Song of the Ascendant

9. Foresight

Sixteenth of Harbinger

There had been a time when the dwarves were feared throughout the lands. They had dominated the mountains of Nimura, unearthed the treasures of the northern ocean, and tamed the wilds of the east. When they marched to war, they bore heavy golden cuirasses, wielded the finest steel, and marched behind great machines that could not be withstood by any catapult or fortress. They had crushed their enemies without mercy, compromise, or remorse.

That had been before Palia. Before the imperialist fleets arrived from across the oceans. For all the ferocity of the dwarven legions, they had been steadily pushed back by the Palian regiments, their strongholds crushed underfoot until only Nimura remained. The surface was colonised, the mountains given to the dwarves as a peace offering, which they had shamefully accepted. They reasoned that it was better to accept a little and await the day of vengeance. They signed the Mirzali Compact, restricting their armies to Nimura lest they be destroyed by Palian might. Then, after the cataclysm that eradicated Palia, those rulers' sons renewed the Compact with the newly independent kingdoms, heaping shame upon shame. It was during those dark days that an elven prophet living in Nimura had given the Song of the Ascendant, singing it to the dwarven kings and vowing that it was the key to their future glory. Every dwarf learned it from birth. In the halls beneath the rocky mountain of Mirzali, the words were inscribed in gold:

The Ascendant will rise

With fire in his eyes;

To liberate the land

And bring oneness again;

The liars will be silenced

The fruit of the Ascendant's defiance;

All who stand will fall

The proud will cry forevermore.

Every dwarf watched the sky for the falling star that would unearth the Ascendant and declare their victory. For a thousand years they waited, longed, and lost hope. Then Ashelath fell, and hope was rekindled. The only question was whether the kings of Nimura would seize the opportunity to restore their former glory.

Nizali Amaroth was the firstborn son of Zimari Amaroth, King of the Seventh Dynasty of Nimura. He was ninety-six, young by the standards of dwarves who lived up to three hundred years – more even, if they lived healthily, which was rare enough. He was about four feet tall, and his light brown beard was tied in a plat that ran down to his chest. His 'common name', used for those outside the clan, was 'Greywall'. It was as such that he was known to the Lord of Narandir. His meetings with this Belkai Androva were at the forefront of his mind as he stepped through the golden doors that opened up to the throne room. The floor was solid black obsidian, the walls and ceiling the purest gold. Statues of dwarves, dragons, and subterranean beasts were spread throughout the room, made of gold and embedded with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. The rear of the room was taken up by a raised platform covered in crimson carpet, upon which sat the throne of King Zimari. He sat tall upon the throne, diamond-tipped sceptre held in one hand as he looked upon his son. His beard nearly reached the floor, the colour of rust indicating his age. Nizali stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the throne and bowed. He waited until the sceptre tipped, then raised his head and looked upon his father.

"I live to serve, Lord Zimari," he proclaimed. Even the king's son was not excepted from due reverence. He wasn't alone in the room. Beside him stood Desuri, the king's senior advisor. On his left was Milfaz, the senior military commander. He was wearing bronze armour but had no weapons on him. No one but the guards could bear weapons near the king – and their families would be punished should they try to harm him. The guard himself would be unharmed, only chained in the dungeon with his family's bodies. There would be no martyrs, only shattered families. Zimari had learned well the lessons of the past.