AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Auron rode as a passenger on the return trip, looking out of the forward tower’s slow-moving cupola at a countryside of unrelieved horizon. According to the dwarves, they traveled through the steppe at its most beautiful, when a riot of yellow and blue broke out across the sward.
“It seems good earth,” Auron said to the commodore. The treads of the traveling towers churned up rich black soil. “Why are the lands so empty?”
“The Ironriders are nomads. Wherever their horses can run, they claim, and they don’t take to settlers. Some of the patches of trees you see were once planted settlements, but those elms might as well be gravestones. We have some success with them because we travel, as they do.
“The Iron Temple where we will stop marks the grave of the last king to subdue them. Tindairuss was his name, of the land of . . . Oh, the name escapes me. Back then the Ironriders rode under Ju Ain K’on, which means ‘bloody hooves.’ He slaughtered and stole and expanded the lands of the Ironriders to the very falls of the Falnges. Tindariuss and the riverside elves suffered their depredations, and he formed an alliance of those victims of Bloodyhooves. That dragon you mentioned, NooMoahk, figures into the tale somehow, but since I heard it from the lips of an Ironrider, I don’t know that I trust the details. Tindairuss won many victories, and for a while his men settled the steppe, but he grew old and fell ill. Even before he died, his sons fought with his brothers over the kingdom. The queen sided with one son, but he was assassinated. The kingdom was divided into a confederation for a time, but now their lands are a few overgrown walls of stone. The usual story with men. Many joined with the Ironrider clans. I can only imagine what Tindairuss would think of his blood riding with his mortal enemy. The Iron Temple must quake with his anger.”
“They build a temple to him in the middle of the steppe?”
“The work of the son who ended up being assassinated. It was at the site of his father’s greatest triumph. Can’t imagine why anyone ever felt the need to fight a battle there. It looks just like any other part of the steppe. It was a well before. The only one for a distance, so perhaps there was a reason for the battle after all. That’s why we shall stop there. Our casks grow empty.”
The caravan stopped for two days of rest at the well, forming itself into the triangular fortress Auron knew so well, though tighter, and with a ditch dug all around. He walked up the hill with Djer as a line of dwarves with wheelbarrows hauled casks to the top of the hill, corded muscles glistening in the sunshine.
The temple was made of metal. It showed only dirt, no sign of rust or tarnish. Djer ran a hand along the smooth side, leaving the black face underneath as shiny as if it were wet. The four sides of the square inclined slightly to a flat roof thirty hands above. A column of metal pointed from it like a lance aimed at the sky.
“What ore is that?” Auron asked. His Dwarvish was accomplished without effort, though it didn’t ring quite right in the ear because of the way his head was constructed.
“If I knew, I’d own the Chartered Company,” Djer said. “Wizardly artisans must have made it, and the skill is lost, like so many other gifts, in these bitter days.”
Auron placed his claws on it; a metallic ping sounded as he touched the surface. “It’s a bare surface. I thought men wrote on everything.”
“Just above the door,” Djer said, pointing.
Auron looked at the apocryphal letters. “I must learn to read one of these days.”
“Many who can wouldn’t know what to make of that. The characters are unknown to me.”
“You know it’s time for me go.”
“Yes,” Djer said, his stubbly face turning serious. “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“I want to find my own kind. NooMoahk, first of all.”
“Steel yourself. It is a hard journey across the desert.”
“I know. I’ll ask you for a set of saddlebags, with plenty of water skins.”
“Done,” Djer said, rapping Auron’s crest with his knuckles. “But I cannot let a friend such as you go without something.”
“You’ve given me my tail-point. That is enough.”
“Not hardly,” he said, searching his pockets with eyes rolling skyward. He fished out a ring. “I’ve put the seal of the Diadem on this,” he said, showing it to Auron. “It’s my Partner-seal, and more besides. Have you seen what I’ve chosen as my insignia under the diadem?”
Auron looked at the etching on the golden surface. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“A dragon. Well, I thought it looked like you, anyway. I’m no artist.”
“Dragons have wings. I don’t . . . not yet.”
“Winged or no, you’re the reason I’m a vested dwarf.”
“I’m honored,” Auron said, his skin flushing reddish with pleasure.
“You can honor me by keeping it. Should you be in great need someday, showing it to one of the Chartered Company will get you whatever assistance we can offer. Traditionally a Partner gives his emissary ring only to a chief-of-staff on an important journey. You’re welcome to this for the rest of your life—may it be blessed with many healthy years.”
“I would wear it with pride, but it won’t fit my finger.”
“Then wear it on a horn, once you grow a proper one. Or a chain around your neck, for that matter,” he said, pulling a long, thin strand of steel from his other pocket. “I hope I’ve made it big enough for a fully grown dragon. I could wear this for a belt.”
