The Half Dwarf Prince: 02 - The Dwarf War

by J. M. Fosberg

She smiled at him. “You have a very eloquent tongue when you choose to use it, Jerrie,” she said, and then turned to Rundo. “What about you?”

  “Oh, you want me to follow a compliment like that? Greeaaatttt.” She laughed. “You are beautiful, Your Highness,” he told her.

  When they arrived at the feast they waited just outside the door while Master Brennin introduced them. Grundel heard his introduction first. “His Highness, Grundel Stoneheart, son of King Grizzle Stoneheart of Evermount, and grandson of His Highness the late King Patrick Patria.” His mother nodded to him, and he walked through the door.

  He walked into the room to find a semicircle of tables around a big open floor. Across that open floor was a single table. A man led him up the three steps to his seat at that table.

  He stood behind his chair like his mother had told him. She was already being announced. He only caught the end of it.

  “. . . Her Highness Queen Anna Patria Stoneheart.”

  A couple of people had clapped as he entered the room, but every person in the room clapped for her. He watched as she walked through the door—if you could call it walking; it was more of a glide. When he looked back at the room he saw that some people were actually crying. She stopped at the top of the stairs and bowed slightly before putting her fingers to her lips and blowing a kiss to the room. The people cheered as she took her place behind the table.

  The king and queen had not been there when he had walked into the room, but they had apparently showed up since. Master Brennin began introducing them as the people in the room calmed down.

  “Your Queen and King, His Highness King Paul Patria,” Master Brennin said and the king and queen walked into the room, her arm wrapped around his. The people clapped for them like they had for him. In that moment Grundel realized that he might be the king, but these were his mother’s people.

  The king and queen took their places behind the table. “Everyone, please take your seats,” the king said. Everyone in the room sat down, with the king and queen sitting down last.

  Jerrie, Rundo, Dobo, and Gobo were sitting at the nearest table to the right. The food was brought by an army of servants. The head table was presented with their food first, because everyone would wait for the king to start eating first. By bringing his food first, no one else was stuck waiting around with untouched food in front of them. This was one of the many things his mother and Master Brennin had tried to explain to him in the short amount of time before the feast.

  The first thing to be brought out was a plate of green leafy vegetables with some kind of sauce on it. The king waited until everyone at the head table had their plates before stabbing some of the leaves with his fork and putting them in his mouth. Grundel waited for his mother, following her lead. When she took her first bite, he did as well. He tasted the vegetables and found that the leaves tasted like he would expect, but with the sauce over them they weren’t bad. Servants began to fill their glasses with wine. He picked up his cup and took a drink. He was about to take another bite of his leafy meal when he felt a burning in his chest.

  Poison! he thought. He looked over to the man who had just filled his wine cup. Someone else had filled the king’s and queen’s. He tried to stand, but his legs were weak under him. His mother was lifting her own cup to her mouth. He attempted to swat it away, but he stumbled. The glass flew from her hand, though, and Grundel looked back to see Rundo and Jerrie running toward him. Dobo and Gobo were charging across the open floor toward the servant.

  Grundel was down on one knee now. The poison was fast and it was strong. He felt his dwarven constitution fighting the poison. If his mother had drunk the wine she would have been dead already. But his size and his dwarven constitution saved him. He was going to be weak for a while, but he didn’t think he was getting worse.

  The king and his mother were both at his side. “Grundel, are you okay?” his mother asked.

  “Poison. I will be okay. I just need a minute. It would have killed you, Ma. It’s strong,” he said to her.

  “Master Brennin! He’s been poisoned!” the king yelled.

  “He should be all right,” his mother said. The king looked at her curiously.

  “He just said it would have already killed you. He needs an antidote,” the king responded.

  “Dwarven constitution, Your Highness,” Jerrie said. “They rarely get sick, and poison doesn’t work on them like it does on us. It would take ten times as much poison to kill a dwarf as it would a human of the same size.”

  Jerrie helped Grundel to his feet, and that seemed to satisfy the king. He turned to the man who was now being held by Dobo and Gobo. The king’s guards held swords to the man’s back.

  “Who had you poison my family?”

  The man stared at the king for a second as if he was confused, then he looked to the queen.

  The king turned to face his wife. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “He could take your throne, you fool! I did this for us. You wouldn’t listen to reason. They love her, they accept you, and he is in the direct bloodline. Eventually they will take your throne from you,” she spat.

  The people around the room burst into a commotion of protest and accusations. The king held up one hand, and they all quieted.

  “Guards,” he said, and the two of the guards on the platform each grabbed her by one arm. The king stared into the eyes of his wife. “Queen Priscilla Patria, you are guilty of conspiring to kill a member of the Patria bloodline. The penalty for that crime is death. Because you are my wife, I will allow you to choose the axe or the rope.”

  “You would kill your own wife?” she shouted at him.

  “There is only one penalty for your crime. You are not the woman I married. I do not know the woman who would do this. Axe or rope?”

  “You wield the axe, then!” she shouted in his face.

  Grundel had to give her credit. She was evil, but in the face of death she stood bravely. She was also punishing the king. She knew it would torture a good man like the king to do what she demanded.

  The king nodded. “I see no reason to postpone this. Your sentence will be carried out at first light. I thank the gods they did not curse me with your child.”

  The woman grasped hold of a single thread of hope. Her angry demeanor softened. “Your Highness, I could be with child now. Would you kill your own child?” she asked.

  People began to stir uncomfortably. The king held up a hand again. “You are not with child; you just finished bleeding three days past. Master Brennin will confirm you are not pregnant before your sentence is carried out. Guards, get her out of my sight.”

  The king had been very official, but Grundel saw the pain in his eyes. His mother must have seen it, too, because she went to his side, putting one hand on his shoulder, as he watched the guards escort his wife out of the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marching to War

  “Remember to bring back all of the armor and weapons from the ones that fall,” King Merwein was telling Rupert when Bergmann walked into the audience hall.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Merwein. I told you that you’d get everything back, didn’t I?” Bergmann told the man who called himself king.

  “I am just reminding Rupert is all, King Bergmann. I still don’t know why you have to take him with you,” King Merwein said.

  “I think he could be useful. That is all the reason you need. Just sit here and enjoy your money. I will take care of the rest,” Bergmann said. He couldn’t wait to set him up. Watching the last of the Merwein line die, and seeing the collapse of this city, would be almost as satisfying as taking over the other dwarf kingdoms. They were growing weak, too. Not as weak as this pathetic man, but they were on their way there. They had just put a queen in charge of one of the kingdoms. Delvidge had weakened them, and now he was going to finish the job.

  “Let’s go, Rupert. The king has a lot of—whatever he does—to do,” Bergmann said, and Rupert followed him, leaving King Merwei
n alone in the audience chamber with his new personal guards.

  Bergmann looked over at the man as they walked. “What was all of that about?” he asked.

  Rupert showed his usual control over everything he did. He never showed any emotion or gave anything away they might reveal what he was thinking. “He wanted to know why you were bringing me with you, King Bergmann.”

  “That much was clear. I want to know what he was really trying to figure out,” Bergmann said to the man.

  “I can only guess at his intentions, King Bergmann,” the man answered him.

  “Well, if you had to guess, what would you say he was trying to figure out while he was interrogating you?” He knew that Rupert was a very observant and capable man, but it irritated him to no end how much he could make you work for a simple answer.

  “If I were to guess, I would say that he was trying to determine if I was still his man, King Bergmann,” Rupert answered.

  “You mean he thinks that I have bribed you,” Bergmann asked.

  “I believe the king is worried that I might use my time with you to establish an alliance with you. I believe he thinks that, if I did so, I could take his throne for myself, King Bergmann,” Rupert said, plainly explaining what he thought.

  Bergmann stared at the man for a minute. “Are you still his man?” he asked.

  “You want to know if I am plotting to take the throne for myself, King Bergmann?”

  “Stop playing games, Rupert, you know what I am asking,” Bergmann demanded.

  “I simply wanted to confirm that my interpretation of your question was correct. To answer your question, King Bergmann, no, I do not want to be king. It is a very dangerous position,” he answered.

  “Your king doesn’t seem to be in any danger,” Bergmann said.

  “His place is somewhat less precarious because of his claim, but I am certain that we are not the only ones in this city who are having a conversation like this one. I believe our conversation alone would be enough to suggest that being the king is dangerous, even for the one with the right claim and bloodline, King Bergmann,” Rupert said with absolutely no emotion.

  Bergmann just shook his head in frustration. “Let’s go, Rupert. The troops should be formed up. My army is waiting outside the city. The sooner we start this trip, the sooner we can be done with this war.”

  When they arrived at what had once been a parade field, the sun was just barely coming up over the horizon. Commander Boris stood at the front of the formation. All of the battalions were formed up like they had been the first morning. The only difference was that this morning there were a couple dozen wagons staged behind them.

  “Good morning, King Bergmann. All troops are accounted for and ready to march.”

  “How many tried to run away last night?” Bergmann asked.

  “We caught twenty-four trying to escape the city, and two who were hiding out this morning. It is less than we expected, King Bergmann,” Commander Boris answered matter-of-factly.

  “Of course it is. Where are they?” Bergmann asked the commander.

  “They are all chained to the back of one of the wagons, King Bergmann,” Commander Boris said, pointing to a wagon on the far end of the field.

  “Keep the men in formation and bring the cowards forward, Commander,” Bergmann said, looking out over the army.

  Boris brought his fist to his chest, then he turned and marched to the wagon he had pointed to. It took a few minutes before he came out from behind the wagon with a length of chain in one hand. The chain was attached to shackles around the first man’s hands, and continued on to link to each of the twenty-five men behind him. Each set of shackles had a three-foot length of chain that could link into another set of shackles, allowing them to add or remove more at any given time. Commander Boris led the men out and stopped them in front of Bergmann. Soldiers stood at each end of the line with their swords drawn.

  Commander Boris turned the end of the chain over to one of the soldiers and marched back in front of Bergmann.

  Bergmann looked up at the commander. “Commander Boris, go get me the commander of each of these men. If he is a regular soldier, bring me his lieutenant. If he is a lieutenant, bring his captain.”

  It took a few minutes, but they all ended up standing in a rank in front of Bergmann, with Commander Boris in front of them.

  Bergmann looked down the line of commanders. There were only thirteen of them, which meant that most of these men had tried to escape in pairs or groups. It was expected; men would talk each other into being cowards with them.

  “Each of you go stand in front of the man from your unit who ran,” he shouted to the men, and then he turned to Commander Boris. “Who is the most senior man who ran?”

  “A company commander named Lieutenant—”

  Bergmann cut him off. “His name is not important. Just take me to him.”

  They walked to the end of the line where a tall man with dark hair stood. His battalion commander stood in front of him. “Captain, is there another man in this line that belongs to you?”

  “Yes, King Bergmann,” the man answered.

  “Go to him,” Bergmann said, and the man saluted and moved to the third man in line.

  Bergmann stared up at the senior man who had tried to escape. “You abandoned your men. You left them to their fate. Each of you who left is another sword not being swung in battle.” He lifted his war axe off his back. He saw the man piss himself. Bergmann shook his head and then swung his axe, driving it into the face of the man. The man next to him shrieked and got pulled closer as the lieutenant fell, pulling on his shackles.

  Bergmann turned to the commander next to him. “You failed to keep all of your men disciplined and prepared. Now you will make it right,” Bergmann told the lieutenant.

  The man stared at him and then looked at his soldier in front of him. “I know this man, King Bergmann,” the lieutenant said.

  “Then you should have known that he was a coward and done something about it. Now, take out your sword and put it through his heart, Lieutenant,” Bergmann ordered.

  The man looked at his soldier again, then back to King Bergmann. “I won’t do it,” he said. He had barely finished the sentence when Bergmann’s axe came down, cutting through his shoulder and down into his chest. The man fell to the ground, and Bergmann put his foot on the man’s chest and pulled his axe free with the sound of bone grinding against steel. He looked at Commander Boris and nodded at the man on the ground. Commander Boris drew his own sword and drove it into the man’s heart.

  They went down the line, and none of the other commanders offered any argument. Some of them killed two; one of them had to kill four of his men. When it was done, Bergmann turned to Boris.

  “Make sure everyone knows that the punishment for running is death, and it is to be carried out by the soldier’s commander on the spot. Now, get them moving. It’s a two-month march to Evermount.”

  King Bergmann walked down the streets of Portwein at the front of the army, with Commander Boris on his right and Rupert on his left. The army marched down the street toward the gate in companies, with each company marching in four ranks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  No More Waiting

  King Paul Patria stood on the platform at the front of the city square. It was early: the sun was just shining its first rays of light over the horizon. Everything was still gray. The announcement of the queen’s execution had spread quickly, though, and even with the early time and little notice, the square was full of people—tens of thousands of men, women, and children filled the area waiting to see the event.

  Public executions were not a common occurrence in Patria. It was one of the many lessons he had taken from his cousin’s father before he had passed. “Do not give your people a taste for blood, because once they start asking for it, they will never stop,” King Patrick had told him. He held public executions only for people who committed crimes against the state. The last time had been nearly a yea
r ago, when a man had broken into the city treasury. The man had been captured on his way out. The king wouldn’t have held a public execution for that—it was a failed robbery, and he would have simply put the man in the dungeons; but the man had killed one of the palace guards trying to escape.

  Now he had to impose the same punishment on the woman he loved. He had told his wife that she was not the woman he married. He had told himself he was only doing his duty. When her parents had come to him last night, begging him to spare her life, it had taken everything in him to hold back the tears. They were one of the most powerful families in the city. Regardless of what he said or even tried to convince himself of, he knew that he loved this woman. He had married her because he loved her. Sure, it had been his duty to marry someone of importance and leave an heir to the throne, continuing the Patria line, but he and Priscilla had loved each other. The hardest thing for him to swallow was that he knew deep down that, in her own twisted way, she really had done this for him.

  He stood on the platform with members of the palace guard at the steps on each side, in front and behind him. He watched as his wife was led up those stairs in shackles. Anna, Jerrie, and Grundel stood on the platform behind him. The two dwarves stood at the bottom of each of the stairways, ready to come running to the aid of their queen. His soldiers had orders not to stop any of the members of his cousin’s group. The halfling was standing on the roof of the building directly behind the platform with his archers. He had said that someone should be up high where they could see.

  People were booing the queen as she was forced up the steps. They brought her across the stage to stand next to him.

  “What will it be then?” he asked stonily. He had to hide behind his duty to get through this.

  “Don’t do this, Paul, I am your wife.” It was the first time she had ever used his name in front of others.

  “Which will it be?” he asked again. She started crying. “The axe will be quickest,” he told her. She just continued to cry. She had been bold last night, but now, at the moment of her death, that boldness was defeated by fear. “The axe,” he told the executioner, who was actually just one of the soldiers from the palace guard, who had accepted the duty when Paul had taken the throne.