The Lyre of the Clockwork Titan (Part 1)
The black-cloaked figure fed a steady stream of silk rope over the side of a stone bridge, pulling it from a bag much too small to have contained such a length. To avoid unnecessary attention in the endless subterranean darkness around him, Seth risked only the dimmest light from his hooded lantern, but still worried that the faint glow might capture the attention of any horrors lurking nearby. Yet, the light had been necessary when he tethered one end of the rope to the railing’s intricate stonework and would continue to be necessary until the rope was played out. As he worked, Seth sang a tune in his head to keep the stress of the moment at bay. He was more intimate with “The Lyre of the Clockwork Titan” than any other song in his canon.
Hasten the day and start anew,
Ring the bell and fill the pews
Strap on your armor and sharpen your tools
To the light melody of the Clockwork Titan
Check your heading, slope and stone
Carve the tunnel, survey and roam
Lift up your spirits, we’re going home
To the rock steady strum of the Clockwork Titan
Brother and Sister sing, and bring a gift to crown Taargick king
A thing of wonder to behold, cast in bronze, inlaid with gold
A Clockwork Titan, harp in hand, to lift us to the Blue Sky Land
A Clockwork Titan, harp in hand, to lift us to the Blue Sky Land
Heft your axe and lift your shield
Honor, courage and hope you wield
Against all foes who take the field
To the rough and rowdy song of the Clockwork Titan
Grease your hair and braid your beard
Lift your chin and dry your tears
Remember the fallen for all your years
To the sorrowful notes of the Clockwork Titan
Brother and Sister sing, and bring a gift to crown Taargick king
A thing of wonder to behold, cast in bronze, inlaid with gold
A Clockwork Titan, harp in hand, to lift us to the Blue Sky Land
A Clockwork Titan, harp in hand, to lift us to the Blue Sky Land
As he sang in his mind he could imagine a dwarven chorus, deep voices singing proudly to the clinking of silver mugs and the thumping of ale-soaked tables. The Titan’s story was ancient, with many twists and turns, but all roads led back to music. Seth imagined that the Titan was crafted of the very stuff of music, solidified out of thin air like ice and snow, and then molded to look bronze and gold. If anyone could accomplish such a feat it would be a god, and especially the two gods who had crafted it.
The words “brother and sister” in the refrain had actually been the most difficult part of the song to unravel. They could easily be mistaken to refer only to the dwarven people as a whole. But Seth discovered that, in fact, these words had dual meaning. They also referred to the gods Dou-Bral and his half-sister Shelyn. The god and goddess of beauty, love, music and art had created the Clockwork Titan, but only Shelyn had presented it to the dwarven king, Taargick, at his coronation. Seth never discovered what had become of Dou-Bral, but there was deep sadness and loss on the part of Shelyn in some fragments of the tale. Seth speculated that Dou-Bral had died, making Shelyn’s gift all the more precious.
Seth appreciated the harmony of this new chapter in the Clockwork Titan’s history opening with a song. Ever since he first read “The Lyre of the Clockwork Titan,” the song had enslaved his thoughts. It had pulled at him, body and soul, and he had indulged his every urge on the subject. Not just because it was a song and he was a bard; it was deeper than that. The Titan was something ancient, mysterious, touched by the gods, and it was out there. Seth had to hear it play. He had to touch it. Dwarven edicts and death squads be damned!
Now, after years of travels, research, dead-ends and, finally, answers, Seth stood on the precipice of discovery – both literally and figuratively. He stood on a natural stone bridge, worked by ancient dwarven hands, spanning a seemingly bottomless chasm miles below the surface of Andoran. Actually, on that last point he wasn’t certain. He had entered the Darklands through the Candlestone Caverns in northern Andoran, but now he could have been under Isger or Druma or even Cheliax for all he knew. Then again, this deep those names had little importance. The Darklands’ twisting tunnels could swallow the armies of all those places combined and leave no trace. What mattered to Seth was the distinct possibility that somewhere in the chasm’s cold, dark depths was the Titan. Ironically, a dwarven family named Hammerspark had led him to it.
The Hammersparks were an ancient family that could trace their ancestors back to the Age of Darkness. They had stood beside Taargick when he was crowned king nearly ten thousand years ago. More importantly, the family was not of royal blood. Had they been of any royal bloodline, all of their written histories would have been locked away inside the archives in Highhelm, or some other dwarven fortress. Seth would have had as much of a chance of examining those closely guarded libraries as a drunken orc with bells on his shoes. As luck would have it, however, the Hammersparks had fallen on hard times and were amenable to a bit of coin in exchange for access to the few written histories they possessed, even though he was a human. Seth wondered how painful their shame would be when they learned they had actually traded away a dwarven legacy to a human for a pittance.
Most of the books, letters and other documents in their possession were useless to him, until he discovered a register entitled “Gladdringgar of the Hammerspark.” He thought little of it at first; nothing but written directions to one destination after another, seemingly going nowhere. A few questions, however, revealed its true value. The book chronicled a traditional dwarven rite of passage, as practiced by the Hammersparks. Seth learned that a “gladdringgar” is a dwarven name-rune carved into the Darkland tunnels and caves. Young dwarves seek out the gladdringar of their ancestors and carve their own beside it; the deeper the gladdringgar, the greater the honor. The book detailed the whereabouts of gladdringgar carved by Hammersparks for thousands of years. He had merely followed a trail of them to this place.
He chuckled to himself. If only it had been that easy! Sure, he had followed a trail of gladdringgar, but he had to fight his way to this place for months and nearly lost his life on numerous occasions. Then there were the friendships ruined, enemies made and a fortune spent – all for a moment of discovery that was finally within his grasp. He tried not to feel too confident it would be worth it.
When he finally pulled the end of the rope from his bag he hesitantly dropped it over the edge. He prayed to Desna it did not tangle. He prayed harder to the goddess that the rope was long enough. Ten silk ropes of fifty-foot lengths had seemed like enough when he planned this out months ago. Now that he had some experience traversing the Darklands, he knew it was just a roll of the dice. There could be five thousand feet below him! Fortunately he had a back-up plan, but he fervently hoped he did not have to employ it.
Butterflies filled his stomach as he made his final preparations. He donned his pack and hooked the lantern on his belt. He entwined the rope around himself as he had been taught, but with just enough slack to climb over the railing. For a few moments he squatted over the abyss, his heart pounding. Then he swallowed the knot in his throat and let his feet drop off the edge.
For a moment he hung there and calmed himself by marveling at the dimly lit battle scene between dwarves and orcs decorating the railing. Such scenes were standard fare in dwarven culture, but he could not help but be amazed that they had bothered to carve the exterior of the railing over such an expansive chasm. He was probably the first to see this side of the railing since it was carved thousands of years ago. He allowed himself to be distracted only briefly, however, and began lowering himself into the darkness. He eagerly awaited the first knot in the rope, but he never made it that far.
A familiar voice broke the silence above Seth and his stomach turned from butterflies to ice. “Well, well, well. Wha’ have we here lads? My great-granny always said, ‘catch a spider on his line and good fortune will be thine.’ Strike me daft if she was’na right!”
“Hegareg,” was all Seth could whisper in reply. His mouth had gone dry. He looked up, already knowing what he would see. Seven hard dwarven faces looking down at him from the bridge above. The dim light of the hooded lantern hanging from his belt also cast just enough light for him to make out Hegareg’s tattooed face above his rope. The death squad leader’s arms were spread wide in a welcoming gesture and his black beard was split by a toothy grin, but there was a dagger in his left hand.
“Do ye’ remember me then, Seth?” The deep, raspy dwarven voice continued without waiting for a reply. “Then surely ye’ remember my counsel as well. Freely given, with all due sincerity, as if from a father to his son.”
“How could I forget such generosity, Hegareg?”
“Aye, generosity, ye hear that lads? The human’s tongue is as honeyed as it ever was. I told ye the deep dark wouldna’ tarnish a spirit such as his. Twill be a true loss to the world of men when I am compelled by honor to remove that sweet morsel from his screaming skull.”
“Now, why would a sensible dwarf, such as you, want to do something so hasty?”
“I gave ye my word, Seth. ‘If you continue to quest after the Titan,’ I said, ‘I give you my word that I will take yer hands and yer tongue before puttin’ a boot in yer arse to send ye back to the world of men. Ye wouldna’ want me to break my word….”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Seth chuckled convincingly, but that would probably only make Hegareg angry. This game of cat-and-mouse would end soon and his mind raced to find the solution least likely to involve his death or dismemberment or both. “You know I told you everything. I gave you everything!”
“Aye, we took everything ye had in yer possession. Everything except what ye kept hidden in yer devious human brain.” Hegareg sounded a bit disgusted by that last bit.
“Are you suggesting I memorized….”
“Yer quest is at an end, poor boy. The decree of the Gathering Council still stands, as ye well know. ‘None save the race of dwarves shall set eyes upon the Titan, and all those found to be in pursuit of the same shall stand convicted as attempted thieves by dwarven law and dealt with accordingly.’ Now, ye can climb back up here an’ have a last chat before we take yer bits and pieces or you can….”
It was Seth’s turn to interrupt Hegareg with a single word: “mico.” Suddenly a flare of light burst in Hegareg’s face. Seth unhooked his lantern and let it fall. He struggled to free himself from the rope, but, before he could, he felt it go slack.
He was falling.
About The Author
Open for editing.
dibs #1
begining with that I reworked the poem’s format
dibs #2
Dibs #3