The Gift Of Revenge

Chapter 1

They were like ants; they scurried to and fro carrying large weights that seemed absurd for their size. But the elves managed. Massive golden bricks were hoisted up onto platforms, later cemented down onto the wall using fire wisps. The little fiery creatures let out tiny blasts of heat, and the bricks became part of the patchwork the elves were busily creating; they called it the boundary. 

“When Lord Ailus bought our mined ore I had no idea he was constructing a wall. Why would he want to block Cleawood from Kraog Grove? It makes no sense,” the dwarf King Volodar pondered. “At least Lord Ailus paid a fair price, I must admit. Elves - aye, they're not careful with their riches, I wouldn’t dream of it my boy.” 

Snoring like a gutted pig, Volodar’s son, Klaern, sank further into the plush white seat in the back of the elven carriage. Volodar let out a hefty laugh, and placed his firm, scarred hands on the golden rim of the carriage, he looked out at the chaos. The wall on his right he guessed was already nineteen metres tall made from solid, dwarven mined minerals from Laeroth, his own kingdom. 

There was an explosion to the west of the wall.

A rumble sounded deep underground.

Shrugging off the commotion, Volodar studied his reflection in the silver carriage door. “Really should’ve made an effort, aye,” he said while examining the scar that ran down the left side of his face. He blew the tangled brown lock that was covering his eye aside and tried to brush the coal from his baggy, troll-skin mining clothes, with little success. Spitting on his small grubby hand, he slicked his long mane back, but his little ears offered modest help when dealing with the shaggy beast. Peering closer to the carriage door, he noticed the usual twinkle in his eye had been replaced by painful bloodshot; he was very tired, and his crooked nose reminded him of the witches in the South. 

“Father, why have they invited us to a, um?” Klaern awoke from his deep slumber, brushing aside thick tufts of ginger hair. 
“A dinner party; can’t say no to free food and wine, can we?” 
“But, what’s the point?” 
“Who knows the point, blasted boy? Perhaps they want an alliance against my idiot of a brother. Maybe their running out of supplies and need us, I can’t see what else Lord Ailus would want. Perhaps he wants to re-discuss trade rights?” 

The horses continued to pull the carriage along the cobbled road, with forest to the left and a giant wall to their right. In the distance, the great elven capitol city Kheissa could be seen. “Father, look at that craftsmanship!” 
“Yes m’lad, it was built years ago, caused quite a war actually. You can see it’s made from the minerals found in dwarven territory can’t you? Your Grandfather, the greedy old dwarf that he was, didn't like that; felt war was the only option to reclaim what was his. Dwarves, if it’s theirs they’ll take it back for sure. My idiot brother took up the reigns of the siege, the war wages on very slowly. Although Lord Ailus never had a problem with the Dwarves of Laeroth, or me for that matter.” 

Kheissa was magnificent; ivy spiralled up the silver, marble towers and keep, entangling it in a beautiful net, and there in the heart of the city was a fountain with a golden sculpture of Lord Ailus in the center. In the courtyard, guards stood rigidly upright, with bows slung over their backs and daggers in hilts. The carriages carrying the dwarves pulled into the square hastily, and they disembarked. Stumbling hopelessly, the dwarves dismounted the abnormally large carriages, clearly constructed solely for elves to use.

With a wide grin, Lord Ailus greeted them, “Welcome dwarves, I’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival. Safe journey, I trust?" Signalling for the tallest elf, the commander, to approach he said "Thallan will show you to your rooms to clean up before tonight's main event. I can't wait for the banquet tonight... It's going to be killer.”