Echoes of Harmony

War Council Chamber

Druthagon Orbit

12 Malmir’s Scourge, Fifth Year of the Fifth Temper of Runeflayer

“They’re expanding closer to our territory again, High King,” said Astral Lord Thegnik Thunderbane. The jewels decorating his black and gray beard swayed back and forth as he slammed a hand against his desk. A screech went out as one of the rings on his fingers scraped against the metal. “We cannot tolerate this any longer. Soon, they will be back on our doorstep, trying once more to foolishly conquer us. How many brothers and sisters will we lose this time before we remove these vermin?”

Humming in the center of the room was a holoprojector built into a recess in the floor. A slowly rotating projection showed the galactic core and nearby surrounding tendrils of the Shattered Veins, or what the humans referred to as the Milky Way Galaxy. A mass of blue surrounded the majority of the core, illustrating the expanse of the mighty Druthagar Kingdom. Near one corner was the tail end of a red blob showing where the pitiful Hyperion Empire made their newest acquisition. A system they referred to as Draconis, with the planet of Stariek. It sat just over twenty light years from the border of the Druthagar, the closest the Hyperions dared expand in the decade since their last unsuccessful attempt at conquest.

The sides of the room were made of metal, as was the floor. Runes, carved in carefully flowing sentences in Druthagon, ran across the walls. They gently pulsated in color, changing between blue and red in an even cadence. Fully armored Dwarves stood between the pillars of runes like statues. They each held a glaive made of mithril, their blades designed to pierce through the thickest defenses. The Oathbound Phalanx stood guard wherever the High King sat.

In front of the projector were individual desks, twelve in total. Each was made of the finest granite from Druthagon itself, procured before the world became a desolate wasteland good for nothing more than smelting ore. Six went down either sides of an aisle facing each other. At the opposite end from the projector, a carved stone throne sat on a plinth, the metal sides etched with the ascendancy of the first Dwarven King.

Behind each of the twelve desks was one of the military leaders of the Druthagar, the Astral Lords who strategized and led war bands to victory in their endeavors. All were males, most older with long beards in varying states of gray, some of which came down to their navel. Jewels threaded into the tresses sparkled in the light like kaleidoscopes and jingled as the strands swayed. Each wore ornate, if rather plain, robes of dark blues and greens that came down to their ankles. Dwarven-made mithril breastplates protected their chests without being burdensome.

Sitting in the throne on the plinth was a younger dwarf. On his right was a finely crafted mithril war hammer, its head engraved with his family’s crest, a hammer and anvil surrounded by stars. To his left was a shield with the symbol of the Druthagar, a helmet wreathed by a nebula. His beard, still holding its youthful brown, was tied into three long braids that came to a rest just above his waist. Dozens of jewels from diamonds to rubies decorated the strands with careful precision. A crown formed of gold and silver in interlacing curves rested atop his head.

His robes were a brilliant gold, matching that of the crown, with strands of mithril infused with ruby dust threaded into them. A pair of intricately carved armbands matched his own breastplate, which was decorated with a scene similar to that emblazoned on the plinth. His fingers, each of which carried a ring with a large gemstone, tapped against the arm of his throne as he looked Thegnik Thunderbane in the eye.

“And what do you propose, Thunderbane?” High King Arazec Runeflayer, fourth of his name, said. He carefully kept the impatience he felt whenever the astral lord spoke out of his voice.

“An axe between the eyes of their ruler is never a bad choice!” shouted one of the other astral lords, Rakgrael Metalbreaker, before Thegnik had a chance to respond. Some of the others muttered their agreements, banging their fists on their desks. The clinking of metal on metal from their rings and other jewelry echoed in the chamber.

Thegnik, however, shook his head and grunted his disapproval.

“That will do nothing but embolden them further. If someone planted an axe in our High King’s head, would we not be chomping at the bit for vengeance?” He nodded towards Arazec, who narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard. “No, we must do something that will strike fear into their hearts and keep them from wanting to come any closer to us. Their Seventh Fleet is still stationed in the Draconis system. This gives us the ideal opportunity to strike a blow that will deal them a grievous wound. One they will not easily recover from. We must send the Mithril Hammer.”

Arazec allowed his eyes to widen slightly at the statement before hiding the expression. It was not the proper syntax for such an act. Rather than being the declaration it was designed to be, it was said as a simple sentence. Without saying it the correct way, he was under no obligation to listen to the astral lord. If he did not correct himself, he was leaving the decision up to the High King, a subtle nod to allow him to make the declaration if he so desired.

“It has been ten years since the last attack by the Hyperion Empire on our interests,” Arazec said, leaning back in his throne. “Since the thrashing we gave them under the leadership of my father, they have not returned. Do we have reason to believe they may be planning an attack?”

“Not as of yet, my king,” Duringol Stronghelm said. “But would it not be better to strike a decisive blow first and prevent them from striking our anvil as they please?”

“It may be, but how many of our brothers and sisters will die for what may be a pointless endeavor?”

“As many as necessary, my king,” Stronghelm replied. “They all know what it means to die in honor of our kingdom. Their souls will be remembered in the Halls of Movrim.”

“I grow weary of these games,” said a new voice, that of Astral Lord Thaseas Shadowbrand. The dwarf wore a blood red stole over his shoulders, indicating him as the leader of the Blacksword faction, those in charge of the majority of the Druthagar fleet. He stood and marched to the center of the room, looking each of the other astral lords in the eye before staring up at the throne. “The rest of you may be too cowardly to say it, but I am not. By the blaze of the forge and the blood of the mountain, dispatch the Mithril Hammer to our quarry.”

His voice grew louder towards the end of the declaration, invoking the ancient rite. The runes around the room suddenly blazed white, sealing the words of the astral lord into the very being of the chamber. Arazec felt his chest constrict as the ritual bound him to the course of action declared by Thaseas. Though he never felt it before, part of him swore the room gripped him tighter after not having been invoked in centuries.

Now, the High King had only two options, which is to say, he had one: Send the Mithril Hammer, or die. Normally, facing death was a honor. When breaking an ancient oath, however, it meant being denied access to the Halls of Movrim and being condemned to the Tunnels of Krokir, where he would have to mine for eternity. The choice was simple one.

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“By the unyielding strength of the anvil and the eternal power of the hammer,” Arazec muttered, almost on autopilot, “may our quarry crumble before our mountain-forged might.”

With the response out of the way, and Thaseas suitably stunned into silence, there were other matters to attend to when the rite was invoked. He turned to Astral Lord Belin Forgebellow, ruler of the most powerful smithing guilds in the kingdom. The dwarf was middle-aged with a brown beard braided into three thick strands that separated before coming back together.

“Belin, prepare the Mithril Hammer as per the old customs. Once it’s ready, send it to Void Warden Braken Platecrusher with instructions of explaining the purpose to the Hyperions.”

Belin bowed his head in acceptance of his charge.

“My king,” Thaseas said, his voice grinding out the words. He sneered at the younger dwarf on the throne. “I do not believe the ritual dictates giving instructions to our enemy.”

“No, it does not.” Arazec returned Thaseas’ gaze with the same intensity he received. “But neither does it forbid it. The Mithril Hammer has not been used in over a thousand years, and it has only been given to other dwarves who understood the tradition. It is dishonorable to not allow them a chance to respond appropriately.”

“It is dishonorable to defile our most ancient traditions!” Thaseas roared, his voice echoing in the chamber. Arazec did not flinch at the noise as many others might have done—and did, as he glanced at the other astral lords in time to see them recoil. “If they do not know what to do with the Hammer when it arrives, then it is their own fault. They should rise or fall on their own merit.”

“Apparently, the ritual feels differently,” Arazec said. He kept his voice soft but strong, ensuring each word filled the room without needing to yell. “Otherwise, it would have struck me down when I gave the order. This council is dismissed.”

Without another word, Thaseas stormed from the room. The others followed, though not before bowing to High King Arazec Runeflayer. With the press of a button, the projector turned off and its hum dissipated. He stroked his beard thoughtfully in the sudden quiet of the room. Deep down, he believed attacking the Hyperions to be folly. The previous wars between the two powers left nothing but pointless death and destruction in their wakes. Hopefully, they would make the right decision and keep the hammer.

#

“He has gone too far!” Thaseas Shadowbrand bellowed once in the sanctity of his private offices. He took one of three rune-covered axes from his desk and threw it at the wall, where it embedded itself in the metal. It vibrated for a moment before coming to a rest.

The room was rather small and square, measuring about four meters to a side. It consisted of a ornate, marble desk in the center of the room with five stone chairs. One sat behind the desk facing the door and had a blood red cloth draped over the center of the back. The other four were in a line in front of the desk, their backs covered with a white fabric. In the center of the wall behind the desk was a mithril vault a meter wide and tall with a keyhole in the center and an iron hinge at the top.

Astral Lords Thegnik Thunderbane, Rakgrael Metalbreaker, and Khundrotum Mountainbender joined him, sitting in the stone chairs across from Thaseas’ desk. They didn’t flinch at Thaseas’ outburst, too accustomed as they were to the astral lord’s temper. Rakgrael snarled and reached for one of the other axes on the desk. A look from Thaseas, however, caused him to withdraw his empty hand.

“What would you propose, Shadowbrand?” Thegnik asked, folding his hands in his lap. “The High King has done exactly as the ancient customs dictate. Though we see them as less than orthodox, it is hardly surprising when you consider who he has descended from.”

“How did we reach this point?” Rakgrael snarled. He rapped his hand against the desk to emphasize his point. “We used to have a strong bloodline in control of the Astral Throne. Now, our last five High Kings have been weak, capable of nothing more than barely maintaining the status quo.”

“Calm, Rakgrael,” Thaseas murmured. Perhaps letting his temper out as he did was a poor choice. It set the wrong expectations for this meeting, which he intended to be more productive than that. “What I propose, Thunderbane, is to invoke the Nurathim.”

“Single combat?” Khundrotum scoffed and shifted in his seat, pointedly looking away from Thaseas as he shook his head. “Arazec may be young, but he’s the strongest fighter in a dozen generations. It’s foolish to challenge him as such.”

“Not so, Mountainbender.”

Thaseas smiled and stood, turning his back to the rest of them as he started to open the vault with a key produced from a pocket of his robes. Typically, such a gesture would be considered the epitome of disrespect. However, that was only if they were to call him out on it; Thaseas knew none of them would dare.

The vault held mostly finely polished ingots of gold and silver cast thousands of years ago, but those were not what he was after. In two separate pieces was an axe the forgemasters created for the Shadowbrand family hundreds of years ago. The silver head was made of a steel and mithril alloy, constructed to be nearly indestructible in combat. As for the haft, it was made of a metal-infused wood carved with runes said to protect the wielder.

Thaseas grabbed the parts and fitted them together, the first in his family to ever do so. They combined with satisfying ease, seeming to thrum as they were united. He turned to the others and showed them the axe.

“With this, he will not be able to defeat me.” Thaseas allowed a sardonic grin to cross his lips. “With this, I can challenge him to the Nurathim and claim the Astral Throne as my own.”

The others looked warily between one another, and Thaseas knew exactly what they were thinking. They were worried. No, worried was not the right word. They were afraid. Afraid of upsetting the status quo, afraid of daring to aspire to more than the meaninglessness of their current lives. However, it was Thegnik Thunderbane who broke the silence that seemed to stretch on for hours.

“Thaseas, you know that in order to invoke the Nurathim, you need the backing of half the astral lords.” He folded his hands in his lap and took a deep breath. “How do you intend on achieving that?”

“The Shadowbrands have built up many favors over the years.” Thaseas stroked the flat of the blade with one of his thick fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. It most definitely was a beautiful weapon. “Perhaps it is time to call those in.”

“This is foolishness,” Khundrotum said, shaking his head. “If you challenge the High King to single combat, it will show our adversaries that we are weak and divided. Now is not the time to issue the Nurathim. Wait until we have a more solid footing in the galaxy.”

“It sounds to me like you are a coward, Mountainbender,” Thaseas said, smiling at the other dwarf.

Khundrotum was on his feet in less than a second, toppling his chair backwards. It hit the ground with a solid thud, chipping one of the top corners and sending stone dust across the floor. He gave Thaseas a murderous look, though Khundrotum made no move towards him.

“No one calls a Mountainbender a coward, Shadowbrand.” Khundrotum made for the door, pointing his finger at Thaseas. “And you can forget about getting me to support your tyrannical goals.”

The door opened as he approached with a hiss and shut behind him, removing him from view. Thaseas watched as he went, a frown creasing his lips. If others shared Mountainbender’s view, it would be more difficult than he expected for him to seize power. Finally, he turned to the other two, Thegnik Thunderbane and Rakgrael Metalbreaker.

“Can I count on both of you to support me in this endeavor?” Thaseas glared at them, keeping his head bowed even as his eyes focused on them. Neither said anything at first, and he continued, “I promise you both will receive high positions in my government for your support now. Later, I may not be so generous.”

The two looked at each other for a moment, as if they could read each other’s minds. Then, Thunderbane turned back to Thaseas and nodded. Metalbreaker followed suit at once.

“We have to rid ourselves of weakness, wherever it appears in our kingdom.” Thaseas stood and grabbed hold of the two remaining axes on his desk, one in each hand. Walking around, he stood between them and held out the weapons, which they promptly took. “By silver and by iron, I swear you will both receive a position of honor when I have won the Astral Throne through the Nurathim. Now, you may go. I have some difficulties to work out.”

The pair stood, bowed slightly, and left the room. Thaseas returned to his seat, silently stewing. He had not expected Mountainbender to react in such a manner. If he could not find a way to get that particular astral lord on his side, it would be more difficult to convince the others. Thunderbane and Metalbreaker were the easy ones. Now, he had his work cut out for him. But no one ever called a Shadowbrand a quitter.

With the thought, he set to work writing a letter to his benefactor. He had never met him—while he did not know his benefactor’s true gender, he assumed them to be male—but Thaseas knew he would want to hear about the day’s developments. After all, most of it had been his doing. He deserved the recognition for it.

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