Chapter 9: The Dwarves
Elias felt drawn to the throne but also wary under the stare of the golden angels and lions. He turned to the old man beside him, keeping his voice low in the huge, quiet room. "This silence is heavy. What's your name?"
The old man, Thorold, kept his eyes on the giant lion statues with their glowing red ruby eyes. "Thorold, my Lord."
"Thorold," Elias repeated. He waved a hand towards the incredible golden statues, stairs, and throne. "Other lords came. They stole everything they could carry – small treasures, food, even people. But *this*," he pointed at the mountains of gold, "remains. Why? Were they too scared of these statues?" He nodded towards a nearby angel and a lion.
Thorold gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Scared? Maybe at first. But greed usually wins. Oh, they *tried*, Lord Elias. They tried to break the angels, the stairs, the lions, the throne." He shuffled closer to the base of the golden staircase near a lion and pointed. "Look. See the marks?"
Elias looked. On the base of a nearby angel statue, there was a deep cut in the gold. Similar gashes marked the lower steps of the staircase. Even the base of the lion statue showed a big chip. But the damage looked shallow, and the gold around the marks was perfectly smooth, like it had healed. The lion's ruby eyes stared ahead, uncaring.
"They couldn't take it," Thorold said flatly. "Not even a speck of gold dust. Hammers bounced off the angels. Swords got dull hitting the steps. Picks broke on the lions. Magic just fizzled out when they tried it. You can't break any of it. You can't move any of it. It's all stuck here, tied to the heart of this island. One lord, Kaelen, even blasted an angel's wing with dragonfire. The fire just vanished when it touched the gold, leaving no mark. It just... *is*. And here it stays."
Elias carefully touched one of the scars. The gold felt strangely cool and solid, humming faintly with power. "Bound," he murmured. He looked up the long golden stairs, past the watching lions, past the last angels, to the throne far away. "Tell me about this place, Thorold. How did this place became like this ? How did it fall?.
Thorold met his gaze, his ancient eyes clear but filled with the weight of generations, not personal memory. **"Know it? Lord Elias, I was born within these very walls, over ninety winters past. But when I drew my first breath, *this*..."** He gestured broadly at the angels, the lions, the stairs, the throne, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. **"...was already just as you see it now. Ancient. Silent. A mystery older than any living soul. The gold gleamed untouched, the ruby eyes burned watchful, the throne sat empty – exactly as it has for centuries upon centuries before me."**
"No one knows how this place name , who ones rule here or how it falls! It like this place just....Came out of the air."
.......
Elias was about to press further when the old man abruptly moved. Not towards the whispers, but downwards.
Thorold sank to his knees before Elias with startling suddenness, his forehead nearly touching the cold flagstones. It was an act of profound contrition. Elias lunged forward, grasping his arms. "Thorold! What is this? Rise!"
No, my lord,"** Thorold's voice was thick with emotion, muffled against the stone. **"I beg your forgiveness... not for myself, but for a secret I have guarded with my life, and which my people will have died to protect."**
Elias knelt beside him, trying to lift him. "Thorold, you've guided me, shared this ruin's history. What secret could demand such penance?" Confusion etched his features.
Thorold slowly raised his head. Tears tracked through the deep crevices of his weathered face, but his eyes held fierce determination, not shame. **"Forgive our deception, Lord Elias. We... the people of this island... have harbored fugitives. Precious souls who arrived here by cruel accident, much like yourself. We hid them the day we saw your damaged ship crash upon the shore. We thought you were another of those lords, come to take and break... but you are different."**
Elias froze. "Fugitives?" The word hung in the air, heavy with implication.
**"Dwarves, my lord,"** Thorold whispered, the word dropping into the silence like a stone into a deep well.
*Dwarves.*
The word struck Elias like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs. His mind reeled. *Dwarves!* Not just a word, but a cascade of vivid memories erupted from the deepest vaults of his childhood. He saw himself, small and wide-eyed, curled in a worn armchair before a crackling fire. He felt the smooth, thick parchment of his mother's most treasured book beneath his fingers – *"Beings of Myth and Might: A Compendium."* He could almost smell the faint scent of aged paper and ink. And there, leaping from the page in intricate, hand-colored illustrations, were the Dwarves.
He remembered the pictures: figures shorter than men but broader, thick-limbed and incredibly strong, depicted hefting hammers larger than their torsos against glowing forges deep within mountain roots. Their eyes, the book claimed, burned like banked coals, able to see the finest flaws in metal by its inner heat. Their beards were braided with intricate metal rings, symbols of clan and craft. **Magical creatures.** The text whispered it – beings touched by earth magic, born from stone and fire, wielding an innate understanding of metal and gem that bordered on the supernatural. **The best blacksmiths.** The book stated it as absolute fact: no mortal hand could match a Dwarf Master Smith's skill. Their blades never dulled, their armor turned aside blows that should shatter steel, their intricate clockwork marvels seemed to breathe with a life of their own. Legends spoke of Dwarven halls glittering with mithril and adamant, of artifacts that shaped the fate of empires. And here, he did not expect that, they will be a group of dwarves living here.
This left Elias momentarily speechless, staring at Thorold with undisguised shock. They weren't just stories. They were *here*.He had not seen real dwarf before. He looked at the kneeling old man in the eyes.
He met Elias's gaze squarely, seeing the astonishment. **"A small family group of dwarves. Years ago, their sky-ship – a thing of gleaming metal and strange lights – was caught in a cosmic storm, rent asunder. It crashed upon our eastern cliffs like a falling star. They crawled from the wreckage, battered, lost, and terrified. Children among them, my lord."**
**"We found them,"** Thorold continued, his voice softening with remembered compassion. **"Saw their fear, but also the kindness in their eyes, even through the pain. Though injured and far from any home they knew, they didn't lash out. They shared what little salvaged food they had. In the weeks that followed, they repaid our meager shelter tenfold. They mended our broken plows and fishing nets with impossible skill, crafting joints stronger than the original. From strange metals pulled from their wreck, they forged us new tools – plowshares that cut the earth like butter, axes that bit deep into the hardest wood without chipping. They showed us how to channel water better, how to read the soil, coaxing life from patches we thought barren. They asked for nothing, Lord Elias, truly nothing but shelter from the open sky and absolute secrecy from those who would misuse them."**
Thorold's expression hardened, the warmth replaced by grim memory. **", one day. Lord Kaelen. He came later, drawn perhaps by whispers of strange metal finds or lights in the cliffs. He was cunning, like a viper. He discovered their hidden workshop, deep within a labyrinth of sea caves only the oldest fishermen knew. He didn't see people, my lord. He saw *treasure*. Living, breathing keys to unlock arts forgotten by men. He planned to chain them, cage them, ship them off to his mainland fortress to be studied, dissected like curious beasts, forced to forge weapons until their hammers fell from dead hands."**
A grim, fierce pride entered Thorold's voice now. **"But he underestimated the loyalty they inspired... and the loyalty we felt. The eldest among the dwarves, a fierce soul named Borin Stonehand, stood guard at the cave mouth when Kaelen's knights came. He met them not with pleas, but with a warhammer salvaged from his ship. He fought like a cornered mountain badger, Lord Elias! Short but unstoppable. He felled three armored knights, shattering breastplates like pottery, before Kaelen himself, a skilled swordsman, found an opening and struck him down."** Thorold's voice caught. **"Borin's sacrifice bought us precious minutes. While he held the narrow passage, we rigged the unstable cliff face above the main entrance. When Kaelen and his remaining men pushed past Borin's body... we brought the mountain down. Tons of rock sealed the cave mouth, crushing Kaelen and his ambition forever. We saved the surviving dwarves – Borin's kin – but we swore an oath that day, etched in blood and stone: no outsider would *ever* threaten them again. We became their shield, their shadow. When strangers land, the dwarves vanish into tunnels only they and a few elders like me know. The surface shows only ruins and simple fisherfolk, hiding the beating heart beneath."**
Thorold bowed his head once more, the weight of decades of vigilance pressing down. **"We hid when your ship crashed. We watched... and we saw you were not Kaelen. We saw *you*."**
Slowly, deliberately, Elias moved. He grasp Thorold's arms .
**"There is nothing to forgive, Thorold Stoneheart,"** Elias said, his voice low but resonant, echoing faintly in the vast chamber. He held the Dwarf's gaze, his own eyes reflecting not shock, but profound respect and a dawning understanding. **"You protected your people. That is no crime; it is the highest duty. Your trust... revealing yourself, revealing your kin... that is a gift beyond any gold in this hall."** He placed a hand on Thorold's shoulder, feeling the surprisingly dense muscle beneath the rough tunic. **"I give you my oath, Thorold, sworn upon the very soul I brought to this world: Your people are safe under my rule.
Thorold stared at Elias. The tears returned, but now they were tears of release.