The Cruelty of Magic, page 16
The inner chamber of the mountain chilled and a flurry of snow clung to the edge of the cavern walls as a zephyr wafted the white gust trailing onto the cavern floor. The previously unbearable heat turned into a lust for warmth within seconds. A pale wind gathered beside Baylar’s throne as Grunffi watched him twirl his hand, as if a child to a painting. The wind formed into a white cocoon and suddenly Grunffi looked upon the beast he saw atop the mountain once more.
“Crytungr,” he thought. “But…much smaller?”
“Kaida,” said Baylar. “Are you hungry?”
The dragon’s scales started slithering around Baylar’s throne as it uncoiled its slender body. Each scale glistened with indigo starlight and its elongated tongue forked in three directions. Its claws were pronounced like panther’s, and the lizard’s body sat so close to the floor that it looked as if it were crawling. It was not the dragons of old Grunffi heard stories of as a child from his father, but it was most certainly the only dragon he’d ever seen. The serpent slithered across the dirt to sit in front of the dwarven company. It rose up, to the height of Baylar sitting in the throne, and its chest turned to a shadowy haze before releasing a bursting blizzard up through its throat. The beast began scowling and screeching as the freezing light rose to the top of its throat with its squalls becoming louder.
“Hide!” Grunffi leaped to the cavern walls with all of his might, grabbing Haffi and Saroria and bringing them tumbling down to the ground.
Frost. A blaze of clear blue tore through the cavern and sent cold shivers crawling down each of the dwarves’ spines.
Grunffi rose from the ground and turned to see Barklo frozen, enveloped within a dark ice, painted like sapphire. The dwarven leader’s brow became drenched in sweat amid the lowering temperature of the cavern, his body revolting against the freezing cold as stress contorted his mind. His chest pinched and his heart felt as heavy as a piece of ore sinking into the depths of his stomach. Grunffi tried to move his mouth and couldn’t; he just felt a sting across his gums as his teeth clamped down, holding back the inevitable scream trapped behind his teeth.
Without warning, Grunffi’s fingers traveled to the hilt of his long-ax as Baylar began laughing. In the god’s moment of self-indulgence, Grunffi’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade, spun it once around his head, traveling from behind his left shoulder to his right, launching the piercing blade between the two ax blades of Grunffi’s long axe right into the skull of the dragon.
“Kaida!” Baylar wailed. “How?”
A second blade, then a third, and a fourth launched towards Baylar. Grunffi watched as the blades cut the very air of the cavern and sliced the cold clean through all the way until their sharpened edges buried themselves, one-by-one, into the cruel god. All but two of the blades fell out from Baylar as he healed from the wounds instantly. But the two blades that stuck started wrenching away at his body and spilling his blood across the floor. But the god remained standing.
Baylar looked down at the blades and pulled them out, inch-by-inch. He glared at the blade for a moment. “So it is true then,” he coughed blood. “You truly can fashion a blade from the stone. Impressive, and annoying. Sadly for me, that means you can cause me pain. Sadly for you, you still can’t kill me. A rock isn’t enough to kill a god!”
“Adamantite,” Grunffi thought to himself.
The wounds of Baylar healed upon the removal of the blades, but his skin remained scarred from the cut.
Now, the rebirthed, but much smaller, Crytungr flapped its wings and rose to the top of the cavern ceiling and a chilling gust strangled the hearts of each of the dwarves as each one of them tried to take cover. “You’re not so big this time,” Grunffi mumbled to himself.
Then, the dwarf leader stepped out from hiding and jolted towards the bird in a flash of fury and leaped high enough in the air to grab ahold of the bird and smash it into the dirt. He grabbed ahold of its head and turned it to its side, pushing its large and protruding beak away from him. In that moment, Saroria watched as one great weight from Grunffi’s fist came crashing down on the skull of the bird, shattering its bones so loudly that each dwarf, and Baylar, heard the crunch.
“No,” Baylar whispered. “All of the legends are true then…” he fell to his knees.
Grunffi approached the feeble god without remorse. “What legends? Speak!”
In a last attempt, Baylar launched himself backwards and motioned his hands as if to cast a spell. A burst of white appeared in front of Grunffi, but nothing happened. The dwarf closed the gap between himself and the god. Then, Grunffi grabbed the back of Baylar’s neck and threw him to the ground like a disobedient animal.
Grunffi shouted once more, “What legends?”
“Dwarahir,” Baylar said. “I’ll smithy the weapon for your ruin. That’s what he told us…”
Grunffi, standing still, awaited more answers.
“That’s what he told us. The gods, the Kaiyar. Whatever you’d like to call us. He threatened us with the weapon to bring our doom!”
“And what is the weapon?” Grunffi asked.
“He did not tell us. He disappeared from Kaiyara and not a word was heard from him again. But, then we heard rumblings. Rumors of a new breed roaming the earth…dwarves.”
“So you’re saying he made us… this, Dwarahir? Why would he not act as you and demand piety as your lot does? Why does he not call on us to worship him if he made us?”
“That is the very thing he meant to punish us for,” Baylar said, feeling his power drained beneath the grip of Grunffi bearing down on his neck. “Dominion over all the other races. It seemed so deserved for the rest of us, but not Dwarahir. He told us if we meant to follow the path of dominion, he would craft the weapon that would ultimately lead to our death, and he did it using the only thing that can kill a god.”
“Adamantite?” Grunffi asked.
“Yes,” Baylar answered. “That rock you hold so dear. The legends are true, it's obvious. You’re resistant to magic, so the Crytungr I summoned down here was not old enough to hold you back, though clearly your friend was not strong enough for Kaida.” He laughed and then coughed.
“What is obvious?”
“You’re made from the stone you dwarven ingrate.” Baylar spat at Grunffi’s feet.
Grunffi stared at Baylar for just a moment before speaking again.
“Why have you not tried to run?”
“The blade,” Baylar said. “I’m the god of summons, not Mysticism. But yes, I do know some simple spells that might’ve helped me, had you not stuck that rock blade inside of me.”
Grunffi looked down at the blade once more.
“If you can’t run, then why be so forthcoming when you clearly hate dwarves?”
“I cannot run, which means I cannot live,” said Baylar.
“That does not explain why you would tell me all of this.”
Baylar sighed and looked down at the ground, revealing his neck. “Cut cleanly when you do,” he said.
“Answer the question, or you stay in bondage with a stone knife permanently gutting you or I may drag you out of this mountain and through the cold with the knife lodged in.”
Baylar looked up at Grunffi.
“He was obviously right. Dwarahir, that is,” the god said. “He told us we would pay at the hands of his weapon. He crafted your very being from that damn stone and now you are the only race that can forge it. That means you are the only thing that stands between gods and death. With time, I would be able to remove your blade. As I said, that alone would not kill me. Leaving me is allowing me to live.”
“You volunteer this information…so that we may kill the other gods?” Grunffi scratched his head. “So that we will kill you? We are the dwarves! We are the weapon! Anyone of us could further plunge this blade into you and finish the job!”
“Not any Dwarf,” Baylar answered. “You still have more to learn. All I will tell you is Dwarihir’s Forge lies in the very mountains we find ourselves in now. I know not where. Do you think I’m hiding in the depths of a volcano and feeding my pets dwarf flesh because I am in good standing with the other gods? I tire of eternity and the politics of godliness. I tire of hiding and my reason for life was lost a very long time ago when the Blood Lord stole the only thing that truly mattered to me. Now all I have are my pets, and one by one you take them from me as well.”
“Pets,” Grunffi said. “You keep these creatures as pets?”
“Surely. The beasts of old were always my closest friends. You know, I signed many contracts in my youth to call upon them, before becoming Baylar.”
“You chose to become a god?” Grunffi’s confusion became apparent. He was starting to wonder why he was listening. Baylar obviously wanted to turn the dwarves against the gods for punishing him. But, should the gods be punished? Were they all as Baylar was?
“You have much, much to learn,” Baylar answered, chuckling with blood dripping from his mouth. “I fell out of favor with Krishalla and the rest when I chased my wife down for laying with another. The dreadful, loathsome, evil Blood Lord! I ought to have made her bathe in his blood when I was finished. But, the others saw fit to condemn me, punish me for an eternity they said.”
All at once, Baylar flung himself up from his knees and placed his hands on Grunffi’s chest and started pushing him backwards with each spoken word.
“Go on, do it!” Baylar pushed. “You think I want to spend the rest of my days chasing food for long-dead creatures in a world that doesn’t respect me or my kind? I’m nothing to the others and those who can use magic grow fewer by the day. I’m dying one way or another!”
Baylar pushed Grunffi once more, far enough that the god had enough time to grab Grunffi’s blade and jump towards the dwarf. Grunffi caught the shaft of the blade with one hand and felt Baylar’s strength falling away the longer the Lord of Summons held the blade.
“Kill the others,” Baylar whispered to him. “Salaril seeks to bring about the return of Krishalla. He lives below the depths of Runefall, imprisoned. Break him free of bondage, and then kill him!”
“What has this god done to me?” Grunffi asked, turning to look at his dwarven company. Saroria was taken by silence, Haffi by curiosity, Dhamri by anger, and Barklo by the frost. The few others remaining were petrified at their lack of understanding of the world, as was Grunffi. He just couldn’t show it.
“I wasn’t the worst one,” Baylar answered as he lost grip of the ax. “I never planned for your death. I just wished it would happen! Krishalla, however, intends to wipe all of you from the earth. Your piety failed and magic is fading away. You are the weapon against magic, against the Kaiyar. Not just you, but every race. He wants to start over with a more pious population. A people that worships and one that can learn the old ways better than you, and it all starts with Runefall. Your grasp on magic is primitive on this continent and that city held as much knowledge as it could for itself. Your world has tried to centralize the practice of magic and weaponize it. Krishalla means to correct that.”
Grunffi stepped back for a moment, taking a deep breath as he considered what Baylar was saying.
Then, Baylar jumped at Grunffi and tried stripping the ax from his hands. The dwarf threw him to the ground but the god rose again, and again, and again. Finally, Baylar grabbed a rock and tried smashing it against Grunffi’s head and for the last time, Grunffi threw him to the ground.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Baylar said with a smile, his back on the cavern floor.“The stone blades are for the other dwarves who can’t kill a god.” Baylar smiled. “You should just use your hands.”
The god tried to attack once more but Grunffi grabbed his head and ripped it clean off with a strength he’d never felt and suddenly the bodies of the summoned creatures in the cavern faded away into a blue dust and warmth returned to the chamber. They were all small and harmless creatures resembling beasts of old, nothing like Crytungr.
Grunffi turned and saw a look of bewilderment and fear striking across Saroria’s face, who was being held by Dhamri. Dhamri gave a solemn look to Grunffi’s wife and son and turned to Barklo, a frozen Barklo.
Barklo’s eyes sat buried beneath the ice with a harsh longing for cover. His oculi screamed for help as Grunffi took note of how wide the eyeballs were spread open. A tailored glance and a squinted eye let the Grunffi see his friend’s eyes peering at a rock to his left.
“He realized it too late,” Grunffi thought.
“Are we at enough, then?” Dhamri asked. “Have enough fallen for your own pride for the rest of us to live?”
Grunffi stood staring into Barklo’s eyes in silence. He didn’t hear Dhamri’s words. All he heard was Barklo’s laughter. The day Grunffi married Saroria, Barklo had gotten his new brother-in-law very drunk on ale. Saroria wasn’t upset in the slightest. They were the closest of friends for years upon years before Grunffi ever became king. As King, Grunffi relied on Barklo time and time again to be the softer touch of dwarven leadership. His kindness was well-known and his temperament saved many from succumbing to their own. Grunffi became lost in memory staring at his friend who was now frozen, outside of the lived world, outside of friendship, outside of love.
“Ograas, elves, men, and now gods it seems,” Dhamri said. “Our list of enemies grows larger as you remain the head of our company.”
Grunffi did not move, he could not move because he did not hear. But Saroria snuck near Grunffi’s backside wanting to reach out and comfort him, but she was unsure how to do so.
Dhamri turned to face the rest of the company. “His failure will continue to be the death of our kin! Stay with him if you must, but I will climb back to the entrance of this mountain, collect what remains of the supplies, and journey back to the south. It is time the dwarves reclaim what is owed to us!”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Haffi raised both of his blades close to his face. “You’ll leave, aye. You can do that. But you’ll touch nothing of the supplies at the entrance of the cave. In fact, I’ll escort you myself just to make sure you don’t leave with too heavy a burden.”
“Step out of the way boy.” Dhamri drew his blades. “There’s been enough dwarven death at the hands of your family.”
“Then you’re saying yes to my escort and leaving the supplies?”
“No, Haffi. Get out of my way.”
Haffi’s blades clashed against one another, one spear crossing the other. He stepped back with one spear held above his head and one lined up to his knee. “Make your decision, Dhamri. We’ve other battles to fight and we’d be best not to be killing each other with what lies ahead,” he growled.
Grunffi continued staring at Barklo’s frozen carcass. Saroria slunk further into the shadows, covering her mouth trying not to scream, terrified of what was happening between Haffi and Barklo, and horrified that Grunffi was…gone. Then, she reached down and found her ax, and she quivered at the thought of using it against Dhamri.
Bolting towards Haffi, the tip of Dhamri’s long ax thrust forward and nearly pierced his abdomen. Haffi knocked the long ax to the side with one of his spears, twirling his body around with a sweeping kick to knock Dhamri to the ground.
Grunffi, snapping out of his grief, turned to see the commotion and realized what was happening. Grunffi jumped to help his son but before he could get there, Haffi had already launched a death blow.
Grunffi’s son raised both of his spears above his chest and brought both blades crashing down towards the beaten dwarf’s chest, but Haffi stopped, seeing his father approaching.
Saroria squirmed as a squelching sound filled the air and then Haffi’s body fell on top of Dhamri with a short ax in his back. She wailed as she saw a cowardly dwarf shaking behind her son’s dead body. Her knees broke the dirt and she bellowed out into the dank heat of the cavern.
“WHY?” She smashed her hands all across the cavern floor wailing out against the darkness.
“Why?” Dhamri’s rage spilled and shot spittle flying towards the cowardly dwarf standing behind Haffi’s stiff body.
Grunffi’s sight bent inwards and his vision became crossed at the glimpse of his fallen son. No sooner than Dhamri’s rage quelled and the spittle stopped raining on the craven dwarf that slew his son, Grunffi walked without haste over to the long ax buried in Baylar, ripped it from his body, and turned to the dwarf that killed his son. Standing nearly twenty feet from one another, and with Saroria wailing in the cavern’s fading light as the lava flowing through the walls started to fade, Grunffi spoke in a low and callous voice.
“Say your last, Ikba.”
“I only meant to escape this mountain and I thought that–,” Ikba began.
“Say your last,” Grunffi repeated.
“I just wanted to escape this mountain and live and I thought that–”
“Your last,” Dhamri interrupted, picking himself up from the cavern floor.
Ikba turned with a fearsome quivering in his legs and his teeth chattered among the fiery heat returning in the chamber. Sweat ran down into his eyes and he felt a salty burn mix with tears as snot came down from his upper lip into the gap in his shaking mouth. “P-p-p-please Dhamri. I-I believed you would save us.”
“Say your last,” Grunffi and Dhamri said, nearly in unison.
Ikba fell to his knees and his squalling and inane babble turned to frantic and indiscernible cries of desperation. No final words were heard, or rather, understood.
Grunffi looked over at his shattered wife and held out the axe. As she walked closer to him to grab the ax, Ikba’s cries rang through the chamber like a scalded child. She grabbed the axe and sundered towards the cravenous dwarf with an intentional speed designed to prolong her steps. Each step, Ikba’s wailing grew louder and more harrowing.
Saroria finally reached Ikba and stood so close to him that he felt a drop of her sweat fall onto his chin as he looked up at her, while she looked down on him. She stared into his eyes for a moment and the cowardly dwarf thought that he saw her eyes turn black as her mouth formed an otherworldly scowl.
