The Melding Chapter Four Part Four

I remember my tutor once told my brothers and me the dealings of the last assembly of the races. She went through every traditional practice from the ringing of the gong beginning the meeting to the minute details discussed. That meeting was centered on the dwarves’ decision to ally with goblins and trolls. It is infamous for being the longest lasting gathering at Corun Nil of all time. I am hoping that this gathering is infamous in no way. Perhaps it will become famous instead, an example all further meetings wish to meet or perhaps it will be the last necessary meeting.

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Belon was sweating. His shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his arms where they rested against his torso. He could hear Dergon’s foot rattling against the chair as he bounced his knee as he had a tendency to do when he was nervous.

His statement hung in the hair, and no one seemed willing to do much about it. How were the dwarf, Golden T… Yes. Tol, Golden Tol and the elf (this was always the hard title…) the Voice, Edon able to look so cool when he felt like he was about to erupt (or perhaps simply projectile vomit). And that cursed bowl of water. Was that a joke? Was the nymph king just going to waltz in, drink the water and sit down, apologizing for being late with a knowing smirk. That would be smart. Damn, anyone who could think of something like that would have his respect.

He took a deep breath through his nose. Dergon needed to be still, or he was going to reach back there and strangle the nervous man, just like his distant ancestor had on his mother’s side, killing his adviser. Of course, the long dead king had done so because the even longer dead adviser had been philandering with the king’s daughter but…

Leaning back as if taking advice, he aimed a deadly smile at Dergon. “Be still or leave,” he hissed so that only his advisers could hear him. Another in the group, a young pimply boy Belon couldn’t be bothered to remember snickered until he was quieted by a glare aimed at him.

He swore, the only worthwhile man in this group was Teni, silent and unresponsive unless he had a direction to give. Even now his face didn’t twitch. He only leaned forward and whispered, “I’m only speaking, so that it looks like you got your answer. Now sit back up.”

Belon obeyed, setting again, and reveled in the true silence. His mother said that this many advisers looked good. It sent the message that he could afford to listen to the opinions of any men he wanted. He thought it was tiresome. All the seven men did was squabble. Plus, he added to himself, there were no historical papers he had found that said a ruler brought with him more than one trusted adviser. Surely tradition was more important to follow than some modern ideal.

An ideal that didn’t seem to be multicultural. He felt a fool with so many strangers behind him. the Voice, Edon had no one, and Golden Tol only had her family with her, or so he assumed since they all looked so similar. Though, now that he thought about it, perhaps all dwarves just kind of looked the same… They seemed to have the dwarvish attributes, no trait to set them apart from each other.

The Voice, Edon, cleared his throat and said softly, “I believe the answer to your second step is obvious.” He let a few moments go, and the idiotic smile on his face made Belon pretty sure the quiet was there to build tension or something just as stupid. Did the elf not realize- “Rodents. What lives as long as a rodent, breeds like a rodent and lives in crowded squalor like a rodent?” His dark eyes slid to Belon as his pale thin lips tilted up.

Putting his hands on the table to steady himself when the room seemed to tilt, the crumbling stone walls going a little blurry, Belon could only stare at the Voice, Edon. He could hear the advisers bristling behind him. Dergon’s damn leg was bouncing again, faster than ever. He tripped into the words he needed, and he felt as if he was listening to someone else speak as his voice pierced through the awkward silence with calm clarity, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was dealing with…” He broke off when Teni put a warning hand on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he took a quick short breath. “Close quarters are more conducive to disease, but this is like nothing we’ve faced before. What about the soulless races? The behavior of my father reminds me of them.”

The Golden Tol raised a silver eyebrow, her skin pulling and wrinkling into different patterns. “You’ve met trolls, goblins, and orcs?”

He licked his lips.

The Voice chuckled. “You’ve stepped in it now, boy.”

His head snapped to look at the elf again, outraged by the lack of respect. Dergon’s constant twitching was a roar behind him. He grit his teeth. “My title is King-in-Waiting.” He forced himself to look at Golden, feeling a little better as Teni murmured approval behind him. “No, Golden Tol, I have not, but I have heard many legends and stories.”

She scoffed. “Legends and stories that demonize, I’m sure.”

He tilted his head, the history scholar within curious, but he let his eyes narrow in contempt rather than interest. “Stories like how they killed a Golden and the many dwarves he had with him when the unwise ruler attempted to bridge the gap between soulless and civilized.” He was surprised at how frigid his smile felt. “You were the only remaining left in your family, weren’t you, Golden? What kind of fate was it that you were to be punished for wandering to the surface after everyone else had retired by being left behind? Was there a small part of you that was glad they died for being so harsh to your wish to see the stars?”

She stiffened and glared at the dwarf slightly behind her when he tried to take her hand. “No one truly knows what happened that day except tribes that escaped to the mountain peaks where we could not follow without freezing.” She looked down.

Again, Teni leaned forward, whispering urgently, “You’ve got to far, Your Highness.”

Belon frowned. He felt he had stabbed at the tender spot just as he needed to. Shifting awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m not certain.” His eyes wandered to the Voice. “Perhaps it was the wild elves.” He frowned at the bowl of water. “Or the nymphs.” They really didn’t know at all.