I
I am not king! Every morning, I clench my teeth to keep the prayer from escaping my mouth. Even though it was true, I could not let the guards or servants find out. I had not been king since the moment I was born.
My father was a first-rate sage, always attentive to his people. No one mattered more. His greatest friends built a great monument at his death. The successor was my brother—a powerful warrior mage. No one had his magical strength or his skill with the hammer. But oh, misery! Seduced by the elves' power, eager to improve and be number one, he chose to leave with them. Then my sister was discarded. The best administrator since my grandmother, she had worked to keep the economy always stable. They brought me to the throne and said, "You are the only man left. Even at your forty-five years, you will have to be king. We were your father's close friends, so we can advise you on anything you doubt." At that moment, with everything and all, I still trusted them.
Then came the reforms. Without realizing it, within five years, all my father's trusted men were replaced by their friends. That was not counting the accusation against my sister of having illegitimate desires over the finances. From there, everything went downhill. Fifty years were enough to change the entire thinking of dwarven society. Populations became poorer, losing purchasing power. Warriors, mercenaries, and all those protected by the great merchants prospered. But I did not oppose it. The treasury still received many treasures—exquisite crafts, prodigious weapons from the best artisans. But they kept none for themselves. No matter how much I wanted to raise my voice, at first they did not listen to me; later, they silenced me. Embroiled in their power, they devoured everything they could from the dwarven people.
One night, fifty years ago—when I turned one hundred forty-eight—a voice in my dream terrified me. It was horrible, merciless, cold, slow, painfully mocking. It spoke to me in dreams for weeks, constantly ridiculing my reign, each time more intense in its jabs, showing me images of my people suffering, of dwarves fleeing through tunnels, of all the people abandoning their ancestral home. When I could no longer bear it, I shouted at it to give me solutions, not mockery. At that moment, the voice fell silent. It told me exactly what to do, how to strip power from those leeches. I was so sure it was my father or one of his gods giving me their blessing for my reign. Back then, I was still innocent.
With the suggestions of the one who harassed me in dreams, I managed to tame these dwarves. Though tame was an ugly word—I annihilated them. I used the elite guards against their combat systems, my warriors against all their mercenaries. I did not kill them; I would need them to recover all the riches. Everything should be returned. This took a couple of years, traveling to every known corner of the mines, recovering money, power, prestige. I thought I could be better than my father—that with everything I would do for my people, this place would be much better. Until he came to collect his price.
That night, I have not been able to forget. The last of the great dwarven lords had surrendered his house unconditionally to the royal crown. I had taken several daughters from each house as servants, bodyguards, and lovers. That way, if they tried to eliminate me, they would have to kill their own offspring. I went to sleep with a couple of extra mugs of beer. As I drifted off, I could only imagine myself on the throne, the day when, looking out at the palace courtyards, all the dwarves would be supporting me, cheering and honoring their king. At that moment, a cackle echoed in every corner of the place. From the immense wall with the frieze of my father in a warrior pose with his hammer raised, it now split without anything stopping it. No one heard me—everyone was still at the party, sitting, not seeing an enormous claw of bone. As it destroyed more of the wall, dead eyes looked into the deepest part of my being: "You're not going to forget to pay the floor rights, little king..." The voice made me tremble. It was horrible—bone on bone, without tongue, without emotion, only malice tinging its words. When I managed to ask when I must pay, it only laughed. "All your weapons and gold things, little piece of trash. Did you really think I helped you for your people's good? You invaded my home. It's only fair you pay compensation. I only did what was necessary so you would have something to pay with."
As it spoke, I could see it unfolding inside the main hall. Its claws crushed the invited dwarves, but only I was horrified. No one else seemed to care. I was alone. When I woke up, I saw several dwarf skeletons before me. They had their hands raised in the typical gesture of demanding. My fate was sealed.
More than seventy years had passed. I was old and without descendants. What I was originally going to give to my people, I gave little by little to the Bone Dragon. Weapons especially—there was not a single beauty forged by someone in some remote city before those dwarves appeared. Pure bone, only demanding what their master sought. I tried to send soldiers after him, but if I sent them, from here until they found him, who would defend me? That was why I had been testing this dwarf for months. He was someone who brought death—fittingly named Deathbringer. But I needed to be sure he would be up to it. The dragon must not know I was seeking someone to finish him. When I found out, I tested him, and now it was time to meet him.
The meeting ended bittersweet. He did not want gold. He did not ask for his people's things—which was strange, since Rocaceleste was one of the hardest hit by my forces and the dragon's. He only said he wanted a duel with me after defeating the dragon. Duels were stupid things. It did not matter whose head you took; what mattered were the ones left behind to perpetuate this garbage. Who would remain king? The Nickelhead dwarves were greedy. The Platin and Deepdarken were warriors. No one could reconcile the needs of an entire dwarven people. I could not let him remove me. I knew defeating the dragon would not be a simple task. My warriors went after him without interfering. They kept at a distance where he would not see them. I told myself it was to protect him, to help him, so they would die for him. But no matter how much I said it, a part of me knew I was only doing it to kill him when he was weak. Thus, after the death of the threats, my kingdom would be reborn as the empire it once was... with me as its true king! Just as I had eliminated all the great merchants to make it easier to manipulate their houses, through their stupid children.