The dwarves live a solitary life deep beneath the surface of Magik. There are very few entrances to the world above, each guarded by a horde of gully dwarves. The entrances themselves are so well concealed that one doesn't usually know that one is standing on them until they're falling hundreds of feet through the air. For this purpose, the dwarves think themselves to be a world away from the rest. They are firmly set in the belife that, even if the hydras take over Tris'Hath, they'll be nice and safe in their little caverns and tunnels. Well, most of them think this anyway.
A small revolt has risen in the peaceful mining Underground half-way up from the Rift coast. The war above has brought back the firey light that once danced in dwarven eyes. Peace is dead and fighters are needed. What do those pathetic humans know about fighting anyway? Leading this head strong group is a dwarven smith by the name of Terra.
Terra stared down at the glowing red blade with an intensity that was close to fightening. She felt the nervous gaze of her apprentice shift from her steady form to the blade repeatedly. Her callosed hand gripped the hammer's wooden handle expertly, the hand hold worn to her liking from years of work. A trickle of sweat dotted her brow, glittering red in the forge's mezmerizing glare. She jerked her head to the side quickly, tossing away a straying lock of rusty red hair which had fallen out of the pigtale at the nap of her neck.
In a single, deft movement, she brought the iron hammer ringing down on the molten metal. Sparks flew through the air, glittering in their brilliance for a brief second before being snuffed out of existance. She twisted the tongs in her hand quickly, flipping the blade to the other side and slamming the hammer onto the blue-ish red glow again. The piercing ring of metal striking metal sounded through the room like a sweet cord. One Terra had heard all her life, yet each strike was a new song.
She slide the cooling metal into a bucket of blackened oil beside the work anvil. Steam hissed through the air, spiraling around her neck and face like a suffocating, warm breeze. Terra set the old, battered tongs on the anvil again, her hand brushing agianst the familiar scratches and burn marks. The hammer thumped soundly on the ground by her feet. She let the handle go and waved a hand absently at her assistant as the wooden stick fell against the side of the anvil.
The wild haired youth quickly ran off to a far corner of the room while Terra dropped slowly onto a stool by the forge. She felt her bones creak in protest and mentally growled at them for getting old on her. I'm only fifty-eight years old. That's not enough to start creaking yet.
Her assistant returned and respectfully handed her the cool bucket of water that had been sitting outside on the smithy's front porch. Terra lifted the chipped, wooden spoon from the pool of black shadows and brought it to her parched lips. She greedily gulped back that spoonful and another before tasting the sweet nectar as it passed down her throat. Her assistant waited patiently, seated on a stool across from her, until she finished the third spoonful. Gratefully, he swallowed a few spoonfuls of the liquid himself, feeling the icy chill run through his system. Terra nodded for him to set the empty bucket outside again, leaning back on her stool enough so that she balanced on the edge of her tailbone and stretched slowly.
"Um... Miss Terra?" The youth's voice wavered as he called out to his tutor. His form was half-hidden in the veiling shadows of the room. Light spilled over his face, casting shadows under his worried eyes. He wrung his small hands nervously, casting his eyes down on the dirt covered ground. He scuffed at the sand lightly, trying desperately not to see the questioning gaze on Terra's face. He had a child-like affection for the older warrior. Though she was still young in dwarven years, there was a steel barrier masked on her face that seemed to age her. She wasn't a beautiful woman, closer to being average. Yet the fierce pride shining in her eyes make her tanned, chapped skin glow with a regal warmth. Every movement was an act of precision and grace. Every blade made by her hands was perfect. He sighed softly, much like a disobediant son telling his mother the truth of the broken lamp.
"The council again?" Her strong voice cut like steel through the thick silence.
"Aye." He replied softly, keeping his eyes on the ground. He watched the small, sharp pebbles grind together under his boot.
"What this time lad?"
"They... they want to talk to you." He looked up at her quickly, pleading with his eyes. "Don't go Terra! You know they're just trying to get rid of the revolt. They just want you-"
"I know lad." Terra smiled sadly. She dropped down from the stool and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder softly. "Give me the note."
* * * Terra muttered to herself and stomped her feet a few times on the solid, brick laid ground. Of all the rooms within the dwarven Underground, this was the one place where the cavern wasn't naturally made. Large, stone columns rose up from the ground, laced with veins of silver and gold. The ground itself was an amazing work of perfectly measured bricks, set side by side without cement to hold them together. Not a gap could be seen all across the wide, council room floor. At the front of the vast room rose three pedistals, a semi-circle of steps rising up to their gated entrances. Upon the three layered stones sat a scattering of stone chairs. Three people sat regally on the top pedistal, looking down at her with disdain. Terra stepped forward quietly (at least for a dwarf), crumpling the note in her fists. Though her face didn't reveal it, there was a butterfly beating against her heart in her chest.
"Terra Stoneweld." The front figure, a grey bearded man with frown lines marring his face, spoke loudly. His disapproving voice boomed over the assembly of chairs. Terra ground her teeth quietly, wishing that the architects hadn't built this room to carry sound from the pedistals.
"Yes?" She tried to keep her voice low, annoyed at the false echo.
"Only speak when spoken to!" The second old man boomed. Terra mentally rolled her eyes. She had been spoken to.
"Terra Stoneweld, you have been summoned before the council because of your disturbing actions among the Underground. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Can I speak now?" Terra looked up at the looming figures with a note of sarcasim. The second aged dwarf frowned deeply, glaring down at her. "I'd like to say that I'm guilty on all charges. The world above us is gettin' themselves messed up in a war they can't handle. They need our-"
"The humans are perfectly fine without us!" The first, round-nosed man stated firmly. He clenched the armrests of his chair tightly, turning his red knuckles to white. "They have been fighting for years. They know how to handle themselves. Why should we be dragged into something they started?"
"Because they didn't start it. The hydras did." Terra clenched her teeth angrily, her bright eyes flashed with pride as she looked up at the three council heads. Though she was at least five feet below them, she threw her shoulders back and held her head up defiantly, making her spirit fill the room. "We were there for the last war against the hydras. Dwarves are meant to fight! We are the roots of the earth that carry strength to all those who need it. Even Dungar is fighting with the dragon riders now."
The three, stocky figures sat in silence for a moment. Though they still carried the pride and strong will of their kin, the years spent in solitude had humbled their fighting spirit. The two dwarves on the end leaned closed to their leader and began to whisper in hushed voices. Terra sighed and rolled her eyes. Why did every discussion have to come down to a huddle?
Finally, they lifted their heads again, sly smiles falsely hidden beneath thier beards. "Fine. We see your point, Terra." The first said warmly. Terra tensed, knowing not to trust a grinning snake. "And so we will help the humans, more particularily, Mystic Dragon. We know they're in need of metals and weapons. So... you'll report to the Head Smith and retrieve a package of choice metals we've set aside. From there, you'll take it to the Warren along with a new set of designs for Dungar."
I knew it! Terra cursed loudly in her mind. So this was their big plan. Send her off to the Warren so they could do as they wished with the rest of the revolt.
"Fine. I'll go. But I'll be back for more supplies in under a month." Terra shot a dark glare at the council head who frowned softly. They hadn't expected her to come back. None the less, they'd be rid of her for at least a month.
* * * Terra’s trek across the Northern continent was not an easy one, to say the least. The smiths had been certain to give her more then enough metal to supply Dungar’s forge for at least a month. Of course, it had the best metal, and that also happened to be the heaviest. Though Terra was amazingly strong for her height, she still fell asleep at night with sore shoulders. This pain was only enhanced by the fact that she had to sleep in trees to avoid roaming bands of thieves and slave traders. The constant fear of hydra attacks didn’t help.
By the third day, Terra arrived on the Warren’s door step, tired, beaten and cursing everything in sight. She promptly made her way over to Dungar’s smith, dropped off the metal then marched herself back to the healing weyr. E’rik was considerably surprised when he entered his room to find his patient already sound asleep on one of his cots. Nenialith smiled softly, having kept watch over the stubborn dwarf while she rested.
When she woke up, Terra ignored every word of advice E’rik tried to give her and found her way back to Dungar. The poor healer sat down in a chair and wondered why in the name of the Abyss he had been made healer if no one listened to him! Terra stood just outside Dungar’s shop, looking in at the arrangement of velvet covered tables with a gleaming array of weapons laid across them.
The room itself was small, lit by interspersed wall torches. Two torches rested against each wall, eight in total. The tables, varying from long and thin to solid squares, rose up and down the walls in a chaotic pattern, each top covered with a midnight blue, soft velvet. This sea of blue glittered with the variety of elegant weapons laid across them. Terra noted grudgingly to herself that Dungar seemed to make due without the special dwarven metals. A small, wooden table sat alone in the far corner, covered in oil smeared papers and dried up quills. Beside the table lay what looked like a giant dog bed. Dungar sat behind his desk, propped up on an old wooden box. Terra approached quietly, gazing around the room in interest.
”You’ve made quite the name for yourself.” She broke the silence of the pounding beat of Rugan’s hammer as it rained blow after blow on the glowing metal in the forge. A solid wooden door fit snugly into the back wall, muffling the noise. Suddenly, a beastly snarl made Terra’s hair stand on end. She froze and turned just in time to see the drooling muzzle of a watch wher snap dangerously close to her face.
”Asmodeas! Down!” Dungar’s gruff voice called the oddly coloured wher to order. She whimpered and dropped back to the floor, padding softly over to Dungar’s desk. The aged Master Smith reached out a hand to the ugly, metallic orange beast and reassured her. Terra turned a wonderful shade of white before regaining her composure and glaring at the beast.
”What in the Abyss is that?!” She growled as Asmodeas lay down on her blanket covered bed of straw, her faceted eyes keeping a placid watch on the new comer.
”Sorry about her.” Dungar removed his metal rimmed glasses and stood, edging his way around the desk and towards her. “Asmodeas’ just protective. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He frowned softly and stroked his chestnut brown beard. “Terra, right?”
”Aye.” Terra nodded slowly, eyeing Dungar just as he did her. His skin was a dark, leather tanned colour, wrinkled around his roundish nose. The mane of wiry hair that he took so much pride in hung in waves around his head, ending just by his shoulders. He was a stout dwarf of 4 ft., just a few inches taller then Terra. Dungar’s brown eyes swept over her in a calculating glance. Terra held her head up proudly. “Somethin’ wrong?”
”Hmm?” Dungar blinked then smiled lightly, his thick lips forming wrinkles at the sides of his mouth. “Nah. Just wonderin’ on the rumours I’ve heard.” He turned and stomped back to the desk, muttering under his breath at the collection of paper work. “I’m thankful for the metal. Any word from home?”
”Nay. Other then a bunch of pig-nosed lords trying to keep us out of the war. What rumours?” Terra looked suspiciously at Asmodeas before following him to an appointed seat beside the desk. Dungar’s only answer to the statement was a gruff laugh and shake of his head.
”They’ll be crushed in their burrows. Those damned beasts aren’t just going to leave them alone if that’s what they think.” His skilled hand picked up one of the many quills and dipped the nib into a nearly empty ink well. He held the feathery pen poised over the jar until a thick drop had spilt back into it. Lowering the quill to a torn up, half finished sheet, he began to write.
”I know that. That’s why they sent me. Get rid of the rebel leader and ye get rid of the rebels. What rumours?” She leaned forward in hopes of seeing what he was writing. Unfortunately, Dungar’s script was so messy she couldn’t even make out the dot of an ‘i’.
”So you’re on our side, eh?” Dungar cast her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye.
”Aye. What rumours?” Terra was beginning to grow impatient. He had ignored her question twice and she wasn’t a patient person to begin with.
Whether or not you’d make a suitable candidate, deary. A deeply feminine voice rumbled in her mind. Terra glanced around the room and nearly jumped off her seat in fright. A massive, black-green dragon head floated in the doorway, glittering with gaudy decorations and piercings. She tilted her head to the side to show off the new, gleaming rings of gold around her head knobs. What do you think Dungar? I got them done in the Hidden Valley.
”Dazzling Serrith.” Dungar grumbled after flicking his eyes quickly to the dragoness. Serrith snorted in irritation and removed herself from the room.
You’re just jealous ‘cause I didn’t go to you! Her disembodied voice called to their minds as she left. Dungar chuckled and shook his head slowly.
”Blasted lizard’s as bad as her rider. Both of ‘em got more art on them then a museum in Tahome."
”What candidate?” Terra was now throughly confused. She had never seen a dragon before in her life and one was telling her she would be good for a candidate. Candidate for what?
”Go ask the beauty queen. Never bothered with the stuff m’self. Got too much on my hands as it is.” Dungar shrugged and muttered into his beard, smearing the ink absently with his sleeve. Terra considered telling him then banished the idea as she stood and walked around the jutting tables in the room. He’d figure it out on his own sooner or later.
As she walked up the tunnel and out to the flight fields, she heard Dungar curse loudly. Smiling to herself, she noted that he had just figured it out. Terra looked around in a sort of lost daze, searching for the night-green Serrith. So many dragons lounged on the sunny, tropical field that it was hard for her to tell them apart. They ranged in sizes from no bigger then a horse to giants that could crush you with a breath. Finally, she spotted the darkly green dragoness sunning herself outside her weyr. Her wings were half spread to maximize the effects of her dazzling beauty and show off the various rings and golden hoops on her being.
”Hey! Dragon!” Terra stomped over to Serrith as fast as her stubby legs would carry her. Serrith looked down at the stocky dwarf with an uninterested gaze.
Yes dwarf?
”What was all that non-sense of candidates?” Terra puffed, resting her hands on her knees when she reached the dragon’s side.
It’s not non-sense. Serrith tilted her head slightly, her whirling blue eyes focused on Terra. Yep, Mariamanth agrees. You’d make a fine candidate for impression.
”Wha- huh?” Terra sat down soundly on the ground, her head spinning with the attack of useless information.
”You’re going to impress a dragon.” A male voice interrupted their conversation. A’und grinned as he strolled leisurely over to his bond and leaned against Serrith’s side. There was a hint of laughter in his playful and deep voice. Terra looked up at the odd human with a mixture of wonder and confusion, wrinkling her brow in thought. His curly fringe of hair was a mix of black and bright green, matching the dusting of a goatie around his chin.
Well, we’d better get going if we’re going to make it to Ryslen in time for the clutch. Serrith said as she stretched out cat-like and flapped her wings once or twice to get the blood circulating.
”What? Go where? Wait a minute!” Terra roared, jumping to her feet. She cast a glare first at Serrith then at A’und and planted her feet firmly. “I ain’t going anywhere on a dragon. Dwarves don’t ride; dwarves don’t swim; dwarves don’t crawl; dwarves don’t run and dwarves especially don’t fly! I walked from the Underground; I walked to Dungar’s smithy; and I’ll walk home! I’m not flying!”
Yes you are. Serrith replied simply after Terra was finished her rant. Her sleek, diamond shaped head snaked down and gingerly lifted Terra off her feet while A’und hopped up to her back. She plopped the struggling dwarf down behind her rider and turned to take off.
”No! I’ve never flown before! You can’t make me!” Terra cried as Serrith began to take off.
* * * ”I can’t believe they made me.” The rebel dwarf sulked angrily as she stood knee deep in the snow covering the Ryslen Weyrbowl. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest as she tried not to shiver in the freezing temperatures. She looked around the blurred, white scene, ignoring Serrith and A’und behind her. She was dead. That was the only explanation. When Serrith had taken off, she must have run into a wall or something and killed them all. She’d just passed through hell and now she stood at the center of the Abyss. This wasn’t snow (whatever that was) as A’und was shouting at her. This was death and Terra knew she was dead.
”It’s snow! For the last bloody time, I’m telling you this white stuff is snow!” A’und shouted in exasperation. He hated the cold as much as Terra and was quickly getting annoyed by Serrith’s complaints. The Warren was located almost exactly on the equator, making it the warmest point on Tris’Hath. Snow was a completely new experience to them. “Now just follow me and I’ll take you to the candidate barracks.” He turned to head in the direction vaguely close to the barracks, stopped as Serrith informed him that Terra was going the other way. “No! Bloody dwarf! This way!”
”We came from this direction and that’s the way I’m going.” Terra shouted back, lowering her head and starting to wade through the blanket of cold, white, Abyss stuff. Maybe if she went back the way they came, she could find her way out of death.
”Bloody hell!” A’und cried out in exasperation, balling his fists and kicking the snow into a flurry. The puffy white flakes danced through the air, mingling with the new flakes that tumbled constantly from the clouds above.
Just forget her. We’ve already got her registered with the Weyrwoman. She can’t get lost in a Weyrbowl. Serrith growled and lowered her shoulder to A’und. The rider continued to grumble for a few moments before yanking himself up to Serrith’s back and instructing her to go between.
Terra apparently didn’t hear them leave or didn’t care. Either way, she continued to trundle through the thick, white mass without any real direction. She supposed it didn’t matter either. The Abyss was endless, meaning she’d probably be stuck in this stuff forever. The snow was now nearly up to her waist. In a few minutes, she would be submerged beneath it and forced to stay there for eternity. She didn’t exactly understand why she was being punished in death. Maybe it was for trying to get the dwarves into the war.
Last time I try to do something worth while. Terra growled mentally. She shut her eyes tightly as the stinging cold whipped across her face. Frost formed on the edges of her hair and clothes, turning her lips a pale blue. Slowly though, Terra noticed a change in the temperature. The snow began to go down until she was only stomping over a few inches of it. A blast of warmth called tauntingly from up ahead. That has to be hell. She reasoned. Hell was hot and that inviting breeze could only mean that she was getting close. She shivered again and tried to pull her jacket tighter around her. Hell I can live with. Pondering if ‘live with’ was the proper term to use, Terra changed her course to match the waves of heat that periodically swept through the white expanse.
Suddenly, her feet stopped crunching over layers of snow and hit soft, warm sand. She blinked in surprise, staring down at the golden grains as they radiated warmth through her boots. Stomping her feet a few times to get the blood moving through her toes again, Terra looked up and around what she supposed was the gateway to hell. The cavern was fairly large, lit by an eerie glow from some baskets on the wall. The walls curved up from the entrance and formed many alcoves fit for dragons and lower shelves for human figures. At the far end of the cavern, far, far away from the cold, lay a multitude of white or mostly-white dragons. She couldn’t understand why dragons would be guarding hell but didn’t really think on it long.
Terra rubbed her chilled fingers against her arms quickly, feeling the heat penetrate right through her jacket and warm her blue flesh. The ice that had formed on her hair slowly began to melt and drip down her back.
Hello little one. Are you lost? A voice like the sun dancing off polish metal echoed through her mind. Terra shook her head and tried to focus on which ever dragon had spoken to her. A giant, silky golden-white queen returned her gaze with unfailing calm. She was by far the largest of the queenly mothers there and wrapped securely around her small collection of eggs.
”I was lookin’ for a way to get out of here but I guess this is fine.” Terra grumbled, walking towards the multitude of dragons. “Name’s Terra. I’m dead.”
The golden queen laughed quietly, lowering her massive head to the dwarf’s level. You’re not dead but I can understand why you think that. My name is Senorith. Do you come from the Warren?
”Aye. How’d you know?” She eyed the dragon suspiciously, standing a few feet away from the eggs. She had enough sense to know that no mother enjoys strangers around her babies.
I’m from there too. Come, I will warm you. It’s far too cold outside.
”It’s damned unnatural!” Terra grumbled, edging her way around the eggs and close to Senorith. The golden-white dragon open her foreclaws enough for Terra to snuggle warmly against her chest. When the dwarf was comfortable, Senorith twisted her sinuous neck around to peer down at her.
I agree. The Warren would never get this cold. No place on Tris’Hath could! Senorith snorted lightly to further her point.
”Aye. Now I’m stuck here for some candidacy thing. All I want is m’warm room and a solid forge hammer. I’d dance in a ball of flames if it means I don’t have to stand this cold!”
That would be an interesting sight. Senorith chuckled softly. Her eyes whirled a curious green and she studied Terra for a moment. I’ll tell you what, if you stay to impress one of my children, I will be sure get you a place working with Rugan at the forge when I go back. You would do well as a dragon rider, Terra.
”Ye think so, eh?” Terra glanced up at the queen while thoughts whirled in her mind.
I am a clutch mother. I know so. Senorith replied with a rumble of pride.
”Aye... well if you put it that way, I might as well.” Terra smirked, reaching up to pat Senorith’s muzzle gently. The giant queen purred at the loving touch and nudged Terra lightly.
Good. Until then, you and I can keep each other company. She settled her translucent wing over her eggs and blocked the cold from their minds as Terra began to recite the tale of her journey to the Warren.
Terra is a candidate at: Ryslen Weyr