Iron Promises (The Alterra Histories) Read online

  Iron Promises

  A Tale Of Alterra, The World That Is

  BY

  C. S. Marks

  Cover Art by Hope Hoover

  Cover design by Nancy Roberts

  Iron Promises

  Copyright © 2014 by C. S. Marks, Iron Elf, LLC

  The characters and events this book are entirely fictional. No similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions in this book with those of any living or dead person or institutions is intended, and any such similarity which may exist is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photo-copying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Published by Parthian Press, all rights reserved

  ParthianPress.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9912351-6-2

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  Chapter 1

  Kino, Lord of the Grey-mountain Clan, sat heavily in the great oaken chair in his private chamber, his downcast eyes reflecting the bitterness in his heart. He fingered the long strands of his snowy beard, the coarse waves caressing his hand as would an old friend, or a loving parent. But my son is dead…

  Kino had many sons, but Noli had been first in his heart. Wonderful, stubborn Noli. Kino had seen himself clearly in his eldest son, the one destined to rule after him. So clearly, in fact, that it was almost embarrassing sometimes. He was just like me when I was his age…just as pig-headed and strong-willed. But now the strength was leaving Kino. He had no daughters; that might have been too much to hope for. He had other sons, but he had rarely paid attention to them. He had known all along that Noli would be the one. He had known it from the first sight of him. Now that hope was gone.

  He drew a deep, shuddering sigh, trying not to weep again, concentrating instead on his magnificent beard. Was it growing thin? The Dwarves of Rûmm did not tear their beards like those of the Deep-caverns…not since the grief wrought by the War of Betrayal had turned to hate. Kino had not witnessed that terrible conflict, as it had happened long before he was born, but his ancestors had. They had kept the hatred alive, telling the tale through the generations, passed from father to son. Like his father, Kino had learned to hate Elves…but now the hatred was real. It had been brought home. Kino would never tear his beard because of an Elf.

  His cousin Nimo had brought back Noli’s body, cloven by an Elven blade, and told him the tale. Some She-elf had murdered him, no doubt creeping up on him in the dark. He would have been far too formidable in a real fight. They are cowards, every one of them! He had looked into the stony grey face of his eldest son, turning aside the soft velvet covering to reveal the terrible wounds beneath.

  Now, in his chamber, Kino’s old, gnarled hands began to tremble. An Elf named Gaelen had done this. If he ever found her, he would find a way to throttle the life from her.

  Belko, Lord of the Blood-stone Clan, was also fingering his beard, but for a different reason. He cursed softly under his breath. Things were not going well between his folk and the Grey-mountain dwarves, and they had gotten worse since the death of Noli, Kino’s heir.

  Belko shook his head. He and Kino had never been friends, as they were descended from very different lines. His ancestors had committed a terrible crime in the eyes of Kino’s clan. They befriended Elves, and even remained friendly with them after the destruction of Rûmm. The fact that the great Elven-realm of Eádros was also destroyed doesn’t deserve consideration, apparently.

  Belko often wondered what had really happened during that dark time. He had rarely encountered Elves, though a few of his people had, usually when traversing the northern Greatwood forest. They used to enjoy trading with some of the river-folk who lived along the Ambros, but that had stopped when the Great Plague had spread to the northern realms. Rumor held that the river-folk were beginning to come back and re-settle in the area, but Belko had learned to live without the goods they provided.

  The stories his people brought back had not spoken well of the Elves, who obviously resented the dwarves’ intrusion into “their” domain. Their hunter-scouts sent warning shots very near the dwarves’ heads, frightening them. As if the forest wasn’t frightening enough!

  Belko had nothing against the Elves, as his own interactions with them had been hospitable enough. The King of the Greatwood treated his guests with respect, at least. Not so with Kino.

  That stubborn old wolverine! What am I going to do with him?

  His fingers left his dark auburn beard, now streaked with grey, and clasped an enormous ruby that hung from a massive gold chain around his neck. The Blood-stone—his clan was named for it. And they had found others, too, though none as magnificent as this one. His great-grandsire had discovered it long ago. Belko’s realm was rich with the beautiful red gems…at least it had been. Now even the best ores yielded very little, and his people had despaired until they found the new lode—an impressive deposit of ores veined through with blood-stones, blue-water gems, and even the rarest of all—the green emeralds beloved of the Elves. Unfortunately, Kino loved them, too.

  Kino’s wife, Collena, had the brightest green eyes Belko had ever seen. Now she was gone, but rumor held that Kino believed her spirit lived on in the deep green gems, and he desired them above all others. When he had learned that Belko’s sire, Beldar, had traded one of his fine emeralds to the Elves, Kino’s wrath had kindled. Relations had been strained ever since.

  Now Belko’s people had found a new and impressive source of fine gems, to their great relief, but Kino had declared that the ore-deposits—the richest ever found under the Northern Mountains—lay within the boundaries of his realm, and that only his people should have access to them. The boundaries between the Clans were not well-defined. In fact, the lines had been drawn in very different places, depending on whose map you were looking at.

  Belko knew that at least a small part of the ore lay on Kino’s side of the line, but his people had found it, they had laid claim to it, and the bulk of it was definitely in the Blood-stone realm. Yes, definitely.

  If he thinks he can intimidate me into giving up what is rightfully ours, he will need to think again. My people discovered the Lode, they took the risk, and I won’t stand for Kino’s trying to usurp it in a fit of temper. I don’t care if he thinks part of it is his—he wants it all. He said so. Well, he can take that sentiment and stick it in a very dark place. If he doesn’t want to do that himself, I’ll be glad to assist him.

  In truth, Belko was afraid. Kino’s clan was much larger than his own…Fior had chosen to bless them with more females. If the Blood-stone clan didn’t bring forth at least a few daughters, and soon, Kino would easily overwhelm them—it would be easy enough already. Belko let out a long, pent-up breath. Perhaps I should just give him what he wants…

  But Belko was an iron-blooded dwarf descended from the Deep-caverns. His folk were mighty under the Great Mountains. He had to stand up for them here in the north for the sake of his ancestors. Kino thinks he is stubborn, but he doesn’t know what stubborn is. I’ll never let him have the Lode…I’ll die first. And I’ll make sure my sons know it, too.

  Father Mountain, Mother Stone, may I feast well today, thought Croghi as he inched forward on the nearly impenetrable skin of his scaly grey belly. The dwarves were busy mining, their hammers and pickaxes busily delving through layers of rock. Croghi blinked and smiled a little. They would never hear him coming. Eight companions crept along in single file behind him…it had taken awhile to find a way in that was not so accursedly
narrow, but they had done it. And now they would have whatever they desired.

  Croghi had come a long way from his home lands, the poisonous ruin of Tal-elathas. In fact, one of his own ancestors had crushed the life from many of the Elves of that realm. Croghi already knew he liked the taste of Elf-flesh. He actually preferred it to Dwarf, but one could not afford to be so choosy, and dwarves were juicy enough, though the meat tasted a little like pipe-smoke in his opinion. His massive teeth would make short work of muscle, organs, sinew, even bone. It was his companions, though, that were thinking only of feasting. Croghi knew there were much more appealing and valuable things to be gained from ransacking dwarf-realms. He peered carefully into the cavernous chamber where the little creatures were, as usual, digging things.

  He felt one of his companions bumping against his legs, as though urging him forward. He responded by lashing out with his right foot, to the surprise and painful dismay of the one behind him. We’ll move when it’s right, and not before.

  Croghi lay unmoving, invisible against the grey stone wall of the chamber, just behind the opening. When one of the dwarves strolled inside unaware, a massive hand snatched him from out of nowhere and crushed his chest, killing him before he could make a sound. First blood today…

  Croghi would stay hidden until the time was right. Then he and the others would emerge one by one and launch into the unsuspecting dwarves before they could react or mount any kind of defense. He sighed, almost wistful at the thought. Not quite like the old days, but almost as good. He lay as still as living stone, waiting for the right moment. Soon his hands would glow with pretty golden things again.

  Chapter 2

  All men desire to know where they came from—from whom they are descended. Yet Rogond, Ranger descended of the northern realm of Tuathas, had lived nearly all of his life knowing almost nothing of his own origins. Until recently, when he had finally learned the name of his mother, he had thought never to learn anything more. But then he was told of her other son—the brother he had never met. His mother was dead, and he did not know the name of his father, but he had an elder brother whose fate was unknown to him. He clung to this knowledge with the desperate hope of a man who wants to know his family more than anything. And now, he was about to undertake a great journey.

  He had sent his friend and fellow Ranger, Thorndil, to the northlands in search of information, for it seemed a fair assumption that, should Rogond’s brother have survived the Great Plague, those few Rangers who still roamed the northern wilderness would know most of him. If Thorndil inquired of as many as could be found, he might gain enlightenment. He would then send word to the Greatwood, so that Rogond could follow whatever trail was revealed. As it turned out, it was a good plan.

  Thorndil had sent a message back to Rogond just after midsummer’s eve, instructing him to travel northward that they could meet on the first new moon of autumn. He had apparently gained some insight into the whereabouts of Rogond’s brother from at least one of the Rangers during his travels, and arranged to meet Rogond near the gentle river Eros, the wide stream flowing into the Ambros south of the Northern Mountains.

  He was sitting near one of the many flowing springs beneath the tall trees of the Greatwood forest, mulling over the upcoming preparations for the journey ahead, when his beloved Gaelen appeared with a vessel of cold spring water in her hand. She knelt beside him, the wind ruffling her shaggy, dark chestnut hair, blowing the essence of sage and warm summer rain from across the smooth, tawny skin of her shoulders.

  Ah,how I love the scent of Wood-elves, he thought, stretching his long legs and flexing his powerful shoulders as she settled into the crook of his left arm. She handed him the vessel of water, turning bright, olive-green eyes up to meet his own calm grey ones.

  “I thought you might like a cool drink,” she said. “Are you thinking about making ready to leave the Greatwood?”

  “Of course I am…I think of little else these days. I only hope my brother is still alive…I pray that I will find him well. That will be a very glad day for me.”

  “I look forward to that day, too,” said Gaelen, idly fingering the long strands of Rogond’s dark hair, separating the tangles. Rogond smiled. Gaelen often had difficulty keeping still.

  “Who all is going with me?” he whispered. “You are, of course…”

  “You won’t leave Nelwyn or Galador behind, that’s certain,” said Gaelen. “And Fima will be going; he doesn’t think we can safely draw near to the Northern Mountains without him.”

  “The Northern Mountains are full of enemies,” said Rogond. “A bleak and cheerless place. But there are dwarves there, as well. Fima is right—we will need him if we are to venture there.”

  “I thought we were going to the Eros…that it was merely a meeting-place,” said Gaelen with a slight shiver. No Elf of the Greatwood enjoyed the cold and damp of the northern lands, where even the trees seemed devoid of warmth or welcome.

  “So it is,” said Rogond. “But I suspect we will have some business nearby…why else would Thorndil have chosen such a meeting-place? The dwarves of the deep-caverns told me that my brother was a Ranger, and that he lived in the northlands. I suspect I will need to go there to find him.”

  “It can’t be that simple, can it?” said Gaelen, her shoulders tensing. “I sense there will be a long and difficult journey, and that your brother will be most difficult to find. Nothing has ever been easy for either of us.”

  Rogond knew she had a bad feeling about the Northern Mountains, and no wonder—she had been forbidden ever to venture into the dwarf-realms there. “Don’t worry,” he said, stroking the soft skin of her upper arm with callused fingers. “Hopefully it won’t be as difficult as you are expecting.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” she muttered. “It will be worse.”

  The Company left in the pre-dawn darkness. They would begin on foot, leading their mounts, heading north toward their appointed meeting-place. With them they took stores of food and armaments, for they would need both in such a bleak and cheerless place, where there were many enemies. At least the weather would aid them, for the late summer was fair enough even in the northland. They would need to make their way back south before the onset of winter, however, and even in late autumn the Northern Mountains were sometimes beset by fierce gales that could chill the life from man, Elf, or beast.

  The horses—Siva, Eros, Réalta, and Gryffa—stood ready, along with an amiable black fellow named Malvorn. He seemed quite content to bear their stores of food, clothing and weapons, and would prove a worthy companion.

  Galador, Rogond’s closest friend, a High-elf formerly of Eádros, waited patiently with his life-mate, Nelwyn, who was Gaelen’s cousin. Galador—tall, dark-haired, and generally humorless—contrasted with the bright, vivacious Nelwyn, whose golden hair and leaf-green eyes shone with the bright light of a joyful heart.

  Rogond and Gaelen checked their gear once again, the last of many such checks, as their dwarvish friend, Lore-master Fima, yawned and stretched his short, sturdy limbs. He was not accustomed to early-morning activities, as he was prone to stay awake far into the dark hours in study and contemplation.

  Rogond and Gaelen had not rested, for they had been involved in last-minute preparations for the journey. There was always something that seemed to have been left undone. Now, with the hour at hand, they were reasonably sure of their readiness.

  The five companions then departed into the mist—Rogond at the fore with Fima beside him, then Nelwyn and Galador, and finally Gaelen.

  They crossed from the King’s courtyard through the hidden gates, turning along the bank of the Forest River, following its course. Gaelen and Nelwyn guided them well, knowing that once they reached the river Eros they would have to rely on Rogond and Fima, for the Wood-elves did not venture into the northern lands…not if they could help it. Still, Gaelen sang, as was her habit at the start of a journey. Hopefully, her cheerful song would set the tone for the adventure ahead.


  Chapter 3

  The Company passed through the north of the Greatwood without incident, though Gaelen’s light-hearted departure song had not lasted, as she had been taken with an unshakable melancholy. She regretted leaving the Greatwood, where all was familiar, and she dreaded the hardships that she knew would come. Finding Rogond’s brother would be taxing enough, but that was far from the greatest trial she would face. It was her task—her obsession—to hunt and kill the creature known as Gorgon Elfhunter.

  A task I have failed to accomplish, she thought. Gorgon still lived…she could feel it.

  He will show himself again when his strength returns. Until he does, I must aid Rogond. I would not find Gorgon now even if I tried…he is hiding himself from me. She ground her teeth in frustration.

  Rogond, who walked beside her, apparently sensed her melancholy mood. He spoke softly, his words meant for her ears alone. “Don’t worry, my love. You will see the Greatwood again. I know it.”

  Gaelen turned her eyes to his as she walked. “And you, Thaylon? Will you see the Greatwood again?”

  Rogond seemed uncertain, as Gaelen knew he was not given to visions or premonitions. Still, he was insightful enough to realize the magnitude of the tasks before him. He shook his head, looking away from her earnest face toward the path ahead. “I don’t know. My future is ever hidden from me. The only thing I am certain of is that I will remain at your side to the limit of my fate.” Then he smiled. “I have never envied the Elves their foresights, for I may live my life in hope of contentment without fear of contradiction.”

  Gaelen, who was not fond of such foresights either, stood in agreement, a vague smile on her face. As always, Rogond’s forthrightness had aided her in putting things into perspective. She had never placed much faith in the mystical visions of others. She held more faith in her perceived ability to control her own destiny.