and the wall ripples, causing both Iune and Cairn to retreat.
"Yes," Hamezaar snarls. "Yes!"
At first it seems like the air around the mosaic is heated and distorting their vision. Then hidden cracks between the two center Dwarven figures are revealed as the doors swing inward. They peer into a tiny room lit by a golden radiance without origin. It simply exists. Hamezaar takes the first step and then motions for his comrades to follow him.
He steps into the light and is blinded. A few seconds pass before his eyes adjust. Then he's standing in a room with a slender marble walkway lined by treasure and black marble columns. The walkway is narrowed by mounds of gold, jewels, and riches rising to the ceiling. The walls and roof are of the same marble that makes up the floor. Along the edges of the vast chamber are stone statues, motionless but stern and hostile.
A gasp startles Hame out of his awestruck state. He glances behind to see his two stunned companions, "Do not take anything. Not a single copper or trinket, unless it is offered to you. No matter how small it may be, it will be detected and we will pay with our lives."
Cairn's mouth hangs open in outright shock, until a clawed hand points out a golden ax hanging on a rack. Then he points out armor so black it absorbs light. Iune handles her shock a little better but only a little. Her eyes remain wide and awed as she assesses the room and the value of what she sees, disseminating what is true treasure from what is only exhibit.
"DECLARE YOURSELF," booms from the opposite end of the chamber. Then the voice lowers and scathingly adds. "Lord."
"I am Hamezaar Wyrmforge, patriarch of Clan Wyrmforge, and second of that name."
There's shuffle from around them and scoffing snickers. "COME FORTH AND LOOK UPON WHAT YOU SEEK."
"Remember what I told you. Besides, this is nothing, the real treasure is ahead."
For a heartbeat Iune and Cairn share a surprised look before they follow him. For Hamezaar, the whole experience has his heart pounding and his blood pumping with excitement. Every cell in his body wants to sprint down the path. Either by magic or by awe, the chamber seems endless as he passes each statue on his right and on his left.
While the mounds vary in size and variety, they obviously speak of the personality of that predecessor. Most are spilling over with gold but one has fantastic anvils and hammers of varying metals and inscribed with runes. Another has weapons of all sorts, some even Hamezaar cannot identify either their use or origin.
"What's this?" Iune points at an ancestor that seems to only have a mediocre pile but is flush with book shelves and scrolls. Bottles flicking with lightning and fire are neatly assorted near magic rods and wands.
"Some of my ancestors were wizards and sorcerers."
"Dwarves hate magic," the Underking claims.
"Our northern cousins, the Shield Dwarves do," Hame admits as he studies the ancestor. "They have seen magic run amok too often and they so rarely have the stability magic requires. Their kingdoms have fallen time and again. Until recently my people were more fortunate."
As they near the opposite end, the treasures grow ominous. Some of the gold is marred by dried blood or the weapons exchange artistry for savagery. Hooks and barbs are common, vicious spikes adorn armor, without any style or design. As they reach the last of the treasuries, the two ancestors seem to outshine all the others.
To Hamezaar's left is a multitude of armors and weapons, crafted from Dragon bone, scale, and hide. Every imaginable color is represented, white and black, gold and silver. Great hammers are made from tail bones. Majestic bows made from ribs lean next to swords and axes, made of fang and claw. In seconds he knows these items are not from evil dragons alone. Hamezaar wonders how many wyrms fell to produce these prizes, each worth a kingdom.
Cairn's eyes are drawn to the right, as skulls and weapons decorate the treasury as much as gold and jewels. The heads of Dragons and Giants and creatures Hamezaar has never seen spill over gold coins and gems. Prized weapons of mithril and adamantine, shields with a hundred crests, and fantastic armors adorn racks.
"If you have access to all of this," Iune whispers. "How did your city fall? How do you not rule your people?"
"This is not mine," Hamezaar explains. "This is tribute to Moradin and my ancestors. These treasures will not leave here, unless specifically given out, which they are loath to do."
"Who?" Iune asks.
"Your grandfather stood in that exact spot but there was only one treasure that mattered. He considered all of this meaningless." Two statues hold position at the end of the chamber, with Dwarven proportions and the bearing of royalty. To the left is a male, wearing a blacksmith's apron and trousers. In his hands he holds a hammer and tongs. "I can see the same obsession burning in you but it does not shine so brightly. Worse, you have no craft, no trade to speak of. What stands before me is a merchant, growing rich on the labors of others, and creating nothing of his own."
"His Grandfather had potential; he was a warrior and a conqueror." To their right is a female with a great beard that falls to her ample bosom. Her face is scarred and burned and even carved in stone, her hair is wild and unkempt. Her stone eyes are flat but her lowered brow and presence radiates barely contained anger. "This one is soft and fat, given to alliances and assistance. The last thing this house needs is yet another lord who cannot stand on his own. He cannot even gather the proper number of retinue for this meeting. What's to discuss? Let us dispose of this pretender, for he is obviously unworthy."
"They're not nice," Cairn points out.