CHAPTER NINE
Nearly the entire village gathered in the common room of the Wizard's Eye to hear what the dwarves had to say. Aendar and Drannamon were there, along with the innkeeper's daughters and their other adventuring companions. The two strangers, the druid named Osprey and the one who called himself Harrow, also attended. They had identified themselves as Harpers, and though they wanted to continue their search for the missing Lady Mheren, the urgency of an orc invasion had convinced them to remain, at least until the next morning.
Lhullbannen turned to Carine, who stood nearby. "We're running out of ale. Run down to the cellars and bring up another cask."
The dark-haired girl stood there, silently. She clenched her fists.
The innkeeper looked puzzled. "What're you waiting for, lass? We've still got an inn to run."
"No, father," Carine said quietly. "Send one of the other servants. We want to hear this, too." Andryl and Shalea came up beside their sister, adding their support.
There was nothing Lhullbannen could do. He would have to deal with his incorrigible daughters later. It was time for the stout folk to speak. The air was thick with the smoke from the pipes of the dwarven emissaries. Their news was dire.
"An army boiled up out of the caves," their leader said, his Common thickly accented in the dwarven fashion. "We lived only in the upper levels, and rarely visit the older tunnels in the depths any more. The orcs came out of the old ruins, and caught us by surprise. We're used to dealing with the occasional raid from below, but this was different. Such numbers we haven't seen in two hundred winters or more. Something has really stirred them up."
"Well, what can we do, Master Dwarf?" Lhullbannen asked. "We have no militia, and no money to hire sellswords. There is really nothing we can do to help you regain your homes."
The old dwarf nodded, his beard waggling. "Long ago, the folk of this village were allied with our forefathers. The archmage Maskyr aided us then, and through the years, our two folk have lived in peace, though the old wizard is long gone. We know your numbers have dwindled since, as have ours. We have given up hope of regaining our halls, or rescuing those of our folk who remained behind. The orcs are simply too strong."
"Then, why have you requested this council?"
The dwarf thought a moment before speaking again, and when he did, he sounded a little sad. "To warn ye. Take heed of your defenses. If the orcs come here, you, too, will be overrun."
There was a murmuring throughout the room. Lhullbannen silenced it with his hand. "We have sent riders to Mulmaster. That city has aided us in the past, and will do so again, though the price is always high. And the caravan that left this morning bound for Calaunt will take word to the Merchant Dukes there that our village is in danger. Surely, they will take some action as well. We simply have to hold out long enough for help to arrive. How long do you think it will be before the orcs get here?"
The dwarves whispered among themselves before their spokesman answered. "We don't know for sure that they will. They may be content to simply occupy our halls. But that is not the way of orcs, and it is my guess that in a tenday or two, their outriders will appear, with a larger army soon to follow."
"Those Who Harp have helped our village in the past," Lhullbannen said, turning to the two Harper visitors. "Is there anything your folk can do?"
Harrow stayed in his chair, tapping the end of his dagger against the tabletop. Osprey stood and spread his hands. "There is little we can do," the half-elf said. "Harrow and I could lend you our swords, but the orcs are mustering in large numbers. Against such an army, even our help would not be enough."
He leaned forward, both hands on the scarred table. "There is little that we can do to help you. The Harpers are not a military force."
Harrow, the other Harper who until now had sat silently in the shadows, spoke. His melodic elven voice was grim and menacing. "A tenday sounds about right. The orcs will come here, there is no doubt. I've killed enough of the things in my time to know their ways. If some leader has arisen to unite the clans, then he has some scheme in mind. Even if his plan is simply to build an empire in the old dwarf ruins, he will not long stay in the mountains. Orcs need war to keep them united, lest they turn to squabbling amongst themselves. There is no other place for them to go save through this village."
"The orcs will come to Maskyr's Eye," Osprey agreed. "We will carry word of your plight far and wide, but your best hope will be to look for yourselves."
The dwarves nodded in resigned agreement. They had already decided for themselves that they were on their own.
"We are not warriors," one of the villagers exclaimed.
"And there aren't enough of us to hold off an army," said another. "We should all pack up and flee."
"I'm not leaving my farm," said an old patrician from the back. The common room quickly erupted into chaos.
Lhullbannen banged on a table with his fist until he managed to calm everyone down. "Help will come," he said, though he sounded far from reassuring. He went over to the hearth and took down his big axe from where it hung. "The people of Maskyr's Eye have survived orc raids in the past. We've survived flights of dragons, hordes of zombies, angry giants and worse." He looked at the axe in his hands. He hadn't wielded it in many years, and it felt good in his hands. The sight of her husband taking up his old weapon made Maefi nauseous, and the goodwife swayed on her feet, but the innkeeper's daughters felt a swell of pride at the sight of their father.
"We stand with you, father," Andryl said, unexpectedly.
Lhullbannen looked at her in amazement. He had not expected his daughters to fight. But the old warrior frowned. "Now, see here-"
Before he could forbid them, and send them off to hide in the cellar with their mother and baby sister, Carine and Shalea jumped to stand beside Andryl. "We are with you, too," they said.
There were a lot of approving smiles, then, in the common room of the Wizard's Eye. Lhullbannen didn't look like he enjoyed the turn of events. But, for the moment, there was nothing he could do. He sighed. His daughters had, foolishly, gone into the dungeons under Maskyr's tower. They had not come out unscathed, but they had, at least, come out alive. Not unlike Lhullbannen's own first foray into adventuring, many years ago.
In all the years since his retirement, he had striven to make the Wizard's Eye a place where his daughters could live safe, sensible, respectable lives. Despite all he tried to teach them, despite all the warnings and wisdom he had tried to impart to them, still his three eldest daughters insisted on becoming adventurers, of following in his footsteps. It was not the life he would have chosen for Carine, Andryl and Shalea. But it was the life he had chosen for himself, once. He didn't wholly regret his choice.
Lhullbannen looked at his daughters. They wore the gear of adventurers- swords and bows, belt pouches and scuffed boots. Packs filled with torches and flasks of oil and iron spikes and large sacks. Their eyes sparkled with youthful exuberance. The heady lure of adventure and danger was on their faces. The old fighter knew that look. Nothing he could say would change it.
He looked at the two men, the travelers Aendar and Drannamon, who stood beside his daughters. They were young, too, but they had the look of the road about them. They looked strong, like they knew how to swing a sword. Lhullbannen barely knew the two men, but they had gone into the dungeons with his daughters, and brought the three girls out alive. That said something about them.
The innkeeper saw his stable-dwarf, Bunker, standing behind his daughters. The old dwarf surprised him. Lhullbannen had never taken Bunker for an adventurer. At least he could count on Bunker to look after his daughters, wherever their paths lead.
"Very well, then," he said.
The three girls ran to embrace their father, and the common room erupted in cheers. Maefi, standing to one side with little Jhenta clutching her skirts, fainted.
"There is one thing you might try," Osprey said.
Carine and her sisters turned to look at the Harper. Aendar and Drannamon stepped forward expectantly.
"Have any of you heard of the Pool of Swords?" Osprey asked. Lhullbannen paled.
The adventurers looked at one another and shrugged, but Shalea raised her hand. "I have. I read about it in Father's book."
Lhullbannen's face turned red. "The one I kept locked in the attic and hidden in a trunk with a false bottom?"
Shalea nodded.
"The one I told you never to read?"
"That one, yes," Shalea mumbled.
Osprey grinned at the look on the innkeeper's face. "So, you have heard of it, then."
"I have not," Aendar said, looking about him. "What is the Pool of Swords?"
"Well, it's little more than a legend, but I think it may truly exist. An enchanted pool, hidden in a ruined temple a few days ride south of here. The legend dates back to the time of Maskyr, and some say that the wizard hid there some magic weapons of great power, for just such an emergency."
"A few days ride," Aendar said, rubbing his chin. "We could go there, find whatever weapons might be of use to us, and be back within a tenday."
"Who could go there?" Lhullbannen asked, staring Aendar in the eye.
"Drannamon and I," the paladin answered.
"And us, too," Shalea said, stepping forward along with her sisters.
The innkeeper nodded. "Just as I thought. And will you be going, too, Bunker?"
"Yessir," the dwarf said, twirling his axe.
"Well then, no sense in wasting time," Lhullbannen said. "Shalea, since you know all my secrets now, take your sisters upstairs. In my trunk you'll find a map. You'll need that. It's about all I have left to give you."
"Thank you, father," Shalea said. Giving the innkeeper a quick hug, she dashed up the wooden stairs, her two sisters in her wake.
Lhullbannen turned to face Aendar and Drannamon. "You two," he said, eyeing them up and down. "We need to have a few words. Outside." He turned on his heel and went out the back door.
Aendar looked at Drannamon, who only shrugged. They followed the innkeeper outside.
The villagers slowly filed out of the room, some of them helping Maefi and her youngest child. Bunker was left, alone with the dwarves from the mountains.
"I am sorry for the loss of the Halls," he said in Dwarven. "Moradin will see that we win them back."
The leader of the mountain dwarf delegation nodded, and replied in the same language. "I am sure of that, Bunker." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he said the name.
"Will you seek out our folk living by the coast?"
The older dwarf nodded. "They will help us. The Realm of Glimmering Swords is gone, but we cannot have orcs roaming our halls. For long."
"Our merchants wield considerable influence in the human cities," Bunker agreed. "Without too much trouble, I think our folk should be able to raise the gold needed to raise an army and retake our sacred caverns. The dwarves will give all they can to this cause."
"It will take some time," the dwarven emissary said. "But the mountains are always patient. The ore will still be there when we recapture our homeland. We have overcome worse than this in our long history."
"You leave on the morrow?"
"Yes. We are have womenfolk and young ones with us, so we will not travel as quickly as I would like, but in time we will come to Calaunt."
"Good." Bunker put a hand on the other dwarf's shoulder. "Win back our city."
"I shall do my best, my lord."
With that, the two dwarves parted ways, bowing deeply at the waist. The dwarves from the mountains filed out the front, going out to prepare for their long journey westward. Bunker took one last look around the common room that had been his home for many years. Then, he went out the back door, to find Aendar and Drannamon. Hopefully, old Lhullbannen wasn't being too hard on them. Bunker liked the two fellows, after all.
The fire sputtered in the hearth. The elf Harrow still sat quietly in the shadows. Osprey had left, but he had remained, unnoticed. That was something Harrow was good at. He watched the dwarves leave. He didn't think they knew he'd overheard. Not many elves spoke the dwarven language. "My lord?" Harrow asked aloud, eyeing the doorway where Bunker had just gone. "How interesting."
In the only other large building in Maskyr's Eye, the nearby temple of Chauntea, Jhenta sat alone with the Mother Superior.
"You seem nervous, my dear," the High Priestess said. Sit down, and tell me what is troubling you."
Jhenta looked around the tiny chapel, eyes darting around nervously. She was alone with a woman who knew her mannerisms intimately, but Jhenta could find no reasonable excuse to leave. She reluctantly allowed herself to be guided into a chair. "Thank you, Mother Superior."
The High Priestess, laughed. "So formal, Jhenta! You haven't called me that since you first came to us! Now I know that something is wrong." She picked up a simple brush from a nearby stand.
"Yes, Mother, er, I mean, yes," Jhenta replied.
"I imagine that your recent escapades must have taken quite a toll on you." The High Priestess began smoothing Jhenta's hair. She brushed out the tangles, as she did so she pulled back the hair, revealing slightly pointed ears that bespoke Jhenta's half-elven heritage. "Not many have dared the dungeons beneath Maskyr's tower. That was quite a feat you helped pull off, you know."
"We all almost died," Jhenta said.
"Yes, that's true. But you didn't . Well, except for that boy Pinter. A shame, really, about him. But he's not a villager. We didn't really know much about him. But the innkeeper's daughters- now, that's another story entirely."
Jhenta leaned back, interested.
"Old Lhullbannen has spoken to me in the past, you know. I know what is in his heart. He was an adventurer once, himself, you know. That's why he is always so hard on his girls. He doesn't want them to go through what he went though. I told him there was no point to it- those girl's have his same spirit. Well, the older three, anyway. We'll see what becomes of Jhesycha. I know you have been friends with the oldest. What's her name? Carine, that's it."
Jhenta was not sure what to say. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I won't do it again."
The High Priestess laughed again. "No, no, Jhenta, that's not what I was saying. I don't object, not in the least. True, it's dangerous, going on adventures and delving into old dungeons. That's why so few priests do it. Only the craziest or the most fanatical of us take that style. But I think there's a value to it, if you can handle the hardships such a life brings. No one needs spiritual guidance more than a bunch of foolhardy young adventurers, and no one needs our services more than they do. It is a field that is ripe for harvesting, if you know how to sow it properly."
"So, you think I was right to go down there with them? Even though an innocent man died?"
"As much as it pains me to say it, Jhenta, yes, I think it was the right thing to do."
Jhenta raised an eyebrow. "So, if I was to go off with them again, you would not oppose it?"
The High Priestess nodded. "If that is where you think your calling lies, then I would not oppose it. I think you would lend them some much needed wisdom. And I think that it would be good for you, too."
Jhenta remained silent, nervously fingering the gold medallion around her neck.
"I've not seen you wear that before, Daughter."
Jhenta froze. The gold medallion bore not the sheaf of Chauntea, but the symbol of a dragon coiled about a wand. "Uhm, I'm sorry. I lost my holy symbol in the dungeons." She tucked the amulet inside her bodice.
"I'm sure we can find you a new one somewhere around here," the High Priestess said.
