Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

According to the wise, the creation of the world began when Reorx, a friend of the God of Balance, Gilean, struck his hammer on the Anvil of Time, forcing Chaos to slow his cycle of destruction. The sparks that flew from the god’s hammer became the stars. The light from these stars was transformed into spirits, who were given mortal bodies by the gods, and the world of Krynn, in which they could dwell. Although the creation of the dwarves had always been in dispute (dwarves believing they were formed by Reorx in his image, while others maintain dwarves were brought into being by the passing of the chaotic Graygem of Gargath), dwarves were firm in their belief that they were the chosen people of Reorx.

The dwarves were devastated when Reorx departed along with the other gods after the Cataclysm. Most refused to believe it and clung to their faith in the god, even though their prayers were answered with silence. Thus while most other people on Krynn forgot the old gods, the dwarves still remembered and revered Reorx, telling the old tales about him, confident that someday he would return to his people.

The Thorbardin dwarves still swore oaths in Reorx’s name; Tanis had heard swearing enough on the bridge to know that. Flint had done the same all the years Tanis had known him, though Reorx had been absent for hundreds of years. According to Flint, the clerics of Reorx vanished from the world just prior to the Cataclysm, leaving the same time the other clerics of the true gods mysteriously departed. But were there now any new clerics beneath the mountain?

His friends were also looking around the temple, and Tanis guessed they were thinking along the same lines, some of them, at least. Caramon was staring wistfully at the food, as Arman came by, offering everyone a share.

The dwarves were munching on hunks of some sort of salted meat. Caramon eyed it hungrily then glanced at Tasslehoff, thinking of worms, and with a deep sigh, shook his head. Arman shrugged and gave some to Flint, who accepted a large portion with muttered thanks. Raistlin had refused any nourishment and gone straight to his bed. Tasslehoff sat cross-legged in front of one of the lanterns, munching on his meal and watching the worm inside. Flint had told him the worm was the larva of gigantic worms that chewed through solid stone. Tas was fascinated, and he kept tapping on the glass panel to see the larva wriggle.

“Should we say anything about the return of the gods?” Sturm asked, coming to sit down beside Tanis.

Tanis shook his head emphatically. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“We will have to bring up the gods,” Sturm insisted, “when we ask about the Hammer of Kharas.”

“We’re not going to talk about the hammer,” said Tanis shortly. “We’re going to try to keep out of a dwarven dungeon!”

Sturm considered this. “You’re right. Speaking of the gods would be awkward, especially if Reorx has not returned to them. Still, I don’t see why we should not ask Arman about the hammer. It shows we have a knowledge of their history.”

“Just drop it, Sturm,” Tanis said sharply, and he went over to have a talk with Flint. He sat down beside the dwarf and accepted some of the food. “What’s wrong with Caramon? I never before saw him turn down a meal.”

“The kender told him it was worm meat.”

Tanis spit the meat out his mouth.

“It’s dried beef,” said Flint with a low chuckle.

“Did you tell Caramon?”

“No,” the dwarf returned with a sly grin. “Do him good to lose some weight.” Tanis went over to assuage Caramon’s fears. He left the big man chewing voraciously on the tough and stringy beef, swearing he would tear off the kender’s pointy ears and stuff them into his boots. The half-elf went back to finish his talk with Flint.

“Have you heard these dwarves mention Reorx, other than swearing by him?” Tanis asked.

“No.” Flint held the Helm of Grallen in his lap, his hands resting protectively on top of it. “You won’t either.”

“Then you don’t think Reorx has returned to them?”

“As if he would!” Flint snorted. “The mountain dwarves shut Reorx out of the mountain when they sealed the doors on us.”

“Sturm was asking me… do you think we should tell the dwarves about the gods’ return?”

“I wouldn’t tell a mountain dwarf how to find his beard in a snowstorm!” Flint said scornfully. His hands on the helm, Flint propped himself up against a wall and settled himself for sleep.

“Keep one eye open, my friend,” said Tanis softly.

Flint grunted and nodded.

Tanis made the rounds. Sturm lay on the floor, staring up into the darkness. Tasslehoff had fallen asleep beside the worm lantern.

“Drat all kender anyway,” Caramon said, pulling a blanket over Tas. “I could have starved to death!” He glanced surreptitiously around. “I don’t trust these dwarves, Tanis,” he said quietly.

“Should one of us stand watch?”

Tanis shook his head. “We’re all exhausted and we have to appear before this Council tomorrow. We need to have our wits about us.”

He stretched out on the cold stone floor of the abandoned temple and thought he had never been so tired in his life, yet he couldn’t sleep. He had visions of them all being cast into the dwarven dungeons, never to see the light of day again. Already he was starting to feel closed in; the stone walls pressed down on him. As large as this temple was, it was not large enough to hold all the air Tanis needed. He felt himself being smothered, and he tried to shake off the panicked feeling that came over him whenever he was in dark and closed-up places.

His body ached with fatigue, and he was starting to relax and drift off when Sturm’s voice jolted him wide awake.

“Your hero, Kharas, was present at the final battle, was he not?”

Tanis swore softly and sat up.

Sturm and Arman were seated together on the opposite side of the chamber. The dwarven soldiers were making the walls shake with their snoring, but Tanis could hear their conversation quite clearly.

“The knights of Solamnia gave Kharas his name,” Sturm was saying, “ Kharas being the word in my language for ‘knight’.”

Arman nodded several times and stroked his beard proudly, as though Sturm were speaking of him, not his famous ancestor.

“That is true,” Arman stated. “The Solamnic knights were much impressed with his honor and courage.”

“Did he carry the legendary Hammer with him during the final battle?” Sturm asked. Tanis gave an inward groan. He would have intervened, for he did not want the dwarves to begin to suspect they had come here to steal the Hammer, but it was too late. It would do more harm than good. He kept silent.

“Kharas fought courageously,” Arman told the story, enjoying himself immensely, “even though he was bitterly opposed to the war, for he said brother should not be slaying brother. Kharas even went so far as to shave off his beard to mark his opposition to the war, shocking the people. A clean-shaven chin is the mark of a coward.

“And so some called Kharas, for when he saw that dwarves on both sides had lost all reason and were killing each other out of hatred and vengeance, he left the field of battle, bearing with him the bodies of two of King Duncan’s sons, who had died fighting side-by-side. Thus Kharas survived the terrible explosion that took the lives of thousands of dwarves and men.

“King Duncan saw the bodies of his sons, and when word came to him of the blast and he knew that countless dwarves lay dead on the Plains of Dergoth, he ordered the gates of Thorbardin sealed. He vowed in his grief that no more would die in this dreadful war.”

“You say Duncan had two sons and they died on the field of battle and Kharas returned their bodies. What, then, of Prince Grallen?” Sturm paled; he seemed troubled. “I do not know how I know this, but the prince did not die on the field of battle. His body was never found.” Arman cast a dark glance at the helm. Flint had fallen asleep, but even in sleep he kept fast hold of the relict.