City Of Night: Book Two of The Hand of Fire Page 4

‘In becoming a Brother of Gromm,’ Hirandar whispered, ‘Gromm will forgive a Brother his sins, allow him admission to the Misty Halls – regardless of the wishes of the other Ancestor-Gods. For Gromm is the strongest of all the Gods, and none can stand against him – save Odrin.’

  ‘Odrin?’ Baek murmured. ‘Forgrun said Odrin is the King of all the Rhungari Gods?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hirandar said softly. ‘Odrin is the Lord of the Ancestor-Gods, but it is not his place to decide admittance to the Misty Halls. For he is the eldest of the Gods, the father to all. If the choice were to Odrin, he would never turn any Rhungar away from his halls. However, this simply cannot be. So Odrin must leave the other Gods to decide who enters the Misty Halls. And if Gromm wishes a Rhungar to enter the Halls, there is no other who has the strength to oppose him.’

  Harnan led the company across the cavern, past the campfires of the Storm Hammers. They had burnished heavy armour, which had a dark blue sheen, and wore long black cloaks – black was the Rhungar colour of piety and responsibility. All Rhungars were stern, but none were more sullen than these Storm Hammers.

  ‘Don’t stare!’ Hirandar murmured at Baek. ‘Those Rhungars are not fond of the Aborle.’

  ‘They have no axes?’ Baek said in amazement.

  ‘The Storm Hammers,’ Hirandar whispered, ‘as the name suggests, carry a warhammer – the Rhungari weapon of retribution.’ Hirandar took a shifty look around before she continued, ‘Rhungars believe storms happen when the Gods are angry, and the Storm Hammers fight to appease the wrath of the Gods. They are the avengers of the Rhungar world, the grudge bearers who will right any slight committed against their people. They are also the custodians of the Rhungar temples, and absolute sticklers for tradition.’

  Macen marvelled at how much information the Wizard had on the Rhungars, but he knew Hirandar had spent years studying their ways.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you if you were the last man in the whole of Hathlore!’ Jvarna hissed under her breath, as she and Drual followed Harnan and Logan – who were talking amongst themselves about the Krun threat.

  ‘You don’t need to pretend with me anymore,’ Drual smirked, as the warriors made for the torch-lit tunnel out of the first antechamber.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’ Jvarna snarled.

  ‘You know.’ Drual smiled.

  Jvarna scowled, ‘The only thing you’re going to know is the back of my hand–’

  ‘Woa!’ Drual threw his hands wide, ‘settle down my Lady! There’ll be plenty of time for that later…’

  ‘What!’ Jvarna screamed. ‘You big-headed buffoon! I’d sooner kiss a Rhungar!’

  At which many Rhungars, sitting around the campfires, turned to the Shacainian. Jvarna went the deepest shade of purple, as she hurried on to catch up Logan.

  ‘Well, my Lady,’ Drual grinned at Jvarna, ‘as you can see,’ the rogue gestured to the many watching Rhungars, ‘that can easily be arranged!’

  The Hand of Fire went through another set of great gates, into Khan Zhen’s main chamber, the Under City. They were all struck dumb. Even Logan and Hirandar, and the two Rhungars, were awed to silence by the incredible spectacle. Macen gazed up at the vast roof, hundreds of feet overheard. The Rhungars called this vast space a chamber, but Macen thought that was an inadequate word to describe the sheer size of this immense space. The Under City was as big as Gulren. How the mountain peak was supported by little but air was a structural impossibility.

  ‘Amazing!’ Macen whispered. Macen had to blink and refocus his eyes, but they were not deceiving him. The massive roof seemed to have nothing to hold it up! It was the most astonishing architecture Macen had yet seen.

  ‘I told yhee that yhee do be impressed!’ Forgrun grinned at Baek, as the Aborle gazed over the Under City in wonder.

  ‘Durin’ day time,’ Harnan said, ‘ye city chamber be lit by outside light via a system o’ shafts an’ mirrors.’

  But as it was night, Macen looked out over the Under City and saw how it was covered in a blanket of lights, each one a twinkling glow of warmth in the darkness of the underground. Staring up, he saw how crystals gleamed far overheard, reflecting the light below, and he wondered if the Rhungars had embedded their own stars in the rock ceiling of their Under City. Macen could see there were hundreds of giant iron braziers, full of smouldering red coal, scattered over the rock floor. They bathed the entire chamber in a red glow, giving the Under City a welcoming feel, and the impression of great strength. The rumble of hundreds of Rhungar conversations circled around the city, both in Grumbold and the common tongue.

  ‘Forgive me, my friend,’ Baek laid a hand on Forgrun’s huge shoulder. ‘I was ignorant when I called stone cold and lifeless. I never even dreamed of such a place as this.’

  ‘Yhee be humble,’ Forgrun bowed to the Aborle, ‘an’ gracious o’ speech – far more than I. Long may we be friends, Baek o’ Borleon.’

  There were numerous single-story houses, made entirely of stone, with flat stone roofs and stout little chimneys. Macen saw how the buildings themselves were all bland and grey, but clan allegiance was often blazoned across them by way of a coloured metal plaque, or sculpture, attached to the house. In some places, houses were built on top of other houses in stacks. Up the sides of the sweeping chamber walls there were also dwellings built into the rock face, joined by stone stairwells, with lamp-lit balconies overlooking the Under City.

  Harnan led the Hand of Fire towards the stronghold at the far end of the great chamber, and they passed through different areas of the subterranean city, each denoted by sculptures – crafted metalwork of the symbols of the different Clans.

  ‘That be Ironstone’s,’ Forgrun pointed out to Macen his clan’s insignia, of a hammer hitting an anvil. ‘An’ that be Arcanlode’s,’ Forgrun gestured to a metal sculpture of a lightning bolt striking fire. ‘Arcanlode be ye smallest clan, an’ ye most secretive. They do tend ter be engineers or met’lurgists. Arcanlode colours be light green an’ deep blue. An’ that be Bronzkiln’s symbol,’ Forgrun pointed to two crossed pick axes.

  ‘Bronzkiln is one of the smaller clans,’ Hirandar said to Macen and Baek, ‘they take pride in their mining culture. The Bronzkiln colours are bronze and purple.’

  ‘Although Bronzkilns be mining specialists,’ Forgrun said as they walked, ‘all Rhungars do learn ter mine, because using pick do build up ye strength an’ dexterity needed ter use fightin’ axe.’

  Macen was amazed at how noisy, how active and how alive the Under City was. Rhungars shouted to each other with their booming voices, Rhungari children ran and played loud games, and everywhere Macen looked he saw the swirl of the colours of the clans. Even though half the Under City was uninhabited, the streets that were lived in were full to the seams with Rhungar families. Macen found that strange. He would have thought that, given there were so many empty houses in the stone city, the Rhungars would spread out to fill the space. But instead they all preferred to live on top of each other.

  Macen could see all the Rhungar-women were prepared for war too. The women all looked stout and tough. They each carried a Rhungari war axe, and had bigger shoulders than any man Macen had ever seen – except for Ragad.

  Despite the cold reception from the Rhungar warriors in the ante-chamber, Macen and his friends was greeted warmly by the Rhungars in the Under City. Macen saw the disbelief in Baek’s eyes as he watched the thumping way the Rhungars greeted Forgrun. They smashed each other so hard with their handshake that anyone but a Rhungar or Ragad would have been sent flying.

  ‘Welcome ter Khan Zhen,’ a grey bearded Rhungar said to Macen, as he extended his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ Macen hesitantly held out his arm, and braced for impact.

  The Rhungar gently clasped his massive hand on Macen’s forearm, without any thunderous backswing. Macen smiled in relief, and the grey bearded Rhungar winked at him, before he went on to shake arms with Forgrun in the usual crashing Rhungari way.

&nbs
p; The Hand of Fire walked on past open squares where placid Dhurran horses were crowded together, penned in with livestock that would have normally been housed outside the citadel on the plateau. The company also passed numerous Rhungari alehouses as they strode down the street to the stronghold. Macen saw that each alehouse was advertised by a sculpture of an ale tankard frothing over with beer. The taverns were all full, and the sound of gruff talking and shouting was thick on the fumy air. Macen even caught snatches of the battle song Forgrun had taught the townspeople of Gulren.

  ‘As you know from our very own Forgrun,’ Hirandar said to Macen, ‘a Rhungar’s favourite pastime is gossiping in the alehouses, whilst consuming vast quantities of beer.’

  ‘Aye.’ Forgrun glanced into the alehouses. ‘Other than be drinkin’, an’ when we nay away fightin’ wars with Kruns and Ugurs, we Rhungars do love ter hunt ye dangerous creatures that be livin’ in ye wild mountains – ye evil trolls, Gaurgans an’ cyclops.’

  ‘It is hard to comprehend all this life goes on under mountain rock,’ Macen said to Forgrun, ‘concealed from the outside world. I gaze over this great Under City and I see courage, life and strength. It is a wonderful place.’

  ‘Aye, my friend,’ Forgrun patted Macen’s shoulder, with a beaming smile.

  ‘We will have to stay here,’ Logan said to Hirandar and Harnan, ‘until we have some notion of what the Krun are doing. They flee eastwards along the paths we need to take, and there is no other way around.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Hirandar nodded, ‘the pass is too narrow to slip through unseen. We’ll have to wait and see what the Kruns do. But they are restless creatures, and won’t stay where they are for long. If they head back south, taking the easier path back to the Lost Realms, the high pass will be open to us.’

  ‘If the Ugurs return to lay siege,’ Logan murmured, ‘will they not cage us inside the mountain?’

  ‘If they do,’ Hirandar whispered, ‘I know an old passage, a dark way, all but forgotten. The Krun will not know to look there. It is an exit only, and impossible to find from the outside.’

  Heading for the stronghold at the Under City’s far end, the companions passed the hammering chink of metal struck on anvil, and the smouldering fires of the busy weapon forges. Macen knew the night-time was better for forging blades – easier to see when the glowing metal reach the right heat.

  ‘The weaponsmiths,’ Hirandar gestured to the forges, ‘the most prestigious of the smiths, work up here in the Under City. But in the sub-levels below, there are great forges and furnaces where other smiths create the majority of the metal-craft. These workshop fires warm the Under City via excavated tunnels and vents – it’s all very clever,’ Hirandar grinned. ‘Further beneath the workshop levels, far deep under the ground, there are great mines and grottos where metals, coal and gems are found in abundance. You see, Rhungars have an uncanny knack of discovering rich veins of mineral deposits. More than half of Hathlore’s metal is mined from the handful of remaining Rhungari citadels.’

  Macen gaped up at the lord’s stronghold, with its torch-lit towers and battlements cut from the rock. Dauntless, fierce and indomitable, the stronghold loomed over the subterranean city, exuding shelter and protection. If things got to their worst, the Rhungars could fall back to the stronghold and make a last stand. Macen knew that stronghold must extend deep into the rock, and he could only see part of the citadel from the outside – a half ring of battlements, which were so smooth they had the look of being carved from one piece of rock.

  ‘Yhee will be received by ye Clan Council,’ Harnan said to Hirandar and Logan, as they walked up to the castle gates.

  Citadel Guards jumped to attention and saluted Harnan, as the company passed by. These Citadel Guard had hulking plate armour, over a black tunic weaved with gold thread. They bore round shields and domed helms, with the crest of a swooping gold falcon in a silver sky – the insignia of Khan Zhen. Macen saw the respectful gleam in the Rhungari soldiers’ eyes, as they watched Captain Harnan stride past.

  Harnan led the companions down a passage with sweeping stone arches overhead, and iron torches set at every pillar. The passage had no furnishing or pictures. Unlike the way Rhungars dressed, their buildings were devoid of any colour. Inside the fortress, serving Rhungars rushed past the companions on urgent tasks, wearing brown tabards with armbands displaying their clan colours – always two colours in alternating bands.

  ‘What are the other clans?’ Macen asked Forgrun as they walked.

  ‘Strumval’s clan,’ Forgrun said, ‘Galvin Tor, usu’ly be Rhungars known ter like ye outside. They be good hunters an’ trackers, an’ of’en do became Grey Rangers. Ye Galvin Tor colours be sky blue an’ navy blue.’

  Tsun Cloud were known as strongly religious Rhungars. They looked to the sky for inspiration, and were likely to become priests or rune lords. The Tsun Cloud colours were orange and silver. Claymore were another clan with a strong warrior ethos. They were the only Rhungars that were certain to be carrying swords. They carried axes as well, but always had a Claymore strapped to their side. The Claymore – from which the clan took its name – was a heavy double-edged long sword of Rhungari design. Claymore colours were red and green.

  From Macen’s point of view, the most unusual of the Rhungar clans were the Browen Dal, the gardeners of the Rhungars. The passion of these Rhungars was not in metals or stone, but in living things. The Rhungars of Browen Dal tended the land and cultivated whatever the citadels needed in terms of livestock, vegetables and crops. They also shepherded the herds of mountain bison and flocks of giant flightless birds called gollys. The Browen Dal colours were green and gold.

  Harnan – still deep in conversation with Logan – took the Hand of Fire into a large chamber. By the direction they had come, Macen thought they were deep inside the mountain rock. This chamber had a monstrous fireplace, at the far end of the vast hall, which must have had a chimney to the outside. A roaring blaze in that massive hearth would keep the Rhungars warm in their bitterly cold winters. Despite there being no windows the chamber was bright, for there were lights, lanterns and iron braziers afire everywhere. The grey stone walls were plain, and the room was full of seated Rhungars. The tables were made of beaten sheets of curved metal, with a dark red sheen. Macen counted seven parallel tables, one for each of the clans, and all the Rhungars sitting at these tables wore their clan colours in different styles of baggy tunics and billowing trousers.

  There were twenty Rhungars at each table, and the eclectic group of the Hand of Fire drew some surprised stares and murmurs. Especially, it seemed, the Aborle who was one of them. Macen noticed, of all the Rhungars he had seen, Forgrun was the biggest around – matched only by Harnan.

  Macen had heard food and drink – and mealtimes in general – were important to the Rhungars, and this great room served not only as a room to receive guests and discuss policies, but as a grand dining hall. The chamber had an eighth table on a raised platform, running perpendicular to the heads of the seven clan tables. Each of the Clan Lords sat at this high table, looking down their own clan tables. Seven Clan Lords in total, sitting either side of the Citadel Lord. Also on the high table, sat a venerable Rune Lord and a High Priest of Odrin. These important Rhungars sat with their backs to the wall, gazing out over the dining hall and the Rhungars of their Clans.

  The company came to a halt in front of the high table, with the clan tables at their backs, presenting themselves to the Citadel Lord.

  Drogal, the Citadel Lord, rose and said formally, ‘Be welcome friends, old an’ new. Receive ye thanks o’ ev’ry Rhungar here an’ in me city. Be seated at me table.’

  Drogal of Bronzkiln, the Citadel Lord of Khan Zhen, was one of the few Rhungars at the tables not wearing clan colours. The Citadel Lord was supposed to favour no clan above any other, but often looked preferably on his own – known unofficially as the “ruling clan”.

  Macen saw that Drogal had a long wolf-grey beard, and wise brown eyes. Even for
a Rhungar, Drogal’s nose was big and his cheekbones protrusive. He was elderly, but not frail. Macen could see that, despite his age, Drogal’s body was filled with the vigour of Rhungari fortitude. On his finger was a ring of pure zildar. That metal drew Macen’s eyes. He noted how there were no guards in this great hall. There was no need. Every Rhungar was a warrior.

  Serving Rhungars came forward, carrying metal chairs for the companions, and Harnan went and sat on the other side of the table, on Drogal’s right hand side. Hirandar and Logan sat opposite Drogal and Harnan, whilst the other companions spread out down the table.

  ‘Yhee be few in number,’ Drogal announced for everyone to hear, ‘but thy might drove ye Kruns away. Yhee are fore’er welcome ter citadel Khan Zhen. Let ye feast begin!’ The Citadel Lord bellowed, and all the Rhungars in the room began talking amongst themselves.

  Serving Rhungars began running plates, stacked with meat, and huge tankards full of ale, starting at the high table then moving down to the clan tables. The Rhungars ravenously attacked the meat and beer, like nothing Macen had seen before. They ate with their hands, slopped food and drink down their fronts, and talked with their mouths full. Still, Macen knew it was just their way, but goodness knows what Baek thought of it all, with his reserved Aborle sensibilities. Macen realised Forgrun had done them a great politeness in the past, eating in a way that would not offend his non-Rhungar friends. But now Forgrun was back at a Rhungari table, he was worse than any other that sat there.

  ‘Great One,’ Drogal said reverently, touching his forehead in the strange way Rhungars always did to show their respect for a Wizard. ‘Ye Firefist be most welcome in ye halls o’ Rhungars, especially in these dark times.’

  ‘It is good to see your mountain halls again, Drogal,’ Hirandar dipped her head, ‘Lord of Khan Zhen. But alas, we cannot stay long. Our path heads eastward through the high mountains to the City of Night.’

  ‘Yhee mean ter take ye Blizzen Passes?’ Drogal asked.