Birth
Dedicated to Harlequin K (HK), Niet Boiende (NB) and all the people on board Flight MH370.
My utmost wishes go out to the families of those who were on board, and who lost a loved one. As unlikely as it may be, I wish for them to be safe, and that they were not the victims of some terrorist attack.
Orik looked out upon the masses of Dwarves gathered in front of him. He was standing on top of the balcony, and the majority of Durgrimst Ingeitum were now milling down below. Beside him, were several aides and advisors, and of course his personal regiment of guards. He leaned against the stone railing; it felt cool beneath his fingers, a feeling helped by his nervousness. He had never been the one for public speaking, something which uncannily enough was essential for his job, and he had the funny problem of sweating and heating up when it came time to give addresses to large amounts of people.
He ran his fingers along the railing, feeling the roughly cut stone in an attempt to familiarise himself with the surrounding space. It was one of his techniques of maintaining his calm, and reassuring himself that he was not about to make a huge blunder. The other method he had devised to make himself comfortable was to carry out his promise to add another layer of dirt to his Erôthknurl every time he completed a public speech.
His nerves calmed slightly, he focused on the task at hand. The time had come for him, and his fellow clan leaders, to address their citizens and give a report on the health of the Dwarven race. In every single dwarven city, there would be at least one Grimstborith delivering the report to their fellow citizens. Unluckily for him though, since he was the king, he was the only one who could be blamed for their woes.
Fortunately, the major incidents which had so recently occupied many of the Dwarves minds, indeed for a significant while, had mainly been resolved. Although doubts still lingered in many minds regarding the competency of their ruler, political backlash had been absent from the dealings. Even the Grimstborith, the ones who had previously voted against him in the clan election, were now treating him with a shred of well-deserved respect, even the clan chief of Durgrimst Knurlcarathn, Nado.
The threat of the Raz'ac had been eliminated, and the issue of the Shades had disappeared all but entirely. Last of all, the Dwarves had laid claim to the Beor Mountains stretching to the south, and recently had gained approval to send a legion of dwarves to map the furthest abodes of the reaches of the Beors. Despite these tidings, he thought it was best to keep it short, and not overdo it in the positive aura which he found himself in, lest he find himself in a sticky situation with no obvious means of escape.
As the noise from the crowd lessened, and then slowly died, he took out the notes he had prepared. Although he had thought it unnecessary, his aides had advised him to do so, and him not wanting to look like a fool, had listened to them. What a pity I don't have better handwriting, he thought glumly, otherwise he might have been able to decipher his notes fully.
Clearing his throat, he looked out hesitantly at the dwarves gathered en masse waiting patiently, before mediating them by starting his speech.
"We live in a time of trial, as we always have" he started, pausing to add emphasis on the words. "It is only when looking back that we can put perspective into our troubles." He stopped again, to let the words sink in for emphasis. He had recently been given some useful pointers by his advisers in public speaking, and he was trying to put them into practice. One of the more relevant ones was his tendency to go through his speech at a very fast rate, something they had been quick to point out.
"Were we not occupied by troubles when Galbatorix wasn't born" he asked rhetorically, "or when Humans did not walk the land, or even when we could fight over land that soon would no longer be ours. Only now would you be considered a fool if you said the trials we faced then were harder than the ones we would have yet to face."
He refrained from saying that they might have been fools to think that problems back then were troublesome, but he thought the general consensus was that he was probably right, which was indicated by the sudden change of mood of the crowd. They had gone from possessing a slightly jovial mood to one of sombre reflection. Although many of the dwarves who had gathered below him,
Issues, my dear friends, are relative. A knurlan's problem is not diminished by another's problem; instead it is put into perspective, so that we may gain an understanding and not, inadvertently or otherwise, demean them by denouncing their troubles. The same applies with history. The issues of the past may be more or less troublesome to deal with than the issues of today, but they are still issues nonetheless. The crisis of today might appear to be an easily forgotten fiasco to someone from the future, but that does not diminish its significance.
Anyway, enough, this brings me to what you have all been waiting for, the official report of the nation, and I am pleased to say that it portrays my rule in a good light."
The rest of the speech passed like a blur; after he had gotten over the first few hurdles of nervousness, he had immersed himself in the ebb and flow of the forces between him, and the crowd he addressed. Despite the vast isolation he had felt only a few minutes ago, he now felt as if the forces of an ocean were trying to pull him apart. Not an entirely pleasant feeling, but nonetheless a welcome change.
(Time change)
Orik looked down at his work; it had been an age old tradition for the dwarven kings to sum up their thoughts on the events of Alagaesia every so often, and now he was facing that momentous task. To look back on the previous time of his rule, and look upon it with a critical eye proved to be quite distasteful, although he could see the logic in it, otherwise rulers might grow too foolish. Well, at least that was his take on it, he reflected.
Looking back over his work, he realised how much the things that they had done, could have gone wrong, and how much things, actually worked out. The record looked better on paper than it actually felt, but he supposed he was pretty happy with the things he had accomplished. Indeed, in their last talks, Nasuada and Orrin had expressed their happiness at the way things were progressing, especially with the Urgals, of whom with which all minor spats were resolved.
It was also a great past few months for Alagaesia itself. Territorial issues abroad had been carried out peacefully. The Elves had claimed Shark tooth Island as their own, with Arya reserving a small portion of the island for Dragon Riders. Nasuada has succeeded in her quest for more land, she had been granted the entirety of the Hardarac desert. The newest addition stretched all the way eastwards until western shores of the river Edda, and Az Ragni.
Urgals had claimed the complete Northern reaches of the spine, something the Elves had quietly acquiesced too, and had been granted the dominion over the seas surrounding Vroengard itself. The Urgals had also suggested the idea of having a magicians Guild set up, an idea which all the leaders had readily agreed to. The current proposition was to stage it somewhere near the coast, in the relative vicinity of all the races, yet at the same time make it isolated. There were only a few places that fitted these criteria, and the one that looked the most promising, was the stretch of land over the mountains from Kuasta.
Events were moving apace, and although he could see that they could quickly spiral out of control, life was progressing well at the moment. Few could claim so much in recent history, and even fewer had the evidence to back it up, but here was the welcome exception, despite all the evidence to the contrary suggesting that this would be a very tough time.
He knew that the good times would not last; but better enjoy them while you can, he thought, and with a flourish, he finished his report.
(PoV change)
Nasuada looked up from writing on the parchment, and saw something entirely unaccounted for, Jormundur idly leaning against the stone pillar, not making a sound.
"How long have you been waiting there for?"
"Only for a moment, Your Majesty."
"And you did not have the foresight to make known your presence."
"You seemed particularly busy, and I did not want to interfere. Now I see it was a mistake" he said, inclining his head
"No, no. I think it is I who was the impolite one. Anyway, we have things to discuss" she said, motioning for him to sit down on the chair opposite her.
He graciously took the offer, settling himself into the chair comfortably before focusing on her with his utmost attention.
"You should take a break, Jormundur" she remarked, noticing the bags under his eyes.
"I did" she said encouragingly, noting the lack of resistance to the idea in Jormundur's eyes, "and I noticed that my performance and will to govern increased remarkably."
"Maybe after we resolve this matter with the territory west of the Hardarac desert I will" he replied, looking behind her at a point infinitely far away.
"Aah, I was hoping we could delay a little more through small talk, but a wiser approach would be to start straight away."
She paused for a moment as she gathered her thoughts, reining in potential ideas and casting out flawed ones. The details that they were about to discuss would be no trivial things, and rash words could waste valuable time.
"What do the elves say, for our territory is mostly bordered by theirs, and they have a stronger presence further afield than us? It is said that the elves range as far east as the next mighty sea, although they only may be the elven equivalent of a 'deep-dweller.' "
"Arya has indicated that the land acquisition can go ahead, but on two conditions. We promise not to directly conflict with elven interests on Sharktooth Island unless in the most desperate of circumstances and an independent trading zone of one and a half leagues will be maintained around Hedarth."
"I still wonder at the reason for why the elves want Sharktooth Island so much" she said, "I mean there isn't anything of interest over there is there, although I suppose it could be useful to have an outpost all the way out here."
"Why don't you inquire further Nasuada" he asked, leaning back in his chair and staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling. The magicians had really outdone themselves when they had restored the room.
"I do not want to offend anyone, especially not the Queen of the Elves, by being unnecessarily intrusive. The buffer zone for Hedarth is fine" she added, "I think it is in both our interests to have it so. Orrin will have to be contacted; we will both have to deal with him" she added, pulling a face at the thought, "I assume that he will want to discuss things."
"I have a scheduled a scrying time of noon on this day next week."
"Oh, the troubles would befall me if it weren't for you, Jormumdur."
"I am sure, Your Majesty, that you would be easily capable of finding someone who is better than me. After all, you do have a relatively large board of advisers to take your pick from."
"I beg to differ, if more than half of what they said they did, Alagaesia would be ruined already. Alas, time is running short and the days difficulties have barely begun, so let us finish the meeting in good time and in good spirit."
(PoV change)
"How is she" Svein fretted, "I haven't been allowed to see her for 15 minutes" he pleaded to the guard.
"The magician told me about you" scowled the female dwarven guard, "said you feinted at the sight of blood. His orders were too not to let you in."
"I didn't feint at the sight of blood" he protested vehemently, "I have been in the Kings Army for over 40 years, and I participated in many of the major battles against the Black King. A little smidgen of blood is normal to me, it is when it flows in great big gushes that I start to worry. Anyway, I stray too far; I only feinted because the enormity of having a little Knurlan overwhelmed me. "
"That may be so, but I have express orders not to let you in, and unless you want to find yourself at the wrong end of a spell, I suggest you heed my orders, and vacate my presence by at least an arms swing of axe. Magicians need a great deal of concentration, and a bumbling dwarf like you would just disturb him."
"How would you know anything about being a magician" he asked inquisitively. "Oh, and I am definitely not a fool, if that is what you take me for."
She looked him up and down, as if judging him to be worthy of the title, 'fool', before shaking her head.
"I meant no offence; my temper gets the better of me sometimes. In answer to your previous question, I would know because I am currently his apprentice."
This time it was his turn to look her up and down.
"Aah, that would explain the strange assortment of insignia that you are currently displaying, guards do not generally have such colourful emblems. May I ask a question?"
"You already asked one" she replied wittily, chuckling at his annoyance, before hastening to respond as he cracked his knuckles threateningly, "but by all means, go ahead."
"One involving magic" he inquired hopefully.
"Yes, as long as the intentions are not too divine the arts of magic to further your own name."
"Do you think Nasuada's plan will work, to control the magicians using magic?"
"No, I think not, but only time will tell. However, if I was to place a bet on anyone succeeding in the plan, bar Elves and Dragon Riders, it would be her. Nasuada's whiles in the way of diplomacy is matched by few alive today, and she has that mysterious dragon-child by her side constantly. The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say, but the pen still has to prove that is it mightier than Magic and Might. "
"Aye, Magic is Might."
Neither of them really had anything more to say, so they just stood there in comfortable silence, the female guard leaning on her tarnished bronze coloured axe, and he leaning against the wall. After a while, when only the soft cries of his wife could be heard through the thick stone door, he remembered something.
"I do believe I haven't learnt your name" he remarked.
"Inga Vilvistvor. I was a former Captain in the 3rd regiment, and brother to Svend, who is currently commander of the 3rd regiment".
Further conversation was interrupted by the doctor calling out, "She's all done and cleaned up, not a speck of blood to be seen, let the faint-of-heart Knurlan in."
He growled under his breath, but deemed it impolite to say the retort sitting right on his tongue, so he heaved open the heavy stone door, whose hinges could do with a bit of touching up, and walked in, head held high.
He looked around. It was a simple room; in one corner lay a bed, untouched. In another, a bookshelf, and in the far corner, two chairs adjacent to each other. In the exact centre of the room lay a skilfully carved operating chair, the base covered with depictions of dragons in various stages of flight, and the fabric resting on top of the chair showed beautiful meadows.
True to the doctor's word, not a spec of blood could be seen around the place, but that was not his main concern, regardless of what the doctor thought. Instead, that responsibility lay with the woman lying on the chair. His wife, clutching their newborn baby.
He approached reverentially, keeping the noise he produced from his footsteps to a minimum.
"What is it, a boy or a girl" he asked softly, as he neared the table, not taking his eyes off the baby, whom he was transfixed with.
"A boy" replied Ingvil, his wife, flashing a small smile at him as he tentatively made his way towards the table to take a closer look.
"He is not going to bite, you know."
"My father always said to approach a baby with reverence, a life is too sacred for hurried footsteps and wasted words. What do you want to name him" he asked, after a pause.
"Balduin" she breathed.
He looked at the baby closely; he could already see some of him in the baby, and even some of his wife in him too.
"Balduin" he repeated, "A good name."
(Time change)
Svein carried the baby in his arms, Ingvil walking beside him, and Inga and the magician accompanying each other at a respectable distance behind them. He looked closely at the baby; he could already see a few sprouts of hair. A smile crossed the Balduin's face as he slept, changing his otherwise peaceful expression.
As he turned around the corner, something unexpected caught his eye. Walking down the stone corridor, in the hospital ward, was a woman wearing a long, green, flowing dress and swinging a Huthvir as she walked with powerful stride, occasionally accidentally banging the staff against the wall. Trailing behind her, was rather large cat, with watchful golden eyes.
He could see she was irritated, and not wanting to cause an accident, stepped aside to let her have free reign of the corridor. She did not, however, continue with her punishing pace. Instead, she slowed down significantly, and eventually stopped, a puzzled expression appearing on her face, which appeared even more befuzzled as she backtracked towards them.
"Do you happen to know why my partner here," gesturing at the cat, who now on closer observation resembled a werecat, "finds you interesting?"
They both shook their heads, perplexed at the turn of events. Before they could say anymore, the strange women spotted Inga and the magician rounding the corner, and hailed them.
"Good day to you, Istvar, and I hope you find your master satisfactory, Inga?"
"Yes, yes, all in order, Angela" replied Istvar brusquely, not seeming to notice the woman's faint annoyed demeanour.
"I hope you are teaching her well" she said, not taking offense at the knurlan's indifference. "Anyway, Inga, here is a little trinket I made for you" she said, handing a little model of an eagle in flight on a chain over to Inga, who had now caught up with them. "It will protect you from being scryed, although it will draw upon your own energy when it does so."
"And" she continued, after a long hesitating look at her companion, the werecat, who was prowling aroundbehind her, "I was originally going to give this to someone I knew, but my friend here, Solembum, has pre-emptively decided, for an undiscerned reason, that I am to give it to your baby, whom I just noticed."
"However, on second thoughts, I will give it to you so that you may be able to discern when to give it to the child. Don't throw caution to the wind, do note my previous words. Goodbye."
Then, without another word, she deposited trinket in his outstretched hand, and strode off in the direction she was originally going, before disappearing around the corner. The werecat striding softly behind her, his padded feet barely making a sound, if at all, gave one last cursory glance at them, before too rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.
"Is she trustworthy" he asked Inga, whom was staring intensely at the ground as if trying to burn a hole through it with only her eyes, obviously deep in thought.
"What" asked Inga startled, "Oh yes, very trustworthy, and also very mysterious".
"What do you mean by that" Ingvil asked, intrigued by the sudden appearance and disappearance of Angela, and her deeply magical companion, Solembum.
"Let us just say that her motives are not easy to figure out."
Without thinking, he looked down and opened his clenched fist. Attached to a silvery chain, was a small model of a dragon.
A/N: Sorry for the very late posting, no excuses just lax on my part.
My utmost apologies. I hope you enjoy this chapter, hopefully you noticed that I introduce some new characters, if you didn't … umm … I don't know what to say.
I wonder if anyone can figure out the reason why I put them into the story?! Hurrah! For anyone who gets it.
Very busy at the moment, and looking forward to the holidays, got so much stuff to do. Got to start on the revision of chapters soon, and I will post another update to my other stories, although I doubt anyone is interested because even I have to admit they are a literary abomination. Anyway, enough of those depressing thoughts, I will start work on the next chapter soon, and will revise this one for spelling and grammar etc.
Thank you all very much for your support, and I am extremely sorry.
Yours truly,
WiseBeyondYears