through the open section of the city. They drew stares, led as they were like prisoners, but were allowed to pass quickly through the massive stone doors that led into the mountain itself with no more than a wave from Gollos to the guards posted there.
The main hall was dimly lit by torches set against the four rows of columns that rose toward the darkened ceiling, meeting it somewhere beyond their ability to see. A wide, red and gold carpet made its way straight across the hall to another door, this one of heavy wood framed in a stone arch. The side walls were decorated with huge, colorful banners that hung between smaller stone doors leading to other rooms and passageways. Four large stairways of stone wound upward against the outer walls, giving access to higher levels and to the ramparts overlooking the outer city.
The dwarves marched forward without pause or comment, directly across the carpet to the door opposite, which swing open at their approach.
“The king welcomes you,” said a red-haired dwarf in a voice that held no warmth and little welcome. He did not spare so much as a glance at Tala or Lucien. Apparently the king and his servants were already aware of the group that had come calling.
As they entered the king’s throne room, the guards took up positions against the rear wall while the red-haired dwarf led the visitors forward.
The throne room had the same high ceiling as the outer hall, and the red and gold carpet continued on through the room and up the three steps to a stone throne. Upon the throne sat Meldros, whose aged face and head were covered with a luxurious mustache, beard, and mane of hair that had begun to turn from coal black to silver at the fringes. He leaned back as if tired, his forearms resting motionless on the hard arms of the throne, but his keen brown eyes were sharp and quick.
“Welcome to my hall,” said the king with an amiable wave of his hand. “My hospitality is extended to you.”
“Thank you, King Meldros. I am Rowan, of Delving. I travel with Demetrius and Corson of Corindor, Tala, of the Eastern Forest, and Lucien of the Kabrinda Pack.”
“I have never seen such a group in all my long years,” said the king in a neutral way. “Surely you must have an interesting tale to tell about how you came to be together.”
“We seek the same goal, and fate has brought us together—”
“Fate? I see you wear the sign of the Savior. I thought those such as you did not believe in fate.”
“Regardless of what it is called, be it chance or a guiding hand, something beyond our own plans has brought us together. ‘Fate’ is one term that can be used. There are others, as you know.”
“Very well,” said the king with a dismissive wave. “I am told you wish safe passage through my lands. For what purpose?”
“We battle Solek.”
“As do most in the world. But that is not the reason for your request. You can battle Solek’s forces in your own lands.”
“Might we speak in private, your majesty?”
The king stared at Rowan for a moment, studying him, then said, “Guards, wait outside.”
“But, your highness—” the red-haired dwarf protested. He was stopped cold by a simple raised finger from the king.
“You may stay, Beldring. But the guards will now obey my command.” The guards took this cue and filed out quickly.
“We are as alone as I will allow us to be,” the king said to Rowan.
Rowan cleared his throat and went on. “We are attempting to gather the pieces of the Soul Sphere.”
The king barked out a short, harsh laugh. “The stuff of legend. Is that your only hope to defeat Solek? If so, you may as well yield to him now. Strong arms and heavy blades are the answer to his army, not magic and myth.”
“We have seen the results of Solek’s magic,” said Tala, “or should I say the Dark One’s. It is real and far more powerful than any weapon.”
“It has not given him the courage to assault this fortress,” the king
The main hall was dimly lit by torches set against the four rows of columns that rose toward the darkened ceiling, meeting it somewhere beyond their ability to see. A wide, red and gold carpet made its way straight across the hall to another door, this one of heavy wood framed in a stone arch. The side walls were decorated with huge, colorful banners that hung between smaller stone doors leading to other rooms and passageways. Four large stairways of stone wound upward against the outer walls, giving access to higher levels and to the ramparts overlooking the outer city.
The dwarves marched forward without pause or comment, directly across the carpet to the door opposite, which swing open at their approach.
“The king welcomes you,” said a red-haired dwarf in a voice that held no warmth and little welcome. He did not spare so much as a glance at Tala or Lucien. Apparently the king and his servants were already aware of the group that had come calling.
As they entered the king’s throne room, the guards took up positions against the rear wall while the red-haired dwarf led the visitors forward.
The throne room had the same high ceiling as the outer hall, and the red and gold carpet continued on through the room and up the three steps to a stone throne. Upon the throne sat Meldros, whose aged face and head were covered with a luxurious mustache, beard, and mane of hair that had begun to turn from coal black to silver at the fringes. He leaned back as if tired, his forearms resting motionless on the hard arms of the throne, but his keen brown eyes were sharp and quick.
“Welcome to my hall,” said the king with an amiable wave of his hand. “My hospitality is extended to you.”
“Thank you, King Meldros. I am Rowan, of Delving. I travel with Demetrius and Corson of Corindor, Tala, of the Eastern Forest, and Lucien of the Kabrinda Pack.”
“I have never seen such a group in all my long years,” said the king in a neutral way. “Surely you must have an interesting tale to tell about how you came to be together.”
“We seek the same goal, and fate has brought us together—”
“Fate? I see you wear the sign of the Savior. I thought those such as you did not believe in fate.”
“Regardless of what it is called, be it chance or a guiding hand, something beyond our own plans has brought us together. ‘Fate’ is one term that can be used. There are others, as you know.”
“Very well,” said the king with a dismissive wave. “I am told you wish safe passage through my lands. For what purpose?”
“We battle Solek.”
“As do most in the world. But that is not the reason for your request. You can battle Solek’s forces in your own lands.”
“Might we speak in private, your majesty?”
The king stared at Rowan for a moment, studying him, then said, “Guards, wait outside.”
“But, your highness—” the red-haired dwarf protested. He was stopped cold by a simple raised finger from the king.
“You may stay, Beldring. But the guards will now obey my command.” The guards took this cue and filed out quickly.
“We are as alone as I will allow us to be,” the king said to Rowan.
Rowan cleared his throat and went on. “We are attempting to gather the pieces of the Soul Sphere.”
The king barked out a short, harsh laugh. “The stuff of legend. Is that your only hope to defeat Solek? If so, you may as well yield to him now. Strong arms and heavy blades are the answer to his army, not magic and myth.”
“We have seen the results of Solek’s magic,” said Tala, “or should I say the Dark One’s. It is real and far more powerful than any weapon.”
“It has not given him the courage to assault this fortress,” the king
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