“I can see why Greytower is so called,” said Aylis, pointing at the ashen rock of that peak, “and the blackness of Grimspire would seem to give that mountain its name. But given the tint of the stone, I would think Loftcrag would be called Bluecrag or Skycrag, while ruddy Stormhelm ought to be called Bloodhelm or some such.”
“ ’Twas Humankind that gave them those names, hence I cannot say why they are called as they are. Elves, on the other hand, name them respectively, Garlon, Aevor, Chagor, and Coron.”
“Coron, as in the High King of Elves?”
“Aye, for it is the mightiest mountain in the Grimwall.”
Aylis laughed. “You think much of Elvenkind to name it so.”
“Ah, Chier, I did not say it was the mightiest mountain in all of Mithgar, for I have seen giants of mountains in the Jangdi Range.”
Again Aylis laughed and added, “I take it that Elvenkind is not the mightiest in all of Mithgar, then.”
“Oh, my love, surely I would not say that,” replied Aravan, and his laugh joined hers.
Again Aylis looked at the four peaks. “What do the Dwarves call them?”
“Uchan, Aggarath, Ghatan, and Ravenor.”
“And Drimmen-deeve lies under those four?”
“Aye,” replied Aravan. “And it is a mountainfast no foe could penetrate until the Gargon was set free from the Lost Prison. Then it lay open to enemies, though only the Rupt took advantage, for they were sent to occupy the Deeves by Modru. ’Twas he who summoned the Draedan to deal with the Drimma.”
“Ah, again Gargons,” said Aylis.
“Shall I tell thee the tale? How the Drimma, when mining starsilver, weakened the wall of the Gargon’s Lair? I know but part of it, not all.”
“Nay, love, let me ‹see› for myself; then I will tell the whole of it to you.”
“Ah, for the nonce I had forgotten thy calling,” said Aravan with a smile.
Aylis’s gaze swept over the four peaks of the Quadran. “A formidable fastness, you say?”
Aravan nodded. “Nigh impenetrable.”
“Well, then, I do hope they let us in.”
“Fear not, Chier,” said Aravan, “for I am Chak-Sol-Dwarf-Friend-so named long past by Tolak. After several perilous encounters during the many journeys to obtain that which was needed for the construction of the Eroean , it was by his decree that I became Chak-Sol. He also vouched for me when I went to the third Khana Durek in Drimmen-deeve for a pound of starsilver needed to paint the hull of the Eroean to keep barnacles and other such away from her bottom. And I intend to ask DelfLord Balor for another pound when we reach Drimmen- deeve.”
“ ’Twas a priceless gift they gave you,” said Aylis.
Aravan shrugged and said, “Paid back more than tenfold by the experience and knowledge the Drimma gathered in return, to say nought of a share of the goods received at the end of each voyage. Well-earned, I add, by each and every Drimmen warband that has served on my ship.”
“And now we go to recruit a new one, eh?”
“We do,” replied Aravan. .
. . and on they rode.
Three days passed and a part of another ere the golden sun in a high blue sky found Aravan and Aylis riding up the Pitch, a long slope of land rising into the embrace of the Quadran-four mountains lying more or less in a square: To the left flank stood ashen Greytower, and just to the west loomed ebon Grimspire; to the right soared azure-hued Loftcrag, while straight ahead towered ruddy Stormhelm. It was toward this latter they were headed, for there stood the Dawn Gate, the eastern entry into Kraggen-cor.
They had followed a pave past a rune-carved realmstone, announcing that from this point forward they trod upon a Dwarven domain.
They passed by another realmstone, this one broken, the top half of the column missing. It stood on a stone ledge jutting out from the shore of a small lakelet fed by the flow of the Quadrill down from the steeps lying between Stormhelm and Loftcrag. “Here at the Quadmere it was that First Durek declared this realm to belong to the Drimma of his line,” said Aravan, looking toward the shorn pillar.
Aylis frowned and turned her head to the right. “What is that distant roar?”
“ ’Tis the Vorvor, Durek’s Wheel, a whirlpool in a fold of stone along the flank of Loftcrag. There a furious river bursts forth from the mountain and spins ’round a stone basin to disappear down through a central cavity, like unto a drain in a vat. Whence from there, none knows. ’Tis said First Durek was cast by Rupt into that wrath and drawn far below the earth. ’Twas then that the Drimmen war with the Spaunen began, and has raged so ever since.”
“Not a pleasant way to leave this life,” said Aylis.
“Oh, he survived,” said Aravan, “yet whether he died or merely came to Death’s door is in some dispute among the Drimma. Some contend he passed into that realm, but fought his way back out. Knowing the stubbornness of the Drimma, I would not dispute that claim.”
Aylis laughed and on they rode, and within a mile they crossed a stone courtyard to come before the eastern gate into Drimmen-deeve, its massive iron leaves standing open and warded by four armed and armored Dwarves.
Escorted by the captain of the gate ward, a dark-haired, dark-eyed Dwarf named Brekk, past the great iron doors of the portal known as the Dawn Gate and into an entry hall they went, the hooves of their horses clattering upon rock. Delved out of the red granite of Stormhelm, and with the smell of stone in the air, the chamber before them was huge: perhaps two hundred yards in length and nearly as wide. The ceiling above stood some thirty feet high and was covered with machicolations, murder holes from which would rain death-burning oil and melted lead and crossbow bolts and darts and other such-in the unlikely event an invader breached the formidable outer gates. All along the walls were slots in the stone, arrow slits, through which more bolts would fly; they were steel- shuttered from behind and closed at this time.
Past these formidable defenses Aravan and Aylis followed Brekk toward an exit at the far end, an outlet which led into a broad corridor and down, gently sloping into the interior of Drimmen-deeve. And with the shod hooves of the trailing horses echoing from the nearby stone walls, they passed into this roadway. As if she were using her ‹sight›, Aylis looked overhead, where stood a wide slot above, in which she could see the bottom edge of a thick, black-iron slab, and deep grooves ran down the walls to mate with another slot across the floor.
Aylis whispered, “A gate, a great iron plate, set to drop down the grooves and into the channel below and seal the way?”
Aravan nodded.
Aylis murmured, “How do they lock it down, and afterward pull it back up?”
“I ween they have latch bolts in a corridor above and a geared winch to haul it back up,” said Aravan.
Along the wide corridor they went, the hallway lit blue-green by phosphorescent Chakka lanterns, casting a ghastly aspect over all. Down through this spectral glow they trod, along the gentle descent, more murder holes overhead, with the faint hint of an odor of oil drifting down. A furlong or so they went this way, when the corridor came to an end at last, with another floor channel and more wall grooves, while ensconced in an overhead slot a thick iron slab awaited. They issued out onto a broad landing at the top of a short flight of wide stairs leading down to a broad shelf of stone, which in turn came to an abrupt end at a wide rift cleft in the rock. Black and yawning, the deep abyss barred the way: the ebon gape split out of a vast crack in the high rock wall on one side to jag across the expansive stone floor and disappear into another great crack on the opposite wall. It was a mighty barrier, some fifty feet across at the narrowest point, a hundred or more at the widest. Over the immense chasm spanned a broad wooden drawbridge, and a shielded winch on the far side stood ready to hale the counterweighted bascule up and away and lock it in place at need. Dwarven warriors warded the hoist and the bridge.
Beyond the mighty fissure the wide stone floor continued, and by the light of Dwarven lanterns affixed in wall sconces Aylis could see the whole of a vast chamber: its extent was a mile or more, its width mayhap half that, its high-vaulted ceiling some hundred feet up, the roof of the chamber supported by four rows of giant pillars marching away to the end.
