Prologue
A New Leader
AN 1204 (AZ 1441) - Autumn
Arkh Sharshun, Mount Atreus, Notos
Seventeen years had passed since the Dwerkhar of Arkh Vinun joined their brothers in Arkh Deltun and rose up to challenge the alliance forged between the humans of Zephyr and the wretched forest folk. Seventeen years had passed since their warriors were defeated and their people driven from their splendid cities under the mountains. Seventeen years had passed since the survivors were forcibly transported across the sea to a strange mountain inhabited by a feeble tribe that had forgotten the pride of being Dwerkhar. Seventeen years of unbearable, unforgivable humiliation.
Garm would see the disgrace of his people revenged. That his proud race would fall to such weak creatures as the humans could only mean that their spirits had not been properly hardened for the battle. Garm blamed the King and his captains for being weak and ineffective. Since the King's heir died in a cave-in only days earlier, the time for change had come. The glory of the Dwerkhar would be restored.
For the survivors in exile, who hailed from Arkh Vinun and who hailed from Arkh Deltun mattered little anymore and so all of them were gathered for the Prince's funeral procession. It was the perfect time for Garm to act. By standing in the path of the procession, all eyes were on him.
"Clear the way!" one of the pallbearers shouted. "Have you no respect for His Highness?"
"For that dead worm, none," Garm said defiantly.
Wielding his heavy steel axe, he struck the two foremost pallbearers with the flat of the blade, causing them to drop their end of the litter bearing the fallen Prince. Garm cast the burial shroud aside, exposing the body, and drew the knife at his belt. In plain sight of everyone, he cut off the braids of the Prince's beard, a grave insult among the Dwerkhar. Gasps erupted from the stunned crowd. Nearly a dozen outraged warriors drew their weapons.
"Death is too good for the likes of you," one growled.
Garm dropped the braids on the ground, spat on them and ground them underfoot. Shaking his axe in a warlike display, he looked out on the crowd with contempt.
"Who'll die fer the honor o' this beardless worm!? Come at me if ye dare! But before ye do, look into yer 'arts an' ask yerselves this: Why're we here, defeated, shamed an' exiled? Aren't it 'cause o' his wretched sire an' all the weak worms that clung to 'im?
"D'ye not dream o' our great cities in the mountain o' our birth? If we remain in this burrow, we'll never see 'em again! Our enemy is here, in this land! We must strike! We must crush 'em! And when they're defeated, we'll cross the sea an' retake our 'ome!"
The crowd was abuzz with mutterings. Some were for him, others against him, but none were speaking out boldly. He would have to goad them further.
"Who's fer Arkh Vinun? Who's fer Arkh Deltun? Who's fer showin' the humans the might o' the Dwerkhar? Who's fer our pride? Who's fer our honor? Who's with me!?"
With each question, the number of Dwerkhar raising their voices increased until the end where almost all of them roared in unanimous assent. And yet two who counted themselves more loyal to the dead Prince than to their people took up their weapons and charged at Garm with a shout.
He clove into the skull of one on his first swing, tearing the axeblade loose in time dodge the stroke from the second. He then buried his axehead in the face of the second and laid him low.
Prying the axe loose with his foot, Garm held up his bloodied axe and shouted to the crowd, "Who else stands 'gainst me? Who else stands 'gainst us?" When no one answered the challenge, he then told the crowd, "Then no more should Dwerkh shed Dwerkh blood! If Dwerkh blood is to be shed, let it be on the battlefield!"
There was a fresh roar from the crowd. With their spirits raised, Garm continued to exhort them.
"We must mine ore, forge weapons, build engines an' train warriors! Let no Dwerkh be slack in this noble duty! To pick an' forge, go! Go now!"
He waved his axe and the crowd dispersed to go to their tasks, leaving the bodies of the dead Prince and the two who died unworthily for his sake. Later someone would come to dispose of the bodies, but for now, they could be left where they fell.
The people were now firmly in Garm's hands. There was much work to be done and just as they could not be slack in anything, neither could he. He could not rest until their home was restored. He would not rest until their enemies paid for what they had done.