Echoes of Harmony

War Council Chamber

Druthagon Orbit

5 Nassmura’s Crusade, 6th Year of the Fifth Temper of Runeflayer

High King Arazec Runeflayer sat in his typical throne within the war chamber. He ran a finger over the surface of the arm, feeling each individual groove of the stone. A few dozen meters ahead of him, the holoprojector displayed an image of the Druthagar-Hyperion border. Each of their own fleets were marked in blue. The known positions, as well as the hypothesized ones, of the Hyperions were marked in red.

The war meeting was supposed to start half an hour ago, yet over half the astral lords were missing without an explanation for their tardiness. Such an act of disrespect was unheard of. Even during times of near civil war, the War Council met without fail. Doing otherwise was dishonorable.

Just as he was about to send a message ordering their appearance, the doors at the far end slammed open.

Thaseas Shadowbrand was at the front of the group of missing astral lords. In one hand was a silver-headed axe. Arazec narrowed his eyes on it, noting the runes that danced along the wooden haft. They seemed to sense the power of the chamber. Each pulsated in time with the ones etched into the walls.

Behind him, Arazec heard the Oathbound Phalanx guards moving forward to intercept the astral lord. As was their duty. But, the High King made a gesture that told them to stand down, and they acquiesced immediately.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arazec asked. His voice was quiet but carried across the chamber. The other astral lords stopped, but Thaseas kept moving forward. “What do you think you’re doing, Shadowbrand?”

“Something that should have been done a long time ago.” Thaseas stopped and slammed his axe perpendicularly into the ground in front of him, resting his hands on the pommel. The runes, both on the haft and on the walls, faded to white. “I will give you one chance, child. Give up the throne, or I will take it by force.”

Arazec’s nostrils flared at the insult. His fingers dug into the stone arms of the throne. He tried to control his breathing, but the smile on Thaseas’ face showed he let his emotion slip through.

“If you wish to claim the throne, Shadowbrand, you will need to invoke the Nurathim.” His eyes flickered to each of the astral lords behind Thaseas. “What has he promised you? False guarantees of power? Of wealth? Each of you knows Shadowbrand is nothing more than a snake, willing to protect no one but himself. By blood and by gold, I swear I will harbor no ill will towards any of you if you back down now.”

“Your time here is up, coward,” Rakgrael Metalbreaker hissed. The dwarf brandished his own axe, finely crafted from silver, and pointed it at Arazec. “You have lead us down this path of self destruction long enough.”

“I thought you were better than this, Metalbreaker. Our fathers served closely together until mine’s unexpected passing. Do you truly wish to throw that away for a madman’s delusion of grandeur?”

“The only mad one here is you, Runeflayer,” Thaseas muttered. He turned the axe so it one head was facing each of them. “I will give you one final chance. Give up now, and I shall let you live. Otherwise, the Nurathim shall commence.”

“If you wish to challenge me to single combat, Thaseas, then you have to say the ancient oath.” Arazec smirked and shook his head. “I assumed you knew better than that.”

Thaseas growled. His grip tightened around the haft of his axe, causing the veins in his forearm to bulge. He looked back at his entourage, his eyes flicking between each of them. For a moment, Arazec thought he would back down. Only for a moment though. Then, he spoke.

“In the heart of this ancestral stronghold forged by blood and iron, where the echoes of the past linger, I call upon Movrim and Krokir, upon Khegnir and Bolraeg, to bear witness to this Nurathim.” As Thaseas said the words, the runes around the room brightened. The blinding white washed over them. Arazec did his best to remain impassive, though he felt his eyes squint slightly against the blaze. Thaseas snarled at Arazec before finishing the challenge. “Let the din of our weapons echo through this chamber as we determine the true ruler of the Druthagar.”

The runes flashed and dimmed, fading away once more. High King Arazec Runeflayer felt his chest constrict as the room bound him to the ancient rite. There would be no backing down now. If he did so, just as if he refused to send the Mithril Hammer, he would be struck down and sent to the Tunnels of Krokir. That was not a fate he was willing to accept. It was one no dwarf freely chose.

“Very well.” Arazec stood and stretched his arms. He grabbed his war hammer from its position next to his throne, turning it over in his hands. The familiar weight settled easily into his grip. There was no designated response to the challenge. Instead, it was up to the challenged to respond how they saw fit. “If you wish to do battle, then battle we shall. Before we begin, though, I must admit I am appalled at the lack of honor you have displayed thus far, Shadowbrand. To challenge the High King in the middle of a war is unheard of. It is foolish. It does nothing but display to our enemy that we are fractured, weak, easily divided. You seek nothing but your own power, your own personal glory, rather than that of our people. It makes me sick.”

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Thaseas grinned but said nothing in reply. Instead, he hefted his axe, holding it in both his hands as he readied himself to charge. Arazec reached to the other side of the throne and grabbed his mithril shield. It easily attached to his wrist, the straps tightening into place by themselves. He looked at the nebula on the front of it before uttering a prayer to Movrim.

“Let us begin.”

Arazec readied himself. At least, he thought he did. The force of Thaseas slamming into him nearly sent him sprawling to the ground. His axe crashed against the shield. A metallic screech echoed in the chamber. When Shadowbrand pulled away, a deep groove remained in the shield’s front. Arazec’s arm throbbed from the intensity of the blow.

He quickly recovered himself, aiming his hammer for Thaseas’ midsection. The swing made contact with the other dwarf’s side. A grunt of pain followed the impact. Arazec looked up, however, to see a sardonic smile on his face.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Thaseas slashed down with his axe. Arazec brought his shield up to block the blow. It dug deep into the metal. With a tug, Thaseas pulled the axe free, bringing it back around. Ducking down, Arazec jabbed out with his hammer. It cracked against Thaseas’ knees. He staggered. Only the aid of his axe kept him from collapsing.

“It’s not too late to give up, Thaseas.” Arazec backed away and circled the other dwarf. He scolded himself for the way he was already breathing heavily. It had been too long since his last duel. “I swear to you, by punishment of death, that I will not hold any grudge against you.”

Thaseas glared at him, and Arazec wished he could read minds. That notion quickly faded. Thaseas pushed himself up and lunged at the High King. His axe flashed. Arazec barely brought his shield up in time. The weapon sliced through his weakened guard. Two halves of mithril fell to the ground with a clatter.

Arazec threw himself backwards. The force against his shield aided his escape. He glanced down and saw the mangled shield at Thaseas’ feet. The dwarf kicked them away, sending them sailing across the room. Khundrotum Mountainbender ducked to the side to avoid being hit by them.

“You are not fit to be king,” Thaseas whispered. His soft voice still carried to each corner of the room. The runes seemed to pulsate in time with his words. He gripped his axe with both hands as he neared. “You are barely fit to be squished beneath my boot like vermin.”

Arazec brought his war hammer up just in time to deflect the axe swing to the side. Metal screeched. Sparks flew through the air. He brought the opposite end of the hammer up and smashed it into Thaseas’ head. His nose shattered under the impact. He staggered backwards, groaning and massaging his face. Arazec moved forward, wildly swinging his hammer with a yell. A grin spread to the corners of his lips. If he could press his advantage, he could end this.

Thaseas quickly recovered, sidestepping the attack. With barely a grunt of exertion, he brought his axe down and towards Arazec’s left hand. The runes across the blade shimmered and glowed. He couldn’t pull away in time. It cut clean through. Arazec screamed in anguish as he recoiled. His hammer clattered to the ground. His crown slipped from his head as he threw himself backwards. He could barely see through the pain. He collapsed to his knees, holding his stump as blood streamed through his fingers. His eyes could hardly believe the appendage was missing. A surge of panic ran through his body.

He looked up in time to see Thaseas looming over him. The sneer on the older dwarf’s face was nothing short of frightening. He felt like a child looking up at his father.

“This is your High King!” Thaseas roared with a swift kick into Arazec’s side. He grunted in pain. Though it was nothing compared to what he felt where his hand used to be, it was no use holding it in. Tears stung his eyes and freely streamed down his cheeks. “This is the dwarf you want to follow.”

Another kick slammed into him, harder than the last. Arazec toppled to the ground. He rolled away from Thaseas. His vision was blurred. Blood coated his chest and the ground. His one good hand groped for his discarded war hammer. His fingers scratched at the metal floor. Just as they wrapped around the haft, a boot slammed down onto them. He screamed in pain. His face contorted. Thaseas laughed.

“This kitten cannot even protect himself. How do you expect him to protect any of you?” Arazec looked up to see Thaseas pointing with his axe between the astral lords. He tugged his hand free and slammed it against the thick boot of his would-be killer to no effect. His breathing came hard and fast as he exerted himself. The usurper looked down at the High King and sneered. “You will lead us nowhere but to our destruction. I, on the other hand, will return us to greatness.”

A rough hand gripped Arazec’s hair, pulling him up. He was dragged to the center of the room. Jewelry and gems fell to the ground, coating the ground in his wake. His protests were met with rough shakes and laughter. Thaseas tilted Arazec’s head back, exposing his neck. He placed the blade of his axe against his jugular vein. The cold metal sent a chill down his spine. At least, he assumed it was the metal. Part of him hoped it wasn’t fear. He knew what was coming. Even if the Nurathim hadn’t been invoked in countless centuries, he knew of it. Arazec would hate for his last memory to be fear of death. Such a notion was inconceivable. So, he laughed.

“Is there something funny, your highness?” Thaseas whispered into Arazec’s ear. “Am I amusing you?”

“You speak of honor, of glory, of protection.” Arazec spoke loud enough for all the astral lords to hear him. Never let it be said I was a coward. “You speak of destruction and greatness. Yet you understand none of these terms. You understand only hate and anger. The destruction you speak of will be nothing but your own creation. And it is for that reason I will be honored among the dead in the Halls of Movrim, and you will find yourself nowhere but crawling through the Tunnels of Krokir.”

Arazec held up his remaining little finger, showing it to Thaseas.

“I have more honor in this single digit than you could possibly hope to have in a thousand lifetimes.”

The hand holding his head tightly in place shook. In fact, the grip tightened. Thaseas’ breathing came faster as he snarled. The axe pressed against his throat harder. A bead of blood streamed down his neck. Arazec knew it was coming. He thought he was ready. His accelerating heart rate said otherwise. Regardless, he smiled.

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