Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [18]
“Why would anyone want to come here, into the middle of a desert. I mean, anyone except a kender who really had to see what it was like?” asked Emilo seriously.
“Well, this much I know: It wasn’t a desert back then. That parched wasteland out there was one of the most fertile parts of the kingdom of Thorbardin. Farmed by the hill dwarves, it was. They brought the food in barter to the mountain dwarves for the goods-steel, mostly- that they was too lazy or ignorant to make for themselves.”
Emilo nodded seriously. He pulled the end of his topknot over his shoulder and chewed on the tip, his eyes far away, and Cantor knew that he was visualizing the scene as the Theiwar described it.
“And just like that it would have stayed, too, ‘cept for there came one of the greatest banes of Ansalon since Paladine and the Dark Queen themselves.” The Theiwar spat to emphasize the truth of his words.
And as he cursed and growled over the gods, Cantor spoke with utter sincerity. Indeed, the dark dwarves differed from many of their clan mates in scorning both of the mighty deities. To the subjects of Thane Realgar, any god except Reorx himself was viewed to be a meddling scoundrel, and no self-respecting member of the clan would allow himself to be persuaded otherwise.
“Fistandantilus, it was, who goaded the hill dwarves into thinking that we of the mountain had cheated them. Now, I’ve got no love lost for the Hylar-self-righteous, prissy little martinets, for the most part-but they had the right idea when they closed and barred the gates. We had no choice but to leave the hill dwarves to fend for themselves. Not room under the mountain for ‘em all. Never was and never will be,” Cantor stated with finality.
“And then the Cataclysm came?” asked Emilo, trying to follow along.
“No! That was a hundred years before! It was after the Cataclysm, when flood and famine scarred all the land, that the hill dwarves came begging for help. They forgot that they had turned their backs on the mountain years before, when they wanted to mix with the folk of the world.” Cantor shuddered at the very idea; his time in exile had convinced him that the ancestral rift was a true and fundamental parting of the ways.
“But then they wanted to come back inside the mountain?” the kender prodded.
“Aye. And when the Hylar and the rest of us turned ‘em away, we kicked them as far as Pax Tharkas and told them not to come back. But that’s when they went and got that wizard and a whole lot of hill dwarf and human warriors.”
“And the wizard… that was Fistandantilus?”
“And who’d ‘a’ thought he’d put together an army like that? Coming onto the plains around Zhaman, ready to move against the North Gate.
That was when the North Gate was still there, of course. So we came out, and dwarven blood was shed across the whole valley. The Theiwar stood on the left flank, and their attack was sending the hill dwarves reeling back toward the elven-home.”
“And the wizard? Did he do magic? Did he fly?” Emilo pressed excitedly.
“Well, that was one of the strange things at the time. It seems he wasn’t there… didn’t take part in the battle. Instead, he came here-or rather to Zhaman, the tower that used to stand here.”
“So did you mountain dwarves win the battle?”
“We would have!” declared Cantor with a snort. ‘“Cept for the damn wizard. Like I was trying to tell you, he came here, worked some kind of spell, and the whole place was blown to pieces. Including my father, with the other Theiwar on the front lines.”
“That’s too bad.” Emilo sounded sincerely regretful.
“Bah! The blackguard was a scoundrel and a thief! Besides, I got his sleeping chamber, and first pick of the family treasures.” Cantor chuckled grimly at the kender’s shocked expression, then leaned over to noisily slurp some water from the pool.
“Was Fistandantilus killed, too?” Emilo asked, studying the walls of this round grotto.
“Yup. Everybody knows that.”
“It looks like some parts of this place weren’t damaged too bad,” observed