Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1) Read online

  “Is it me or has this old mule gotten slower?” Elberon asked his friend.

  Ostinus rubbed the animal’s neck and turned to the priest. “She’ still gets the job done. No sense spending to get a new one.”

  “The faster we get to the mountain, the less likely we encounter unwanted visitors.” Elberon looked around the horizon. There was no one.

  “I know it’s foolish, but I feel like I could use a little action.” Ostinus rested his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  Ostinus Deenor was a fierce warrior. At twenty-three years of age he was hardened by an early life on the streets of Lunemire and time in the city army. He and his older brother were forced to provide for themselves in the poorest section of Lunemire when Ostinus was just thirteen due to the early death of their father, who had done his best to raise them. Their mother died while giving birth to Ostinus and their father fell victim to an unfortunate construction accident years later.

  The misfortune continued for young Ostinus. In his seventeenth year, his brother was killed by street thugs. He found himself alone with nothing of value and nowhere to turn, facing the bitter realities of life fending for himself. The only options were a malicious life of robbery and murder in the streets, or to commit to the army.

  Having experienced enough of the unforgiving street life with his brother, he chose to embark on a new endeavor and enrolled in the army. His ferocity earned him quite a reputation amongst his ranks and respect from commanding officers. He fought in a couple of large, important battles against nearby unruly tribes of orcs who aggressively would pillage the countryside near Lunemire. He also served at times alongside the city guard. Eventually though his lack of discipline and brash attitude made life in the army too difficult for the warrior to cope with and tough for the city’s leaders to tolerate. He butted heads with his captains on several occasions; however his reputation and feats as a soldier saved him from punishment by the authorities for not finishing his service. Normally, a problematic insubordinate soldier could face time in jail or even worse, exile; however they granted him a pardon and the option to live his life independent of the army, but always with the chance of being called to arms if the city required his services. And so he became a merchant with his friend of many years, Elberon Per Fiin.

  The pair of men had met in a peculiar way around the time that Ostinus’s father died. They were only just boys. Elberon was in a boarding school in Lunemire, while his family lived back in the nearby city of Rogsnelk. Fate had the two young teens walking near each other down a side street, minding their own business. What transpired would be the genesis of their friendship. Three desperate young men surrounded the unsuspecting Ostinus and Elberon, who did not yet know each other at all. The ruffians demanded the boys’ belongings. Ostinus had nothing and Elberon would not offer the little he had in his pocket. Their robbers did not appreciate the thought of leaving empty handed. Two of the assailants began to beat the boys; one used a chain and the other a small club. Ostinus and Elberon fought to stop their attackers but to no avail. They were viciously wounded by the blows. After the boys were bludgeoned to the ground and incapacitated the men drew small blades and intended to finish the job. But then, with a strike of fortune, the third man instructed them to stop. The two assailants looked back and yielded to the words “Let them go, spare their lives”. The assaulters obeyed their apparent leader and then vanished down a dark alley. The two scared and bloodied boys picked themselves up and then fled together never looking back. From that moment, when they were blessed by another’s mercy, they became the closest of friends as well as eventual successful business partners.

  The two companions were making good time on their trip. By the end of the first day they were a few miles beyond where they would normally camp and it appeared they would reach the mountains by mid-afternoon the next day. The two men and the mule, were, however, tired from their travels. Ostinus looked around the trail for an idea as to where to make camp. About one hundred yards away was a small hill that was wrapped on the far side by a stream. He led Elberon and the mule to the hill and noticed there were some small trees and vegetation beyond the stream. They had once stayed near this spot in the past.

  “The other side of that patch of trees should provide us some cover to make a fire and set camp.” Ostinus said to his friend. It was important to remain as out of site as possible during the night. A visible fire near the trail might invite unwanted guests. Elberon nodded in agreement and the group walked off. Camp was set up quickly and the fire started. Ostinus cooked, for both he and Elberon, a meal of some salted fish and vegetables he had brought along. After eating, he immediately prepared his bedroll and was soon asleep.

  Elberon sat on a small log, gazing into the fire. His eyes moved towards the sky and he focused on the stars. The sun was gone but he could feel the energy of Phelios as he recanted a few prayers of gratitude, which was part of his nightly routine. Returning his eyes to the fire, the priest pointed his finger to the flames. He moved his finger in small movements and the flames danced, following his lead. He pointed left and the flame moved that way, he curled his finger and the fire approached him.

  The priest of Phelios could not shake an uncomfortable feeling he had though. Something was pressing his mind, but he could not find the source. He looked within himself and let his mind reach out to his deity but could make no determinations. When he regained his focus the flames were pointing north, the direction they would travel to get to the Singrin Peaks. He stared at the fire and was perplexed at the odd cone shape it had taken. Then he brought his fingers in to create a clenched fist. He quickly opened his hand wide and the flame erupted to a small fireball and then returned to normal, crackling within the small stone pit. A smirk crossed his face.

  The priest put aside his anxieties and returned to a few prayers, finishing off his shift as look out while his close friend slept.

  ***

  The stocky dwarf could be heard running down the tunnel for fifty yards. He continued forward, ignoring the curious eyes form the dwarven warriors who lined the tunnel watching him pass by. By the time he reached his captain, he had very little breath to speak.

  “They’re…” he paused to take more breath.

  “Catch your breath boy.” The captain said calmly to the young dwarf, who stood hunched over with his hand on his knees.

  “The enemy march now, they are still far, but the bastards move quickly. A mix o’ goblins, and orcs from what me and me boys could see” the dwarven scout said, still drawing deep breaths. Many snickers followed from soldiers nearby. Since the beginning of time dwarves have despised goblins and orcs alike.

  “Can ya’ tell how many?” asked the captain.

  “No, it is hard to determine in the vast maze o tunnels, but there seem to be many.” As he finished his statement, the scout saw his captain put his hands on his waste and shift his weight between legs nervously.

  “Unbelievable.” Ibelgof shook his head and his thick braided beard waived from side to side.

  He was shocked that so many goblins and orcs around. Goblins were small and cowardly creatures that never caused a problem unless they emboldened by significant numbers. If there was a large pack of the creatures, they could be very aggressive. Normally they lived near forests or swamps and tried their best to stay in one place. Orcs on the other hand, wandered nomadically. There numbers were great, but they were scattered and often fought themselves more than others. The fact that there were so many orcs and goblins in the mountains, and especially together, confused the dwarven captain as much as it worried him.

  “We will be waitin’ for the scum. Bogo, are the troops ready to defend the side passages?” All eyes went towards Bogo, a dwarf clad in heavy plate armor and with a very long and frizzy beard. He was closer to five feet than four, which made him a large dwarf. His shoulders were wider than almost any human’s.

  “Aye, they wait for the enemy now, forty fine warriors, including Hurlon,” Bo
go said and smacked the shaft of his war hammer into his palm, anxious to get into some action. Many snapped their head at the mention of Hurlon, one of the finest warriors of the dwarven city. The forty warriors would go on sweeping missions in small side tunnels as the bulk of the force engaged in the main battlefield, which was strategically chosen by the dwarves. These were their mountains, and no one could know the tunnels as well as them.

  “And the ballista?” The captain spun to regard another of his kin to his left. This dwarf wore lighter armor and had a garish scar lining his right cheek.

  “All in place captain,” the dwarf said as he stepped forward. He was referring to large weapons that shot heavy spears, which were to be positioned at the rear of the dwarven defense on the battlefield. “And what of the oil traps sir?” The soldier asked as he pointed to many barrels of oil and grease that were stacked nearby. “Do we hurry and get ‘em out there to slow the first wave of attackers?”

  The captain stroked his braided beard for what seemed like an hour but was only really a few seconds. “No,” he began, “we will save those in case we must leave these tunnels and head back for more secure ground.” The statement lead to groans as the captain was clearly contemplating retreat options. “Enough o’ this banter” the captain raised his voice, quieting all around him. “Get your troops together and think of what we’re fightin’ for” he walked up the ranks of dwarven warriors in the tunnel, looking from left to right at the soldiers. All eyes followed him, some in admiration, some in excitement, and some fear.

  “These dogs got a surprise comin’ if they’re thinking to just walk in here and take the tunnels away from the likes of some angry dwarves!” The soldiers in the tunnel, eighty-five in all not including the forty already dispatched to the side tunnels, cheered at the proclamation.

  “Get your damn weapons ready me boys and lets show these fuckers how bad of a decision they made tryin’ for these mines, these tunnels…our tunnels!” with that he smashed the flat of his ax against his helmet, a blow that would have dropped nearly anyone, but the loud thump of metal didn’t faze the enraged dwarven leader, Ibelgof Opfs. In fact he walked on proudly as his troops cheered again and took up dwarven war songs.

  Chapter 3

  It was a few hours past dawn and the day was gorgeous with a light breeze. The temperature was several degrees cooler than the previous day but with the same amount of sunshine. Large puffy clouds occasionally drifted by lazily. The Singrin Peaks stood tall ahead of the two men and their cargo-carrying mule. Their path was direct up to the southwestern edge of the mountain range, which was their normal rendezvous point.

  As the companions approached they saw several dwarves standing on a flat edge of the mountain. The platform was not natural, but made by dwarves and was where the short folk typically met merchants that might travel from Lunemire or the other two cities by the South Sea. A smile took Ostinus’s face as he noted his dwarven business contact waiting for them, watching them approach. Tidor Stonesmasher had been working with Ostinus and Elberon since they got involved with the trade. They had developed a good friendship that went beyond their relations from trading.

  The smile slowly receded into a bewildered look as Ostinus saw that Tidor and several others were armed more than normal and several wore light armor.

  “Greetings,” called Elberon and he gave a slight wave.

  “Ah me favorite lads from Lunemire” Tidor Stonesmasher yelled out as if he had just noticed them. He began to approach the two men as they stepped onto the flat ledge. “No problems on the trip up?”

  “None,” said Ostinus as he reached his hand out. His hand clasped the burly dwarf’s and they pulled each other in chest-to-chest, which forced Ostinus to bend to the dwarf’s height. Tidor was an average height for a dwarf, standing at about four and a half feet tall. They gave each other a mighty double pat on the back. Elberon smiled at the dwarf and they too shared a similar embrace.

  “How’s that wonderful city o’ yours down there by the sea?” Tidor asked with a smile. He looped stubby thumbs under his suspenders and smiled. Tidor was an older dwarf; he had seen more than one hundred and twenty years. The dwarven folk could live well to around two hundred years old sometimes.

  “Things are well. Not much to complain about. And how are things in the mighty city of Orzalar?” Asked Elberon. To the surprise of the companions the dwarf took a step back onto his heals and turned with a serious expression to look at some of the other dwarves who stood behind him, who were armed and vigilant.

  “Not good,” Tidor said gruffly. Ostinus and Elberon exchanged confused stares. As if replying to their looks the broad shouldered dwarf continued, “Just some trouble in our tunnels. There’s been a bit of an uprising of some filthy creatures to the East.” The dwarf shook his head. “Effectin’ you boys as well. We been occupied with this…uhhh…problem and haven’t been able to focus on items for trade…we’re a bit short today…but don’t ya worry, we have some fine goods.” His beard bounced as he nodded as if he were trying to convince himself.

  “Whoa, wait a minute. Is this problem a sincere concern for your city?” Elberon looked towards the entrance to the mountain. “What are we talking about here? Surely goblin hordes or packs of other creatures emerging from holes in the mountains can’t be overwhelming for your tunnels?” Concern was evident in Elberon’s voice. He glanced at the top of the war hammer that crossed Tidor’s back. “And even here you remain armed? Tell me more of-”

  “I’m not for speakin’ of it at the moment.” The merchant’s tone was lined with enough anger that it shocked the humans. The dwarf must have realized his overreaction and looked to ground apologetically. “Listen, we’ll be fine, I prefer not to speak of it out here. I’ll tell ya’ soon enough. There’s nothing we can do by talking about it now. Let’s get to business, then I’ll fill ya’ in…in detail. Come on this way.”

  The humans remained alarmed but pulled the mule near, headed closer to the mountain and unloaded their cargo. The dwarves indeed had less to trade than normal. Much less. Luckily, the dwarves bought (or bartered) all the goods that Ostinus and Elberon had brought from Lunemire. The companions were able to fill about three quarters of their orders, but some items were just not available. They would simply have to explain the circumstances to their clients in Lunemire. Certainly, this would hurt their profits, but business is not always predictable.

  Once the goods and money exchanged hands the friends stood and spoke some small talk. It could only last so long. The desire for more detail about the dwarves’ troubles was too much for the humans to ignore.

  “Tidor,” Ostinus began just above a whisper as the three were many paces from the other dwarves, “we don’t mean to intrude on your business, but I have some trepidations. I’m concerned as a trade partner, as a resident of a not too far away city and as your friend. I can tell something is not right. You and your kin seem very… on edge.” Ostinus glanced to the other dwarves who could not hear him speaking. There was no denying they looked uneasy. The dwarf shook his head, his curly brown locks and reddish beard bouncing.

  “Yes, we must talk lads.” Tidor spoke softly, “About two weeks ago in some tunnels to the east, we encountered a small band o’ monsters. I believe it was a couple smelly ogres and an orc. This was no ordinary visit where we would run the vermin out of town. They came with standards…did you hear that? Flags, as if they were diplomats. Can ya’ believe it?” He raised and voice, shook his head and kicked a stone, sending it bouncing off the ledge. Elberon and Ostinus stood waiting for the dwarf to continue. Encounters with orcs, goblins and even ogres were quite common in the world around the cities of Lunemire, Rogsnelk and Abellard. Thousands of the creatures roamed the lands south of the central plains, which stretched across the land like a belt. North of the plains was the vast Sadic Empire, which was far too powerful and intolerant for races deemed inferior such as orcs and goblins. This pushed the creatures south, beyond the plains, where they had plenty
of land on which to wander and live. Even with expansive terrain, many of these creatures and their tribes preferred subterranean lairs. This lead them to the several mountain ranges south of the plains, including the largest which was the Singrin Peaks, where they would not be welcome by the long time resident dwarves.

  “Turns out they claimed they were representatives for a power to the east. Bah!” He spat on the floor and the humans exchanged troubled looks, as it was evident that the scenario really bothered their friend. “Bein’ civilized folks we cautiously let them speak with some o’ our nobles. The dogs mentioned that they wanted peace. Then in the next breath they said our control of the mines in the east was a chokehold on the resources o’ the mountain,” the dwarf laughed thinking the statement absurd.

  “What then?” Asked Elberon. The question brought an angry look from the bearded dwarf.

  “What then? A chokehold? Someone oughta’ have put each of sons o’ bitches in a chokehold right then and there. We told em’ that we been mining those tunnels for more years than can be remembered and we’re going to keep doin’ so.” He puffed his chest with dwarven pride and adjusted his suspenders. “The bastards have been attacking ever since.” His face scrunched in anger and disgust as the nostrils on his roundish nose flared.