Delver Magic Book VII: Altered Messages (47 page)

The environment differed greatly from the cool, dark cavern they left behind. The change in temperature was drastic, and the hot dry wind that hit them in the face felt as if they had jumped into an open pit of fire. Bol was forced to cover his eyes as the bright sunlight beat off the surrounding sand.

Ryson noticed Bol's discomfort and quickly made a request of the wizard.

"Can you help him with the sun?"

Jure nodded and cast a spell of shadow that fell over the dwarf. Bol grunted with what sounded like a word of thanks, but the wizard couldn't be certain.

With the dwarf able to see across the desert, Ryson pointed to the wide expanse of sand. He wanted Bol to understand the magnitude of the algor loss, and he hoped the size of the burial site would open the dwarf's eyes... and potentially his heart.

"Do you see all this flattened sand?" Ryson asked of the dwarf. "Do you know what this is? It's a mass grave. This is where the algors buried their dead. Every algor here was killed by a dwarf warrior."

The dwarf glanced across the sandy surface, but the size of the burial ground remained inconsequential in both his mind and his heart.

"So you wish to begin with the same argument we had in the cave?" Bol countered. "You believe I am responsible for a battle for which I was not present and during a time when I was not king. Why must you..."

"That's my point," Ryson interrupted. "You just said you weren't king, but you were, in a way you still are. You seem to think you can just walk away from all of this. You can't. The algors know you were the leader of Dunop. It doesn't matter to them why or how you gave up the crown. The only thing that matters to them is that after you walked away, they were attacked. The moment you abdicated the throne,
you
paved the way for the separatists to take over. Can't you understand that?"

"Fah, your claim is baseless. You make it sound as if I gave the order."

"You're not listening to me. We all know that it was your wife Yave who wanted to attack the algors. That's not the point. We're looking at
your
role in this. You're the one that just gave up your authority. Doesn't that count for something with you? It should, because it matters to the algors."

"So now you blame me for abdicating? How does that connect me to events that occurred after I left Dunop?"

"Because you knew what was going to happen... or you should have known. Are you going to tell me you didn't know what your wife wanted to do? We both know that's nonsense."

Bol snickered with disgust

"Even if I did, what would it matter? Your claim is only relevant if I could have prevented Yave's rise to power. I might have taken the initiative to leave Dunop, but I never had a choice. Whether I wanted to leave or not, it would have happened eventually."

"How do you know?"

Bol grew angry and his expression grew darker than the shadow that protected his eyes from the harsh light.

"Because I had lost the respect of every dwarf in Dunop," he growled.

Ryson would not accept that weak excuse.

"Did you lose it or did you throw it away? You turned your back on your city—on all the dwarves—when they needed you the most. Because of your decision, the separatists took power. I realize that it was Yave who wanted to attack the algors, but you knew what she wanted. You could have tried to stop her, but you just left. You can hide from that all you want, but it's the truth and you know it."

"Fah, what do you know about the truth. Were you there?"

"Yes, I was, after you left. I went to Dunop to try and stop it all. I saw your son Jon. He had withdrawn from everything. He was a shell. You dropped everything upon him and he couldn't handle it. When you gave up the throne, he was left to lead, but the turmoil was too much for him. Your wife—his own mother—turned against him. It was too much for him to take. When Yave took control of the throne, the separatists were more than happy to appease her to consolidate their control over Dunop. That's how it all started. That's what led to the massacre of the algors who are buried here."

"Leave my son out of this," Bol growled.

"Why? Because you're starting to feel guilty? You want to pretend that you had nothing to do with what happened... whether it was in Dunop or out here in the desert. In those sandstone cliffs behind us, dwarf warriors from Dunop attacked the algors. They were merciless. Look across this portion of the desert. Look at how wide it is. It needed to be that large to hold all the corpses. That's how many algors died in the attack."

Once more, Bol looked out at the sand and grunted. He had grown weary of hearing the delver's accusations, and he pointed to the lifeless ground with indifference.

"Is this how you hope to change my mind? By showing me a piece of desert?"

Ryson exhaled heavily in disgust, but he realized Bol was right. The exiled king was going to hold his ground. The delver wasn't going to get through to the dwarf by just showing him empty sand. He turned to Jure with a grim request.

"We need for him to see what's down there. I know you can use your magic to bring the remains up to the surface. The serps managed to do that not too long ago, but I don't want to do it that way. I don't want to disturb the dead again, but he needs to see it. What can you do?"

"He's a dwarf. He's at home in tunnels," Jure responded simply. "Leave it to me."

Jure looked deep into the sand, but not with his eyes. He allowed the magic to bring his consciousness far below the surface. He focused on meager hints of transition as he searched the sand. He could sense the bare traces of alteration
layered within the desert. It was more than the decomposition of physical remains. The slight tremor of transformation contained the memory of a large transfer of souls from one realm to another. There would be no spiritual essence trapped in the ground, just hollow husks, but the wizard knew there would be an echo of passage.

Latching on to the past vibrations, Jure found the bodies with ease. Remnants of the algors' physical existence were scattered deep within the sand, but he could pinpoint them with the aid of the energy that coursed through his own essence. He let the magic set a path below the surface and then prepared a spell to follow its trail.

Bringing his hands together, a white circle formed at his wrists. He thought of a small twister, very intense but very controlled. He whispered a few words and let the magical ring slide off his arms. It tumbled across the sand until it reached the center of the flattened plane.

The wind began to swirl about the circle of energy. Faster and faster it raged, but it grew no larger than the body of a shag. The sand began to mix with the miniature twister, turning it tan in color and rough in substance. The violent churn of magic bit into the ground and quickly burrowed out of sight.

Very little dust rose up from the deepening tunnel and the ground remained surprisingly calm. Only Ryson could sense the slight trembles below the surface, but the delver could not guess how deep the small tornado traveled.

Bol looked across the desert with growing suspicion.

"What are you up to, wizard?"

"Ryson wants you to get a better look at what you caused," Jure replied. "I'm going to make that happen."

Just as Ryson felt the small tremors subside, the wizard announced the completion of his spell.

"It's all set. It's safe to go down there."

Ryson looked to Bol.

"You keep saying you're not responsible. If that's the case, then you'll have no problem with taking a look, will you?"

"Fah," Bol growled with a scowl, and the dwarf set out across the desert toward the new hole in the ground.

Jure's magical twister dug the tunnel with a steep decline into the sand, but it was possible for all three of them to walk the path. The wizard cast a minor light spell for his own benefit. He knew the delver and the dwarf could see just fine in the dark tunnel, but he needed a bit of assistance.

After a few twists and turns, the tunnel flattened out to a level span. There were hundreds of chambers and passages branching off the main corridor. The three walked somberly past piles and piles of bones and corpses.

As the number of algor remains mounted, Ryson could sense Bol stiffening. He believed he was finally getting through to the stubborn dwarf, and he wished to finally break the hardened heart of the exiled king.

"Do you see this? This is what happened. Look at them all."

"I see them," Bol grunted.

They grew quiet as they continued to walk through the underground channel. The  remnants of violent death weighed upon them all and made each step forward a difficult burden.

The grim journey took the greatest toll on the delver. He still retained his connection to the algors, still felt the pull of their community. Ryson remembered when the algor victims were first buried. He had joined the algors in a ceremony of grief. He began to feel the same overwhelming sorrow crush his spirit. He didn't know how long he could take the growing distress, but he believed they had seen sufficient proof to alter Bol's attitude.

"That's enough," the delver demanded, as he turned his attention upon the dwarf. "Do we really need to walk past every lost algor to get through to you?"

Bol swallowed hard, but then revealed an angry expression of his own.

"I see it was a terrible tragedy. I don't deny it, but when will you understand that I am not responsible for this?!"

"You still don't get it, do you? This isn't just about blame. There's something much larger at stake here then a single massacre. The serps are using the algor suffering. They're trying to cause even greater conflict. You're the key to their manipulations, but you want to pretend you're completely innocent. I'm not saying you swung the axe or the mace, but you had a part to play. That's what I'm saying."

Bol exploded. Seeing the remains might not have brought him sympathy for the algors, but it did affect him. He could not ignore the signs of death all around him, and it reminded him of his own loss.

"You keep talking about algor suffering. What about my suffering? I had two sons. You talk about how Jon collapsed from too much responsibility. What about Tun? What about how he died in the pit of
Sanctum Mountain? Did you hear me, delver?! My son died!"

Ryson would not let Bol's outburst sway him from his intended course. He did not wish to torture the dwarf, but he could not forget his ultimate purpose.

"And I can't tell you how sorry I am that happened. No one should have to deal with that kind of suffering. No one! Which is exactly what I'm trying to say to you. The algors faced the same kind of anguish!"

"And you think showing me the bones of the dead will some how convince me the algor loss equals my own?"

"I'm not trying to compare them. I'm hoping to get you to understand what happened to the algors and how the serps are using you to torment them. I don't want to make this about blame. I want it to be about understanding and compassion, but you just won't accept that."

"And where is the understanding and compassion for my loss?"

"You keep turning this back on yourself. For once, think of the algors."

Ryson, however, could see that Bol had no intention of considering anyone beyond himself. Faced with an unyielding dwarf, Ryson made one last request of Jure.

"I can't believe it," the delver admitted, "but all this is still not enough for him. He wants to ignore what's really going on and I can't have that. Can you show him just how many algors lost their lives here?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," the wizard admitted.

"I mean tap into the magic and the memories of what happened here. I've seen spell casters create images that seem real. I don't want him to see just bones and hides. I want him to see the lives that were lost."

"I think I understand."

Jure concentrated on a new spell, one that would link the elements of light and alteration with the gray shadows of past memories. He did not shape the magic beyond the basis of the spell. Rather than try to force a false image from his own perspective, he allowed the creation of a powerful illusion to come from the echoes of time that were connected to the remains scattered throughout the vast chambers.

Once the circle of magic left the wizard's fingertips, a wave of energy rushed through the passage. It filled the long corridor with a muted glow. The spell sought out the remains of the algors buried in that mass grave. It flowed through every bone and each shred of dried skin.

The magic mingled not with the essence of algor spirit, but with memories trapped in time and still connected to the algor corpses. The energy pulsed with new intentions. Shadows of past existences rose out of the chambers and took detailed shape. Soon the corridor was filled with the ghostly images of hundreds upon hundreds of algors.

The ethereal figures marched slowly forward. They moved in long lines toward the three visitors of the burial site. As the eerie forms walked past the delver, they appeared to smile with deep acknowledgment, but when they cast their glances upon the dwarf king, any indication of warmth faded instantly.

The ghastly parade took its toll on the dwarf. He tried to turn away, but he couldn't take the algor ghosts from his sight. Even when he closed his eyes, he believed he could still see them. The vision took firm hold of his mind, and he began to shake with anguish.