“Pleased to know me own fame precedes me,” Brouben muttered.
“You need to help us,” Sora said, stepping forward and wasting no time. “We need to speak with the King—your father. We have news. Grave news.”
“Everyone, slow down,” Tum Tum said. “Sorry, humans don’t know how to have a conversation anymore.”
Brouben lifted his pint to his mouth but stopped at his lips. “Ain’t no news ye have graver than me own, and I can tell ye this much, no one’s listenin to news round here.” He finished the motion and drained his mug. Then, placing the ale down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and burped.
“Sounds like this little chat won’t be any more beneficial than the one with that other lump of shog,” Whitney remarked.
Tum Tum had been given plenty of reason not to like the commander of the clanbreakers, but he had been raised to respect him.
“Gargamane the Gold was doin his job,” Tum Tum stated. “Nothin more.”
“Ye saw Gargamane?” Brouben asked, suddenly perking up.
“We did,” Tum Tum confirmed. “He told us to get gone. No one in. No one out.”
“Aye. That’s what me father decreed.”
“Well, I think it’s a coward’s move,” Lucindur said. “Where I’m from, we don’t even have walls, much less doors that seal themselves shut against guests.”
“Well, it must be nice to know such peace,” Brouben said. Then he rose again, filled his mug, and reseated himself.
Tum Tum took the stool beside his friend. “Brouben, this news… it’s unlike any ye’ve heard.”
Brouben laughed. “Try me.”
Tum Tum looked to his companions. Sora nodded, then looked at Lucindur, who nodded as well. Whitney just stood with his arms crossed, Aquira hovering directly beside him now, also looking cross. And they rarely agreed on anything.
“There was a battle,” Tum Tum started. “Fought things like ye wouldn’t believe. Goblins, grimaurs, warlocks, upyr, and…”
Brouben sat, staring into his mug, then looked up with only his eyes when Tum Tum paused.
“And?” he said.
“And the Buried Goddess herself,” Sora said.
Brouben spilled his drink, then absentmindedly swiped the mead away. “Ye saw what?”
“Nesilia, the Buried Goddess,” Sora repeated.
“Were ye at White Bridge, too?” Brouben asked.
“White Bridge? No, we were in Brekliodad,” Sora said.
Brouben’s attention was rapt. “When?”
Tum Tum stroked his beard. “Seventh day of Burntwood.”
“That don’t add up,” Brouben said. “I saw her—“
“Ye saw her!” Tum Tum shouted. Whitney, Sora, and Lucindur echoed a similar response. Even Aquira squeaked out a query.
“I saw her then, too,” Brouben continued. “Same shog-shuckin day.”
“That’s impossible,” Whitney said. “One of us must be wrong.”
“Everyone, wait,” Sora said, holding out an arm. “What did she look like?”
Tum Tum watched Brouben carefully. If he’d seen Nesilia, and he didn’t immediately recognize Sora, then it must have been after she’d hopped bodies. The Prince didn’t hesitate before his description like a liar might. Tum Tum knew his fair share of tall tale-tellers. One stood right behind him.
“Skin, milky, creamy, white as fresh-fallen snow,” Brouben said. “Hair to match. Eyes the color of death.”
“Not impossible,” Sora said softly.
“He saw her after she poofed over to Sigrid?” Whitney asked.
“Now we know where she disappeared to,” Lucindur said.
“But why White Bridge?” Tum Tum asked.
“Couldn’t tell ye, but I feel Sir Torsten might know more,” Brouben said.
“Sir Torsten?” Whitney said. “You know Torsten?”
“Aye, and ye?”
“We’re the best of pals,” Whitney said. “How is the old, stiff bastard?”
Brouben laughed, settling a bit, and taking another sip. He turned his mug upside down and let the last drop fall into his mouth.
“Sounds like ye know him, all right,” he said.
“Did Torsten see her, too?” Sora asked.
“He can’t see anymore, Sora,” Whitney said, as if proud of that knowledge about the famous knight.
Brouben ignored him. “We all did. Men, dwarves, even the gray skins. She killed the famous rebel, Muskigo, in cold blood.”
“Muskigo Ayerabi?” Sora asked softly. Tum Tum thought he saw a twinge of sadness pass over her features.
Brouben nodded. “Did him in like he were a child.”
“Then ye told yer father?” Tum Tum asked.
“And that’s why he made the decree?” Sora asked, saying what everyone was thinking.
“Aye, I told him,” Brouben said. “Took a beatin for it, too. Told me to shut my yiggin mouth if I knew what was good. Said that he’d know if the gods were back, cus Meungor himself would stop by for a drink, and dragons would come crawling back out of our arses.”
“Perhaps if someone from the outside…?” Lucindur said.
“Ain’t expectin me father to care what some foreign bard has to say. And especially not ye, Dwotratum. Yer a deserter, an outcast, and we got strict orders to throw any deserters back to the snow.”
“What about me?” Sora asked. “Before Nesilia was that white-skinned upyr, she…” Sora swallowed hard. “She was inside of me.”
Brouben laughed.
“This isn’t funny, half-pint,” Whitney snarled. Tum Tum cringed at the insult. He understood Whitney wanting to defend his lass, but they stood before a Prince who could have every clanbreaker in the Three Kingdoms on them in a heartbeat.
Brouben’s face went hard for a moment, then he said, “Yer serious? Ye got proof?”
“Other than my word and the word of these with me? No,” Sora admitted.
“Without proof, it won’t do much good with me father. We ain’t exactly seen eye to eye, our people, for a long time. Some want to trade more, some want nothin to do with ye surface dwellers at all. Ye know how it is,” Brouben said, looking to Tum Tum, “or ye did, before ye never came back.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Whitney groaned.
“Whitney, now’s not the time,” Sora scolded. Then, turning back to Brouben, who looked like he’d just about had enough of insults, she said, “I’m sorry, your Highness. He’s just a bit on edge.”
“We all are,” Tum Tum added.
“The truth is, if we don’t do something, Pantego is in trouble—anything beyond Pantego is in trouble.”
“We’ve got to talk to your father.”
“Pretty please?” Whitney said.
Brouben stood and did his best to stomp forward. It was a bit sloppy, and he tripped more than once, but soon he was right in front of Whitney, glaring up at him. He may have been short, but he was stout and would squash Whitney like a bug if the thief wasn’t smart.
“Ain’t no way yer gettin in to see me father unless it’s at the hands of the clanbreakers,” he said.
“You mean arrested?” Lucindur asked.
Brouben nodded.
Everyone went silent. And then, like he did so many times, Whitney broke the silence. Only, this time, it was to unveil one of his rare strokes of genius.
He held out his hands and said, “Then arrest us.”
“What?” Tum Tum and Sora said at the same time.
“Arrest us,” Whitney repeated.
“He’s right. That’s the way in,” Lucindur said.
Tum Tum stroked his beard. “Hmm, not a bad plan. Someone’s gotta get through to the king. If ye couldn’t do it, maybe we all could together. We need to talk to him.”
Brouben remained quiet as he returned to his keg, filling his cup to overflowing. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “It came to blows with me and me father… ye’ll find yerself in a pit. But ye know what? I think ye should, t
oo. I saw Nesilia’s power with me own eyes, and he didn’t care. I never seen a thing like it…” he shuddered. “Someone’s got to get through to him..”
Then his attention turned to Whitney. “Especially someone as imposing as this flower-picker. Then again, knowing my father, he’ll likely just say ‘It’s yer problem, not ours.’ And after what I saw out there at White Bridge, he may damn-well be right.”
“I see sarcasm extends beyond all cultures,” Whitney said. “Look, Brouben is it? What do you have to lose? We corroborate your story; your dear old dad realizes he was wrong. Easy peasy.”
Brouben rolled his shoulders and tossed back his drink. Then he cracked his neck. Tum Tum could see the frustration written all over his face beneath his bushy beard. The stubbornness of dwarves knew no bounds. Especially dwarven fathers.
“Fine. Me favorite brother is still in Yarrington, and there be no way to reach him like this,” he said. “I’ll help ye, but more likely, it’s yer funeral.”
“Meungor’s hairy arse, that’s great news!” Tum Tum clapped his hands. “Oh, and me Lord. There be one thing more.”
“What now?”
“We also need to convince the King to give us the, uh… the Brike Stone.”
Brouben’s eyes went wide as saucers, just as expected. The great treasure of Brotlebir, being taken away. Any dwarf would scoff at the idea, but the thought of it actually accomplishing something rather than sitting in a vault—he hoped that’d be enough to convince a man as honorable as he knew Brouben to be.
XIV
The Thief
Whitney hadn’t mentioned it, but he’d been there before—Balonhearth, the heart of the Three Kingdoms. Of all the destinations, in all his many travels, Brotlebir and the Dragon’s Tail mountains topped the list as the least enjoyable. Aside from ale—and even that tasted like sewage—there were simply no redeeming qualities. It was cold, bitter, stark, bleak, harsh, and a million other words to say he’d rather be anywhere else.
And, worst of all, surprisingly, there had always been very little to steal. Outside of the vaults of kings, apparently. Dwarves loved their gold, mining it, hoarding it—and that meant they had more currency than anything actually worth taking. If Whitney wanted gold bullions, he’d have sold all the things he’d ever stolen.
It had been a long time ago when he’d been in Brotlebir. Shortly after his time spent with the silent monks—an adventure he’d rather leave far behind in his distant past—he’d ventured south to the Dragon’s Tail through subterranean paths, not unlike the ones Tum Tum had just led them through. However, unlike those, the ways dug by ancient beasts were dank and dirty. In comparison, they’d walked through a palace.
Though he hadn’t exactly snuck in that time, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms either, and he sure-as-Exile didn’t want to stand before King Cragrock. Not again.
Dwarves had memories like none other. It was said that a dwarf could remember the individual divots in a cave they’d been in only once, fifty years ago—that, in darkness, they could identify their pickaxe from amongst dozens by nothing more than the feel of the handle’s woodgrain.
And as he looked around, Whitney realized dwarves weren’t much for change either. The place was precisely as he’d remembered it. Even the handcuffs.
“Are these things really necessary?” Whitney complained.
“This was yer idea, flower-picker,” Brouben said.
“You say that like it’s insulting. I like flowers.”
Although there were more passages, deeper caverns, and new statues erected for some such warrior or whatever, all-in-all, Balonhearth was the same oversized cavern coated in veins of silver and iron it had always been. Nothing impressive, at least not to someone as well-traveled as Whitney Fierstown.
“This is beautiful,” Sora marveled.
“This?” Whitney scoffed under his breath.
“It has its beauty, though I prefer the sky,” Lucindur said.
“Exactly.”
Sora ignored him and said, “But I agree, Your Highness. Do the cuffs have to be so tight?”
“Right?” Whitney said, stretching his fingers.
“Keep quiet,” Tum Tum said. He kept his head down and in shadow, doing his best to play the part of their dwarven escort along with Brouben. He’d have fooled Whitney any day.
Looking up, Whitney admitted it was a little impressive. He couldn’t begin to imagine the time it would have taken to carve out such a place. The mountain was at least five thousand feet high, and almost every bit of it was hollowed out, with stone homes tucked away in every nook. Each home and shop was meticulously crafted with intricate designs. The floors, although only stone like the mountain itself, were smooth as glass. Wooden carts zipped all over on rails held together with iron bars and rivets, carrying dwarves and their newly-mined treasures every which way. He couldn’t understand how they climbed the many tracks, some almost at a complete vertical incline, but they did.
Dwarven engineering, he thought.
“Hey, keep up back there!” Tum Tum hollered, having now made his way in front of them. He sounded all cheery just from a few moments with his people. He slapped his own thigh. “We shouldn’t be beatin you with these stubs.”
“This way,” Brouben said.
The Prince looked like any other dwarf Whitney had ever seen. Wide as he was tall, yellow beard he could tuck into his belt. But the one difference was his armor looked to be worth an entire Glass town. All thick plating made of dark dwarven steel and golden embellishments. It probably hid his gut; such was the fate of a Prince. Never expected to do anything—just sit around getting fat, waiting for daddy, the King, to kick the bucket.
“I’d feel far more comfortable with all of this if we had Aquira with us,” Sora said.
“Yer wyvern will be safe,” Brouben assured them. “There’s no way ye’d be gettin ye to the king with a dragonkin in tow. This was the only way.”
“I know,” Sora agreed. “I just feel bad.”
Whitney watched Sora, sadness in her eyes. He wanted to find a way to keep that precise look from shadowing her features ever again. After they defeated Nesilia, he’d do it. Whatever it took. A lovely house in Yarrington or Panping. A farm out in the country—whatever she wanted, she’d have.
“Oi! What’s this!” shouted a dwarf up ahead, waddling their way.
“Found them sneakin round in the tunnels,” Brouben said. “Takin em to see me father.”
“Yer takin petty intruders to see the King?” the dwarf said, eyebrow raised. He had the look of a guard—Whitney knew guards.
Brouben hesitated but quickly recovered. “Ye questionin yer prince?”
“I—uh,” the guard stammered. “It’s just… unwanteds usually just get thrown in the dungeons til we got time to execute em.”
“Execute?” Whitney said, voice cracking.
Brouben elbowed him hard in the gut. “Shut up, ye flower-pickin shog-shucker.”
Then he turned to the guard. “King’s decree—no one in. No one out. Entry’s locked up tight with Gargamane the Gold himself watchin it. Don’t ye think the King would wanna question the party who managed to sneak in unseen? Never mind, don’t answer that. Yer opinion don’t matter. And if ye wanna keep your position, and ever have hope of bein a clanbreaker, shut yer trap and move clear.”
The guard’s face scrunched up like he’d been gut-punched. “Yes, sir, yer Highness, sir.”
After the guard stepped aside, Brouben shoved Whitney and motioned for Tum Tum to bring the others.
“Are you sure about this,” Lucindur said when they were safely out of earshot.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?” Whitney asked, slowing long enough for them to catch up.
Sora and Lucindur both began speaking, but Whitney cut them off before they could respond.
“That’s enough of that,” Whitney said, coaxing them all closer. “Listen, I’ve been up there before, to the King’s throne room. He doesn’t
like me much.”
“You don’t say?” Sora interjected.
“I can’t imagine why not,” Lucindur added.
Whitney rolled his eyes and continued. “He’s a stubborn old bastard, and if he didn’t listen to his own son, you really think he’ll listen to a dwarven reject? Sorry, Tum Tum.”
“I’d be more offended if it wasn’t true,” Tum Tum sighed.
“We need a contingency plan in case, no, when, he says we can’t have the stone. Took enough to convince his son, and he seems to be the sane one here.”
Brouben didn’t acknowledge him. It had taken them nearly the entire trek to this point to convince him that the Brike Stone was necessary. But Sora could be mighty convincing when she wanted to be. She’d put out the whole damsel-in-distress vibe warriors like Brouben swooned for.
Eventually, Brouben agreed after hearing how close they’d come to beating Nesilia last time. Though, he made them promise to do their best to return it. Which, of course, they all agreed to. Though Whitney knew that wasn’t going to happen. No way. They’d trap her in, and toss her into a wianu’s gullet, sending her right to Nowhere with poor Kazimir…
“Who would be foolish enough to reject a chance to save the world?” Lucindur asked.
“A dwarf,” Whitney muttered.
“Now that I might take offense to,” Tum Tum said. Brouben agreed.
They passed by guard after guard, and even with the circulation to his hands being cut off, Whitney was glad for the disguise.
Execution? he thought. For trespassing?
“We should at least give King Cragrock a chance to hear us out,” Sora said.
“I agree,” Lucindur added.
A look of concern passed over Brouben’s face.
“I ain’t too sure the gravity of this is hittin ye like it should,” he said. “I already told me father what I seen at White Bridge. If he ain’t listenin, he ain’t listenin—and he ain’t listenin.”
“Still…” Lucindur said.
Whitney clenched his jaw, then exhaled slowly through his teeth. Looking at Sora and Lucindur, he said, “You two don’t know dwarves. The ones out there are one thing, but in their tunnels? They love watching us squirm. They won’t help.”
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 128
