Troy Denning - The Obsidian Oracle

While he spoke, the king formed the ludicrous image of a bearded, hairy dwarf, as he understood that the ancient dwarves were portrayed in their portraits. He used the Way to project this construct toward the burning embers of the headless bone creature. He was not making a mental attack so much as simply hoping to contact whatever passed for the thing’s mind.

He continued to recite: “ ‘It is into our bones that the mountains sink their roots. It is from our hearts that the clear waters pour. It is out of our mouths that the cool winds blow. We were made to buttress the world, to support the cities of the green races, to carry the weight of the verdant fields upon our shoulders.’ ”

Tithian’s dwarf construct passed into what remained of the spirit’s intellect, and the king was suddenly blinded by a brilliant crimson glow. The ground vanished from beneath his feet, sending him tumbling head over heels into the red radiance.

The king visualized a pair of wings sprouting from the dwarf’s back, trying to bring the descent under control. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach as a surge of energy rose from deep within his aged body, and the appendages appeared on the back of his mental construct. Wisps of smoke began to rise from the wings almost instantly, then they burst into flame.

Hoping to reach the spirit’s memory before his construct went the way of his wings, Tithian had it repeat the opening lines from the Book of the Kemalok Kings: “ ‘Born of liquid fire and seasoned in bleak darkness, we dwarves are the sturdy people, the people of the rock. It is into our bones that the mountains sink their roots. It is from our hearts that the clear waters pour.…’ ”

The dark circle of a cave’s mouth appeared in the crimson glow, directly in front of Tithian’s construct. As the imaginary dwarf continued to fall, the black disk grew larger and larger. Soon, it replaced the crimson fire altogether, and the king’s construct was lost in the darkness. Somewhere in the blackness, a stream of water trickled into a still pond, and Tithian smelled a sweet odor of dampness. On his skin he felt a cool breeze, carrying on its breath the promise of shelter and safety.

It was then that Tithian noticed that the spirits had stopped attacking his physical body. They now stood to each side of him, their mangled arms lowered and no longer spouting flame. The orange embers had been replaced by the glowing effigy of true eyes, with bushy eyebrows, long gray lashes, and a calm serenity that bespoke of ancient wisdom and integrity of character.

Inside the mind of the headless spirit, a pair of flickering brands appeared in front of Tithian’s construct, lighting the darkness for him. To the king’s surprise, he discovered that his dwarf was not standing in a simple cave passage, but in a vast subterranean courtyard. Directly ahead lay the arched entrance to a magnificent tower, flanked on each side by a sconce holding one of the torches that lit the area. The keep rose high overhead, its roof joining directly into the ceiling of the cavernous chamber in which it had been built.

Tithian took his construct past the bronze-gilded doors and entered the keep. He found himself standing in a dimly lit foyer. To one side of the entrance sat a low stone bench, sized for the short legs of dwarves. On the other side was a higher bench, appropriate to the longer legs of humans. Another door opened on the opposite side, and above this arch hung a pair of crossed battle-axes, ready to fall on the neck of anyone who passed through that portal without permission.

A pair of dwarves stepped through the inner door. Both were dressed in gleaming suits of steel plate, embossed with simple geometric patterns and trimmed in gold. One of the figures carried his helmet beneath his arm. Still, all that could be seen of his visage were a pair of steady brown eyes and his proud hooked nose, for his long hair and bushy beard formed a mane that hid everything else from view. The second dwarf wore his helmet with the visor down, leaving nothing but a pair of green eyes and the tufts of his long beard exposed to view.

“Why have you called us back to the caves of our ancestors?” demanded the helmeted figure. “Why have you come to us speaking of the roots of mountains, of clear waters and cool winds-of the people of fire and darkness?”

“The time has come for you to rejoin your king, Sa’ram,” Tithian replied, reasoning that the dwarf who refused to show his head would be the ancestor of the beasthead giants.

The dwarf showed no reaction to the mention of his name, but said, “That is not possible. We have a duty to perform to our descendants.”

“You have a duty to perform to your king!” Tithian said sharply. “Rkard has summoned you, and you must obey.”

“Rkard is dead,” replied Sa’ram, angry orange embers beginning to glow behind his visor. “He has been dead these many centuries.”

“Rkard has been reborn, and I have come to summon you back to his service,” the king said. If the spirits discovered his lie, Tithian had no doubt that he would suffer a terrible and lingering death. But he had no intention of letting them find him out. He had come prepared to corroborate his story, or he would never have made such an outrageous claim. “My body holds in its hands the symbols to prove that I speak the truth.”

Tithian found his construct ejected from the spirit’s mind. Once again, he was standing in the sweltering mica tunnel, flanked on either side by a giant-sized lump of fused bone that had once been a dwarf.

These symbols-show them to us , ordered Sa’ram. Lacking a mouth, or even a head to put it in, he used the Way to send his message.

Tithian held out the Belt of Rank, draping it over Sa’ram’s fleshless arm.

“That is the Goblin’s Head,” objected Jo’orsh. His eyes also began to glow orange. “It is the crest of the dwarven general, not the king.”

“Were they not one and the same when Kemalok fell?” Tithian countered. Judging by the orange color returning to their eyes, his plan was not working quite as well as he had hoped. He plunged his hand into his shoulder satchel, then said, “Nevertheless, I feared that one symbol would not be enough. That’s why I brought this as well.”

Tithian pulled a jewel-studded crown of white metal from his satchel, then slipped it over the stump of Jo’orsh’s arm.

“Rkard’s crown,” confirmed the spirit. He sounded strangely disappointed, and the orange glow faded from both his eyes and those of Sa’ram. “What does he wish of us?”

“Return to Kemalok,” Tithian replied, breathing a secret sigh of relief. “There you’ll find a young dwarf-human crossbreed with crimson eyes. He is the vessel in which Rkard has chosen to reincarnate himself. You must guard this child from harm, for it is his destiny to unite the armies of men and dwarves under the Tower of Buryn’s banner.”

Despite what he said, Tithian had no knowledge that Rkard had been reincarnated in any child. Instead, the king had fashioned the lie after several painstaking months researching archaic dwarven legends and interrogating his disembodied tutors. He had based his final story on the ancient dwarven belief that the kings of Kemalok would always rise to answer their city’s call for protection. Since he knew that Rkard had, in fact, recently risen to protect the city, Tithian felt confident that Sa’ram and Jo’orsh would not have too much trouble accepting his fabrication.

For several moments, the two spirits stared silently at each other. Finally, Jo’orsh shook his head. “We cannot answer our king’s call,” he said. “Our duty to guard the Oracle-”

“Is not as great as your duty to your king,” Tithian said, watching the pair carefully. After judging that the spirits had accepted him as a true messenger of Rkard, he added, “Nor is it as great as your duty to uphold the oath you swore to kill Borys.”