The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 03 - The Fall of Dorkhun

by D. A. Adams

  THE BROTHERHOOD OF DWARVES SERIES

  Book One:

  The Brotherhood of Dwarves

  Book Two:

  Red Skies at Dawn

  Book Three:

  The Fall of Dorkhun

  Copyright

  © 2011 by D.A. Adams

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

  Cover art and illustrations: Bonnie Wasson

  Cover art and illustrations in this book copyright © 2011 Bonnie Wasson & Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  Editor: Philip Hopkins

  Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  ISBN Number 9781937929909

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011941722

  Seventh Star Press

  www.seventhstarpress.com

  info@seventhstarpress.com

  Publisher’s Note:

  The Fall of Dorkhun is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, used in fictitious manner.

  Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc.

  are purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  For Mari,

  who salvaged me from the scrapheap…

  …and for Collin and Finn, who give me hope, even on the darkest days.

  Chapter 1

  An Incident in the Deep

  The day’s light was fading from the mirrors above his fields as Ogdu finished weeding the last row. His arms and back ached from the labor, but he ignored the discomfort and returned his tools to the shed with enthusiasm reserved for the young embarking on their first adventure. The previous day he had sold his first two hogs of the season, and since he was now of age, his mother was reluctantly letting him travel into town for the night to have a little fun. He had been there many times, of course, but this would be the first overnight trip and the first with his own money.

  Once the hoe and rake were hung neatly in their proper places, he bustled to the water trough to clean the thick mats of dirt from his blond hair and beard. The water ran cold down his back and chest, causing him to shudder a few times, but soon he was satisfied the dirt was gone. Then, he stripped off his grubby work clothes and rinsed off his skin as well as he could with the cold water. When clean and dry, he dressed in a fresh set of clothes he had hung out by the trough that morning and went inside the house to tell his mother goodbye.

  She was in the kitchen wrapping a block of cheese in waxy cotton cloth when he entered, and he could tell she had been crying for most of the day. He couldn’t understand why she worried about him going into town. Kondelious was a modest trading post, hardly more than a village, with none of the dangers of a city like Dorkhun. He thought her silly for the concern.

  “I just have to grab a couple of things,” he said, moving past her through the kitchen and into his room.

  “I’ve packed some meats and cheese for you,” she called after him. “Don’t waste all your money in those dirty restaurants.”

  He chuckled to himself as he took his belt from the dresser and fastened it around his waist. Then, he secured his money pouch and slipped his axe into a loop on the belt. Finally, he looked at himself in his mirror and slicked back his hair. He looked like a fully grown Kiredurk, with a beard as thick as any other’s. This trip would be his chance to prove to himself and everyone around him that he had become an adult.

  “I’ll enjoy these,” he said, returning to the kitchen and picking up the food she had packed in a small leather backpack. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, son!” she said, pointing to his belt. “Don’t take that axe with you.”

  “I might need it,” he returned, kissing her on the cheek.

  “The only need for an axe in town is trouble. Please, I’m asking you to leave it here, at home.”

  “I don’t want to be defenseless all the way there and back. Besides, I’m as quick and strong as anyone. No one’ll mess with me.”

  “Well, I don’t like it, but you’re too much like your father, may he rest in peace, to listen to me.”

  He kissed her on the cheek again and told her goodbye. She hugged him and squeezed tightly, as if her embrace might change his mind, but he pulled away and moved for the door. She followed him outside but stopped at the edge of their driveway as he made his way to the path that led to the tunnel to Kondelious. He strode swiftly, wanting to cover the nine miles in time to reach a tavern before the crowd thinned too much. Since the surface light had left the mirrors, the laborers would just be getting off work and heading for their favorite spots, and he wanted to be around as much excitement as he could find.

  His family had farmed in this part of the deep for as many generations as anyone could remember, and he was glad to carry on the tradition, especially after his father’s accident. He enjoyed working his hands in the soil and watching his corn grow from seeds to food, but he also wanted to enjoy himself, maybe meet a pretty, young Kiredurk for company. Whatever happened on this night, he wanted it to be memorable. After having run the farm for nearly a year, he had earned at least one night of festivities.

  The trail that connected several outlying farms ended at the mouth of the tunnel. From that point the trip became slightly more dangerous, for Ogdu knew hardly anyone along the tunnel, and occasionally, desperate dwarves were known to hide in the secluded sections and ambush travelers. He was tough enough to handle himself against any individual, and he believed that even if he were caught off guard, he was quick enough to react to most threats. His only real concern was if he happened to get jumped by several at once.

  For the first four miles of the tunnel, the path was crowded with workers going home and merchants taking goods to other towns, but then the road cleared of other travelers. The time between seeing other dwarves grew longer and longer and the tunnel became quieter and quieter. He had never been a coward, but as he walked through the more remote sections of the trail, he gripped the handle of his axe and wished someone was there with him.

  As he neared Kondelious, however, others reappeared in the tunnel, and he felt more secure around them, even if they were strangers. Just knowing he wouldn’t be ambushed and left to die alone made him more at ease, and as the fear subsided, his excitement returned. Paths branching off the main tunnel became more frequent as the number of houses near town increased. He had traveled this road hundreds of times before, but usually with his father and always on business. Now, coming into town alone with no hogs to lead or produce to manage, his senses were free to absorb more of the surroundings.

  Like all townships of the deep, Kondelious was divided into three distinct sections. The outermost ring contained mostly houses, ranging from modest to wealthy. The only other buildings in this ring were theaters and music halls that offered wholesome entertainment. The next ring consisted of all the mainstream commercial and industrial buildings, everything from produce stands to blacksmith shops. The center of town was comprised solely of taverns, gambling halls, and lewd entertainment. This custom had been the norm for the deep through three kingdoms and was based on the notion that if all vices were centered, only people seeking them would venture into the middle of town, thus keeping those not interested from having to travel through a bad section to reach work or home. Of course, one downside was that any dwarf needing to cross town and wanting to avoid temptation had to circumnavigate the entire area, but for most Kiredurks, this was a minor nuisance.

  Ogdu headed s
traight for the middle, hoping to find the busiest tavern. Sounds of laughter and revelry came from many, but one place in particular, with loud music and energetic dancing, caught his attention. He passed through the open doorway and edged into the crowd. The energy of the place, the dancing and music and smells, thrilled him, and he squeezed his way to the bar to order his first drink. The barkeep grunted unintelligibly when he asked for a pint of ale, but once Ogdu tipped generously, the old dwarf’s scowl turned to a half-smile.

  “Preciate it,” the barkeep said, placing a bowl of nuts in front of the young dwarf.

  “This place is great,” Ogdu returned, reaching for the bowl.

  “We do good business. Your first night in town?”

  “Sort of. I’m a farmer from the other end of the tunnel. This is my first on my own.”

  “I see. Well, let me know when you’re ready for another.”

  The barkeep went to the other end of the bar to wait on someone else, and Ogdu turned to watch the crowd dancing. Two pretty dwarves caught his eye, and he gawked at their movements as they kept time with the rhythm. When the song ended, they clapped in the direction of the band, and then one of them saw him staring. He quickly turned away, blushing, and as he turned, he bumped the arm of a thickly muscled dwarf beside him.

  “Watch it, farm boy,” the dwarf boomed, his voice deep and menacing.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ogdu said, extending his hand for an apologetic handshake, as was custom in the deep.

  “Just keep it to yourself,” the dwarf grunted, not accepting his hand.

  Ogdu looked around for another place to stand but the tavern was packed, so he tried to inch away from the large dwarf. He lifted his pint to his lips, but as he started to drink, his arm was jostled and most of the ale spilled onto his beard. He looked at the large dwarf, who was laughing with his friends.

  “Drink often?” the dwarf teased, nudging one of them.

  “I apologized. There’s no need to be a jerk.”

  “Ooh, big words, farm boy. You best watch it.”

  Ogdu stared in the dwarf’s eyes, and something there — or more accurately a lack of something – chilled him. Even more than in the most remote section of the tunnel, fear overwhelmed him, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wished his father was there. The dwarf’s arms were as big as his own legs and looked as solid as stone, and his white beard hung braided into two thick strands. Ogdu had never seen a more ominous figure.

  “Look, I don’t want trouble,” he said, stammering.

  “You’re not worth my time, farm boy. Go on back to your hogs.”

  “What makes you think I raise hogs?”

  “Cause you stink.”

  “I’m as clean as you are.”

  “I bet your whole family stinks like pig filth.”

  The dwarf’s friends laughed and slapped him on his shoulders at the joke, but Ogdu went from scared to angry. His family had always been good stewards of their lands, well-respected members of the community, and with his father gone, he didn’t like this half-wit tarnishing their name in public. His fingers wrapped around the axe and he faced the dwarf.

  “Take it back!” he said.

  “Draw that axe, farm boy, and it’ll be your last act.”

  “Take it back!”

  “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean to insult your whole family. It’s probably just you that stinks.”

  Ogdu pulled the axe, but as it cleared the loop of his belt, the large dwarf moved with speed that defied his enormous size. With one thunderous strike, he hit Ogdu in the forearm, and blinding pain shot through the young dwarf as both bones snapped like kindling. The sound was sickening, and before he could recover, the white beard grabbed an axe and sunk it deep in his belly.

  Ogdu stared down at the handle, thinking that the wound didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should. Then, his legs gave way, and he fell to the floor, landing on his broken arm. He tried to scream from the agony, but no sound would come. Above him, there was tremendous commotion, but he couldn’t see what was happening, for his eyesight had gone, and then he slipped into silence.

  ***

  As soon as he heard the shouting, Teshjin, Constable of Kondelious, rushed down the street and into the Red Ruby Tavern. He had lived in this town for a few years but was a Tredjard from the southern mountains, and having grown up near orc territories, he had seen more death and violence than he cared to remember. Because of his upbringing, his combat skills were unmatched in the deep, but as the scene in the tavern came into view, even he was shocked.

  On the floor, several Kiredurks lay crumpled, some dead, others injured. Standing over them, a lone dwarf, splattered with blood and crazed with battle lust, dared anyone to approach. His deep voice reverberated over the stunned quiet of the crowd, and Teshjin moved to the edge of the group to face the brute, whom he now recognized as the nephew of Sondious, former Special Advisor to the Governor of the Deep Region and current Assistant to the Council of Dorkhun.

  “You’ve proven enough,” he said, showing the Kiredurk his palms. “Let’s you and me go for a walk.”

  “You can’t take me,” the nephew returned, clenching his fists.

  “I don’t want to fight you, son.”

  “So walk away.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Then bring it!”

  With that, the Kiredurk charged. In one fluid motion, Teshjin drew his short club and sidestepped the rush. As the dwarf went by, he hit the nephew squarely in the back of the head. The thud was loud and nauseating. Teshjin waited for the white beard to collapse, but instead, he turned and smiled.

  “That your best?”

  This time, Teshjin made the first move, stepping forward and striking with the club. The Kiredurk blocked the blow, knocking the club from his hand, and grabbed him in a bear hug. The dwarf’s strength was unnatural, and the Tredjard’s ribs were beginning to crack. With all the strength he could muster, he jabbed the Kiredurk in the throat with his thumb, and the nephew released the bear hug and staggered backwards. The opening gave Teshjin the chance he needed, and he snatched the Kiredurk’s left wrist with both hands. With his right hand, he pinned the nephew’s thumb against his own forearm. Teshjin then used his left hand to drive the Kiredurk’s arm behind his back, pushing up and causing him to groan. Within moments, the Kiredurk was prone on the ground, begging the Tredjard to stop breaking his arm and wrist.

  “Come over here,” Teshjin shouted at the nearest onlooker.

  The terrified dwarf obeyed, and Teshjin barked for her to take a pair of shackles from the pouch around his waist and fasten the nephew’s legs. She fumbled with the latches but completed the task after a couple of tries. Then, Teshjin had her take a second pair and bind the nephew’s wrists. Again, her hands shook as she worked the mechanism, but within a few seconds, the crazed dwarf was fully restrained. The crowd, which had remained as still and quiet as the deepest tunnel during the fight, erupted in applause and cheering.

  “Quit standing around like idiots and get help!” Teshjin yelled, motioning at the fallen dwarves. Then, to the nephew he growled, “Get on your feet.”

  The Kiredurks obeyed, the crowd scattering to find healers and relatives and the nephew struggling to stand in the shackles. Teshjin found his club and returned it to his belt, and then, he looked at the dead dwarves. All were young, too young to have met their ends on the floor of a dirty tavern. What a miserable waste, he thought.

  ***

  One week later, Teshjin was in front of the magistrate, testifying as to what he had encountered. The barkeep and several others had already recounted their stories, and with each description, it became clear that, while the young farmer had drawn his axe, the nephew, a well-known bully and troublemaker, had goaded the boy into the fight. As such, the magistrate would not allow a plea of self-defense, and the nephew was charged with six acts of murder and seven more of assault.

  Teshjin spoke clearly and succinctl
y, not allowing emotion to taint his testimony. The magistrate listened intently and jotted notes the entire time. The nephew sat across the room, guarded by several members of the local militia, and stared at the constable with a blank, cold expression. Teshjin maintained eye contact with the young killer throughout, hoping to see some glimmer of remorse.

  “Thank you for speaking here, today,” the magistrate said when he finished. “And let me add that you are truly a hero of this region. We are fortunate to have you watching over us.”

  “Thank you, but I just did my job,” Teshjin said, stepping away from the witness box.

  “As for you,” the magistrate continued, shifting his attention to the nephew. “You disgust me. How many times have you sat here in front of me, and how many times have I begged you to change your ways? You had everything within your grasp. Your uncle is a very important person in Dorkhun, and you could have done so much good with your life.

  “Instead, you murdered an innocent boy, and more than that, you’ve left his mother with nothing. What really disgusts me is that I can see in your face you don’t care at all. I’m recommending to the king that you be executed. Guards, take him back to his cell to await transport to Dorkhun.”

  The nephew’s expression never changed. As the guards led the nephew away, Teshjin approached the magistrate.

  “Sir, I want to assist in his transfer.”

  “Why, Constable?”

  “No offense to your soldiers, but they’re no match for this one. He’s a killer. To the core.”

  “I see your point,” the magistrate returned, extending his hand. “I’ll grant you temporary supervision over the detail, and I’ll also speak to each guard personally so they understand you are in charge.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets to Dorkhun and faces justice,” Teshjin said, shaking the magistrate’s hand.

  “I’m glad you’re on our side,” the magistrate said. “It’s a shame he threw away his life like this.”

  ***

  Two weeks later, Teshjin was in Dorkhun at the Halls of Gronwheil. The council assembly chamber was the most beautifully crafted room he had ever seen. The gray marble floor was so polished he could see his reflection, and the tapestries on the walls, each depicting a moment in Kiredurkian history, were more ornate and detailed works of art than he had imagined possible. He didn’t know enough of the history to know the actual stories, but the craftsmanship impressed him. As a Tredjard, he often thought the Kiredurks an inferior species because of their lack of fighting skills, but in this room, he realized that, while Tredjards had been forced to use all of their ingenuity and resources on warfare, these dwarves had been allowed to focus on more refined pursuits. For a moment, he saw that if the Kiredurks had been engaged in perpetual war for as long as his people, they too would be as accomplished with their blades.