Wizard's Tower - Arc 3 - Chapter 49

Another week had come and gone as I struggled to understand Pyl’s decision. It was almost a suicide, in a way, the trading of his soul for the king’s. Pyl had left a bundle of tombs and scrolls that contained his various spells and research on a table in my library, one of which was a fairly emotionless farewell missive. Another was a journal, though he hadn’t written in it consistently. The dates of his entries jumped sometimes weeks or months. A whole year in one case.

It hadn’t taken long, though, to understand what he had done. Once I read through his research, I could understand the new spellforms and enchanted that trapped the king’s spirit easily. Understanding what he had done wasn’t anywhere as difficult as understanding why he had done it. I would have been more than willing to help him research spells or enchantments that could maintain his undead form in a way that could undo any unpleasantness that arose. 

The working did give me new insights into the connections between spirit and a living body – something critical that I had overlooked in my own research into immortality. Well, overlooked wasn’t accurate. It would be better to describe my lack of research in the area as avoidance. The realms of spirits seemed the responsibility of the gods, and I had cautiously stayed my hands from delving too far into research that could encroach on their territory.

That didn’t mean that I wouldn’t now. In fact, with the gods distracted with the coming end of the age, now seemed the opportune moment to conduct illicit research. The only thing halting me was the new arrivals to my plateau. Nearly twelve thousand dwarven refugees, most at the 4th or 5th Tier, had been found fleeing the growing swarms of hydra by the Heroes and escorted to my plateau. 

Yesterday had been an agonizingly long time spent attempting to negotiate with them, as they crowded the village and lands around my tower in a haphazard fashion. We didn’t have supplies to keep them fed, and the merchants from Froom’s plane had been unwilling to budge on the ridiculous costs asked for what little they were willing to provide.  Alred had to be contacted at the other end of the negotiation to place pressure on them just to begin the trade itself. The diplomatic and trade talks had been so agonizing, that yesterday evening I had retreated to have wine and a bath simply to keep myself from blasting them all. 

Still, this morning I was more prepared for the matter. Yesterday it had been a surprise and an annoyance. It felt sometimes like the world itself was working to keep me from my research. Today, I was better mentally prepared to hold an audience, I had already met the four clan heads of the dwarven refugees to know who I was dealing with, and I was confident that I understood what they wanted. I also was dressed appropriately for such a meeting, in a fine scarlet robe with a yellow sash. 

The clothing wouldn’t make much of a difference to them, I was certain, but I would feel more comfortable knowing that I was dressed correctly for the occasion. 

With confident steps, I entered my first floor and stood next to the high-back stone chair I had crafted for the curving table. The morning light was just now touching through the amethyst walls behind me, and the shine lit across the engravings in the room with sparkling grandeur. I nodded once to Fentworth to signal my preparedness, and he responded by opening the door to allow the clan heads entry.

Four dwarves, each with heads that came to my shoulders and bodies twice as thickly made walked into the room with a dignified grace that belittled that of any of my previous guests. Yesterday, they had been clad in armor, with weapons near ready and tangled heads of hair. 

Today saw them in a different light, with elaborate ceremonial robes, oil-slicked and braided hair, and each holding the instrument of their clan’s specialization. A small silver pick, a helmet of mithril, a golden trowel, and gem-crusted boot, each sized to comfortably fit in their right hands and held the items at their midriff. I glanced at each to see if they were enchanted, but was disappointed to find they were simply mundane ornamentation. 

“Presenting the heads of the Clans Firedrinker, Dimhair, Coughing, and Clubfoot,” announced Fentworth after they had all entered. Three female dwarves at the 5th Tier and one at the 4th clicked their heels together in what was their equivalent to a bow. 

I had spent enough time around Ram to recognize the gesture and returned it. I gestured to the stools across from me as I sat, “Please have a seat.” 

In silence, they walked with measured steps to the stools and sat across from me, though the male dwarf, head of the Clubfoot Clan, waited for the other three to sit first before he did.

Yesterday, these same four had been ferociously loud and obnoxious when negotiating with the merchants, and I half expected this to turn into something similar. Their current decorum was entirely unexpected but very much appreciated. 

I glanced at each, noting that the fourth was doing everything he could to subtly downplay his presence while the other three ignored him, before I spoke. “While the circumstances are unfortunate, I am pleased to meet you. I had a dwarven friend once who I lost not even five years past. While I do know some dwarven customs, our relationship had always been informal. I ask that if there are any slights against your traditions that you excuse them as ignorance and I will offer the same.”

The three women nodded their agreement but didn’t speak. I blinked at that, but assumed that the silence fell within the realm of dwarven customs I had just mentioned and waited. I didn’t have to wait long, soon the four ceremonial pieces were placed atop the table and then slid to the left. There, the clan head was an older dwarven woman that seemed to give off a presence of strength and humility. Her grey hairs were braided into several tight buns that resembled stacked rocks around her head, and her eyes held a keen intelligence. She only spoke once all the ornaments were placed in front of her.

“We have come to you seeking asylum, Head Fargus. That your first words are of friendship and wisdom speak well for you. We have little to offer, and much to ask.”

Her words were spoken slowly as if each word were carefully considered, and I bit back a sigh at that. I had hoped to do other things this day, but if this were the speed at which the conversation would occur, I worried that it might take several days. 

I considered the matter as the dwarves seemed content to wait for my reply in silence. “I am very much interested in discussing this with you. But… perhaps we could speak more informally?” 

It seemed that all four released a collective breath all at the same time. Two even allowed themselves a smile. Their chosen leader, as I was assuming that was what the placement of ornaments meant, chuckled. 

“Aye. I think we can do that.”

Several hours later, I saw the four clan heads depart with a satisfied smile. While the meeting had lasted longer than I would have preferred, it was still shorter than I had feared. Four clans, each wanted to live inside mountains. I had mentioned that once the pestilence had swept through the southern parts of the western mountains, they wouldn’t likely return. And if the clans were safely ensconced inside those mountains, there was little likelihood of them being found. 

I was thankful for that. Constructing their new homes would be easy enough with [Earth Manipulation], a spell that their mages were already familiar with. They carried dried mushrooms and the spores needed to grow more, so food was only a difficulty for the week or two it would take to get them to their new homes. The biggest barrier in their minds was transportation, a barrier resolved by traveling through the planar gates. 

It did mean that I would need to send some mages to those mountains to create gateways, mages that needed the [Earth Manipulation] spell to create a room inside the mountain to arrive at. Finding those mages was easy enough, once I delegated the task to my potential assistant [Magus] Nichols. In my mind, this was something that could be accomplished within a week’s time if all things go as they should. 

It was their last request that troubled me. They weren’t the only clans out there. Many had already been lost to the Pestilence, and many more were likely to surface. They begged for my aide with these clans as well, though we could all see that the swarm of hydras was quickly approaching. I wasn’t certain how to meet this request without having a few mages on each plateau to watch for them, and I didn’t have the forces available to me for that. Not at my tower. 

I might be able to sway the remaining students and masters at the Arcanum of Elementalis to serve, but that would mean returning to Sena City.