Chapter 264 - Tyr II (1/2)
”What are you worried about?” came a voice as clear and flowing as crisply as running spring water. Perhaps there was even an icy note to it, the kind that came from voices that often analyzed and observed.
Tyr wrapped his hands into tight fists, the metal of his gauntlets grinding as he stemmed his trembling. A faint smile wrapped around his cracked and burn twisted lips, though barely visible under the shadow of his royal Stonegoat helm.
”Nothing, now that you are here, Signi,” said Tyr. He stood and turned, the earth colored royal cape at the back of his armor fluttering with the motion.
Pale red eyes and glinting silver hair met him. Striking features from Signi, his wife, and features that signified she had all the traits that he did not. This far down, near the heart of the world which beat strongly with magic and life through its many roots and veins, there were those among Stedhelm whom developed new traits.
Signi was one of them, hailing form a noble lineage of shamans with reddened eyes that could see and analyze all around them in detail, even allowing them to temporarily glimpse the future with their perception.
”You look wonderful,” said Tyr, seeing Signi wearing her adamant chain armor wrapped around with trimmed furs meant to channel magical energy.
”As forward as ever with that simple tongue of yours,” said Signi as she came to Tyr's side, beside the great throne inlaid with gleaming orange circuits powered by the Veinheld, the great sphere that channeled the world vein to give the dwarves all the power that they had ever needed.
”I cannot think beyond what is in front of me, you know that,” said Tyr as he reached out to hold Signi's hand. Their armor covered hands came together as best as they could, but even though they could not feel each other's warmth through the metal, the gesture was comforting all the same.
Tyr sighed and looked ahead, down the length of the royal throne room. Or, more like an engine room. The vast, domed expanse was black in color, the stone below inscribed with ancient murals of the first dwarven king and all the glory that he had brought, but that was where the old stopped and the new began.
The pillars that stood from the stone to reach the circuit covered dome above were all comprised of moving parts and cl.i.c.k.i.n.g mechanisms of heavy rock and polished metal, all working in conjunction to seamlessly channel the enormous energy output of the Veinheld.
He motioned around the room with his free hand. ”Look. This throne room. My birthright, it is said, now that my father and brothers have all perished, but I hold not the knowledge to operate it. It is said that the Veinheld's maintenance is what makes royalty, well, royalty.
It is the blood and heart of our people, and we, as those who bear royal blood, hold the responsibility to keep it running. But in that regard, I am useless. I have always been useless.”
”This again?” said Signi. ”You cannot blame your blood for what you lack. Instead, you must use what you have to the best of your ability. As you have been doing now.”
Tyr nodded slowly but shook his head. ”All I know is how to be a sword. A blade to be pointed at, to be used. I know nothing else: my own deviant blood shows that. How can an abomination such as myself ever truly rally the hopes of an entire people?”
If Signi's lineage could develop their special red eyes and white hair, then the royal family had the most useful bloodline of all developing gleaming rainbow eyes that could see the flow of power through the earth and minds that could create and shape stone as naturally as breathing.
But Tyr was an odd one, expressing his royal blood instead in the shape of skin that was as sturdy as the hardest of ores and might and stamina that never faltered so long as his two feet could stay upon solid, firm earth. But none of these traits made him fit for rule atop the throne, and for that reason, noble society shunned him.
Constantly, Tyr had always found himself in doubt. Was he some wayward bastard as so many others mocked him to be? Was he only ever to be useful to fight and shout among the rabble of fighting knights not even worthy of stepping in the bounds of lower, more noble Stedheim? Could he ever amount to anything? Was he worth anything?
When the demons first attacked, Tyr felt his life validated. For once, his life and blood of fighting was given purpose, and he was an one man army, his immense, earthborne might letting him cleave through demonkin with ease.
His father for once treated him with value, holding him equal in might to an entire army, and when his father passed in battle, his two elder brothers, too, also revered his might.
Of course, they only ever saw him as a weapon. A sword to wield against the demons. But Tyr did not mind. For once, he had purpose. For once, his life had meaning. It felt good to be able to close his mind to rule and fight and fight and fight.
But now, he was king, and the responsibility crushed him with its weight. He knew not matters of administration. He did not even know the basic sacred knowledge of operating the Veinheld. Of stone shaping, he knew nothing, had not even the capacity to perform it, nor did he know how golems worked or where to send ores or when to fire each of the forges or how to settle noble disputes and so on and so forth.