The Wrathful Mountains by Lana Axe Page A

and they were anything but peaceful.
    “Their clothing or lack thereof is a dead
giveaway,” Galen explained. “They have ebony skin, blessed by the hand of the
mountain itself. It’s said they’re impervious to the cold.”
    “That would explain why they’re scantily dressed,”
Kaiya replied. The tribesmen wore little more than colorful beaded collars,
loin cloths, and goat-hair adornments on their ankles. The priestess wore only
a bit more. By comparison, the dwarves wrapped themselves in thick woolen
tunics and cloaks before traveling high in the mountains, and their faces still
became raw and red from exposure. The Ulihi appeared not to notice the frigid
temperatures, and they had managed to track Kaiya’s group through heavy
snowfall. She could understand why the miners thought these people practiced
magic. In reality, they were doing what their ancestors had done for centuries,
with no help from magic at all.
    “There’s also a theory that these are the
ancestors of the dwarves,” Galen added.
    “You’re speaking like there aren’t two dwarves
sitting next to you,” Raad grumbled.
    “Sorry,” the elf replied. “What I should have said
was, these people could likely be relatives of yours. It’s speculated that some
Ulihi refused to modernize when the rest of the dwarves moved lower in the
mountains and built a new civilization. The holdout groups have changed little
over time, continuing the traditional way of life your own people once lived.”
    “I think these are the people from our children’s
fairy tales,” Kaiya said. “There have always been rumors of their existence,
but they’re usually considered to be creatures of myth.”
    “As you can see, they’re no myth,” Galen stated.
He had to repress his smile to keep from insulting Raad. To Galen, this was an
amazing discovery. Here he sat in the village of a long-forgotten race. It was
as if the pages of one of his history books had suddenly come to life.
    “Maybe they’re your ancestors,” Raad said,
narrowing his eyes.
    “No, the elves have always been elves,” Galen
replied. “But if I were descended from the Ulihi, I’d be proud.”
    “Why’s that?” the miner asked.
    “Because they’re an amazing people,” the elf
replied. “They’ve managed to stay hidden for centuries, their numbers dwindling
but their spirits unbroken. They didn’t flinch for a second when they saw us
coming.”
    “You’re out of your mind,” Raad said.
    The argument was interrupted when Tashi stepped
inside the hut, two armed warriors close behind her. All three stood the same height
as the dwarves, but they were of slighter build than their stocky counterparts.
The captives rose to their feet, Galen’s head brushing against the top of the
hut.
    “My name is Tashi,” the woman announced. “I am
High Priestess of the Ulihi. We have discussed your intrusion upon our hunting
grounds,” she announced. “We will let two of you go. The third must pay for the
transgression.”
    “What’s the price?” Galen asked.
    “Death,” she replied.
    “Peaceful,” Raad spat, staring at the elf and
shaking his head.
    Tashi stared at Galen, her eyes full of curiosity.
“Dwarves I know, but you are strange.”
    “I’m an elf,” he replied. “A Westerling Elf of the
Vale.”
    “We have never encountered your people,” the
priestess replied. “You are a creature of the old songs.”
    “You mean, I’m a myth to you?” he asked, his head
cocked to the side.
    Tashi nodded.
    “Fascinating,” he replied. He had never considered
himself to be anything special, but he could fully understand why the Ulihi
would not know of his people. The Westerling Elves kept to themselves, rarely
leaving their own forest. His own ancestors had inhabited all corners of
Nōl’Deron. Now, their descendants populated the forests, but only the
Westerling Elves maintained the same physical appearance of the original elves.
It was a flattering thought that someone