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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1884781-Phillips-Story
by Karl
Rated: E · Other · Fantasy · #1884781
A story within The Light of Berylon novel; I enjoyed writing this.
To divert everyone’s attention from the morbid reality of their situation the men began to tell stories like they had every other night.  Alward Black had returned to the village to be with his wife, but Thomas’ son Justin felt compelled to recant his tale of the battle Alward had witnessed between a snow lion and a cave bear.  Everyone had heard the story dozens of times, but the familiarity was oddly reassuring.

After a brief lull in the conversation Phillip Archer spoke up.  “Have I ever told you fellas the story about Alvard Reimer and the Dwarves?”

Eno’s ears perked up at the thought of a story that he hadn’t already heard a dozen times over.  After an appropriately dramatic pause, during which those present implored him to tell the tale, Phillip began.”

“You might not know this, but these mountains used to be home to an entire civilization of Dwarves.  They loved to live under the ground, and seldom ventured out on to the surface.  Some of them spent their entire lives underground, never seeing the light of day.  Some say that they were really spirit creatures of the earth.  I don’t know, but what I do know is that there were thousands of them.  They lived in caves and tunnels that ran deep below these mountains.  Theirs was a race of wonderful craftsmen.  Some even said that they used magic to give their creations supernatural powers.  Legend has it that they built vast cities under the earth.  They are said to be bejeweled with treasure that the dwarves found in the mines and caverns.

The dwarves were a very reclusive race, and seldom had contact with humans.  They had learned many years earlier to be mistrustful in their dealings with the younger race.  Sometimes, however, they found it necessary to establish trade to obtain things that couldn’t be found under the earth; fruits and grains, cured leather, and medicines and the like.  The people that lived here at that time did things in much the same way that things are done today.  They were more than happy to trade with the dwarves.  Not only did it mean that they didn’t have to travel hundreds of miles to reach the nearest blacksmith, but the quality of the dwarves’ work far exceeded any done by human hands.

It wasn’t long before the creations of the dwarven craftsmen became a sought after commodity.  Soon the mountain dwelling humans found that they could turn a tidy profit off of their subterranean friends.  The city of Turond began as a way point between the mountain settlements and Avidon.  For hundreds of years this area prospered, but that all ended with the goblin wars.

The goblin hordes came pouring out of screamer’s pass by the thousands.  They filled every mine shaft and cave with their foul wretchedness.  The dwarves were overwhelmed.  They retreated to their strongholds deep within the earth.  Finally they managed to dig a new tunnel to the surface.  Once there they sent an envoy to go to Turond to beg the merchant prince to send soldiers to end the goblin menace.

The merchant prince was a callous man, and he would not be persuaded that the situation was as dire as the dwarves surmised.  He told the envoy that he would send soldiers to help them, but he had no intention of doing so.  When they left, he mustered a division of soldiers, but instead of sending them in to flush the goblins out of the dark places he gave them orders to defend the human settlements.  The promised offensive never materialized.

Meanwhile the goblins, deep within the caves, grew strong.  The goblin king and his magicians overran the mighty dwarven strongholds, and without the help the humans had promised the dwarves could not withstand them.  The dwarves were forced to flee for their lives.  As a last ditch effort to save his people the dwarven king bade his magicians to cast a spell of invisibility on his people.  Then he marched them down the escape tunnel that they had dug and out into the forest below the mountain.  They avoided all human settlements and made their way north to the sea.

So it happened one night that a man named Riemer met one of these diminutive folk.  The man owned a barge, which he docked just south of the city of Port Helisbor.  He had just tied it off for the night when he was approached by a short old man with a thick white beard and glasses.  The man introduced himself as Thavius Hammerfell.  He told Riemer that he would soon need to ferry a very heavy cargo across the Kretan River.  He told Riemer that he would be paid handsomely for the job, and that he would like to give him a down payment as a fee for retaining his services at a future date.  Thavius then handed Riemer a pouch.  When he opened it he took a sharp breath.  The bag was filled with gold!  In a few weeks time the ferryman might bring home a silver and a few coppers; this was more than he could hope to make in an entire year!

“Are we agreed?” asked Thavius.

“Y …, Yes.  Yes, sir.  Of course, sir!” Reimer answered.

The bearded old man gave a stern nod of his head, and turned and walked off.

It was nearly a week later when the old man returned.  It was after dusk one evening, and Riemer had just finished his supper and was leaning back in his favorite chair.  He had a flaming brand and was just about to light his pipe when a soft knock sounded from his front door.  He opened the door to find his diminutive benefactor waiting.

“Call out your lads, Riemer.  It’s time to honor the bargain you made.”  Reimer nodded to Thavius and said, “Meet me at the docks in twenty minutes.”

Reimer had told the men on his crew about his good fortune a week earlier.  They had laughed at first, but the gold was real enough proof for even the most skeptical of them.  They had each promised to be ready at a moment’s notice, so it didn’t take long to gather them together.  They arrived at the appointed time to find Thavius Hammerfell waiting for them.  At his feet sat two huge chests, ornately designed and protected by a large combination lock upon each.  At Thavius’ request, Reimer instructed his men to load the chests into the middle of the barge.  Then they were told to man their oars and wait.

After a few minutes the men heard the sound of footsteps moving across the pier.  The noise got louder and louder, but the men saw nothing.  An eerie fog enshrouded the boat and pier alike, and the nervous apprehension among the men became a tangible force.  The volume of the unseen footsteps continued to increase, echoing off of the water and the surrounding buildings so as to seem to come from all directions at once.

Reimer passed quietly among his men, uttering words of reassurance.  His stoic indifference to the events unfolding around him emboldened them, and the tension dissipated.  The men took to the tasks of preparing for departure and managed to ignore the sound of footsteps boarding the barge.  For many minutes the loading continued, and the barge kept riding lower and lower in the water.  Then, suddenly, the pier was silent.  Thavius stepped aboard and nodded to Riemer.  The mooring lines were cast off, lanterns were lit at the fore and aft of the vessel, and Riemer took his place at the tiller.  At his call the oars dipped into the water and the heavily laden barge crept forward into the misty tendrils of the night.

Although it was night, with the fog thick and the boat heavily laden, Riemer had made this passage thousands of times.  The feel of the tiller in his hand, the wind on his face, and the vibrations of the wood under his feet told him more than his eyes ever could.  He guided the craft unerringly across the wide expanse of the Kretan River.  The water, in its rush to reach the sea, sought to carry the boat astray, but Reimer was immovable; stalwart in his determination.  The barge reached the mooring posts of the pier on the other side of the river without incident.

Upon arrival the invisible footsteps began again, this time disembarking.  When the barge rode high in the water once again, Thavius indicated to Riemer that they must return and make another trip.  This went on throughout the night; the men ferrying invisible passengers across the river.  By the time the sky lightened at dawn’s approach all the men were thoroughly exhausted.  When the last trip was finally complete, Riemer ordered the two chests to be unloaded on the pier.

Thavius Hammerfell stood before one of the chests and removed its monstrous lock.  Then he opened the lid to reveal its contents.  Riches untold gleamed in the predawn light, and the men in the boat gasped.  “You have performed a great service for me this night,” said Thavius “and have more than earned your reward.”  So saying, he beckoned the men forward; indicating that each should take with them as much gold as they could carry in two hands.  Once that was done he called Riemer to his side.

“My friend, words cannot express my gratitude for what you have done this night.  Allow me to present you with some small tokens of my appreciation.  First,” he pulled out a sack and handed it to Riemer “is the payment that was promised you.  May it bring great joy into your life.”

Then the little man drew forth a necklace and placed it around Riemer’s neck.  A charm dangled from the necklace in the form of a sextant.  “Secondly, I give you the sextant of truth.  It has the power to guide you; that you may never lose your way.  It will also protect you from those who would beguile you and lead you astray.”

“Lastly, I give unto the knowledge of what you have done this night.”  Then he removed his glasses and placed them on Reimer’s head.  Riemer looked up and saw that the area around the pier was surrounded by dwarves!  Hundreds, even thousands of the diminutive folk were gathered there.  They carried as many of their possessions as they could strap to their backs.  They were a forlorn group that awaited Thavius, who was obviously their leader.

“We go to find a new home for ourselves,” said Thavius with a mournful note in his voice.  “You have dealt with us with kindness and honor.  You are a tribute to your race.  Thank you.”

Then Thavius Hammerfell turned and rejoined his people.  They moved as a group away from the river, and in the fog they disappeared again.  They walked out of sight and into legend, for that was the last time that anyone in this realm has seen a dwarf.”

© Copyright 2012 Karl (kweaver1974 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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