“Indeed,” X'on added from somewhere above his right shoulder.
“Lies!” the misshapen dwarf bellowed, and behind Ven, a chorus of garbled cheers arose. More dwarves, from the sound of it. I'm assuming that's a dwarf, anyway. One of the deep downers, the ones the dwarves I know are always fighting. But from this angle, Ven thought, this one just looks like a lump of unmolded clay with a hole in its face. In fact, everything about the dwarf seemed half-formed, somehow. It was a vaguely translucent, unpleasant, and above all uniform brown in color, not to mention smell; with nary a hair on its body and what looked like folds for eyes, a nose like a clenched fist, and a gaping slit for a mouth. And as far as Ven could tell, it was naked. Admittedly, the torchlight wasn't great here, but Ven had formidable night vision and was pretty sure he was right.
“Lies!” the dwarf roared again, and again there was a chorus of approval thrown up behind him, this time accompanied by what sounded like the butts of heavy stone axes being banged against the ground. “The shurface is a 'orrid place, and ye foul beasties are a'from it!” More cheers, and if Ven's ears were any indication, they were getting nastier.
“Gentlemen, if you would allow me to explain... ” X'on began, switching to a language Ven didn't recognize--a guttural, squishy sound that came off like something between a burp and a cough--but he was cut off by the leader, who continued in the Dwarvish Ven had learned as a mercenary.
“Sheek not to impressh me with yer mockery, Jumbo!” it cried. “Yer shize does ye no welcoming good, no' here!”
“Yeah, shut up, SongWeaver,” Ven grumbled in Lath'shian. “They'll kill you out of spite for your height, if you're not careful.”
“Ah, and now we got ush a shinger!” the dwarf gave a theatrical chortle, and the unseen mob behind Ven followed suit. It grabbed Ven by the beak and pulled him up to the dwarf's full height. Which meant that Ven still had to lean down to look him in the eye. “You'sh offaly big fer a canary, ain'cha, shinger?” The grin, if one could call it that, spreading across his face was pure malice. “Well, you know whut we does ta canaries in theshe partsh, eh?”
Ven couldn't hold it in anymore. “I assume it has something to do with dying in the mines,” he said. Really, the death threats are almost starting to get boring.
“We shend them,” the dwarf shouted, “to die in the… wait, did you shay that?”
“Yep,” Ven said. “I was hoping it would shut you the cold hell up.” He sighed. “Lost a bet with myself on that one.” New smell. Musky, heavy, burnt sienna. Familiar. Coming up behind whatever's at our backs. Can't hear anything over the din. Raiding party?
“Insolent pebble,” the thing hissed in his face, flecking Ven's cheeks with mud. “I will shatter yer corpshe and ushe it to decorate my ga... ”
His diatribe was interrupted by the whiz and thok! of a hatchet that whistled past Ven's ear canal and buried itself in the diminutive creature's chest.
“Oh bugger,” it said thoughtfully, then fell over backward.
What happened next Ven could not rightly say, as his stance precluded him from positioning himself for a better view. What it sounded like was a bunch of tiny feet exploding into the confined space, with a lot of hoarse, guttural cries and the all too familiar sounds of weapons clashing. Ven grunted as one of the muddy dwarves slammed into and over him, slicking his back and bound arms with brownish black ichor from the stump where its head used to be.
“Ven!” X’on shouted over the din. “Any idea what’s going on?”
“Calvary’s here!” he screamed back. I hope.
Chapter 12
As it turned out, Ven had been more or less correct; salvation had indeed come. Unfortunately, it had come in the form of even more dwarves. These dwarves, however, were much more in tune with Ven's experience than the ones who’d captured them. Their chain mail and plate armor gleamed sharply even in the low torchlight of the cavern; their fire red or honey gold beards were caked with the dirt and debris of a hundred hundred mines; the handles of their steel axes looked to have been hewn from wood, not stone. Their features were hard and sharp, like their weaponry, but they were unmistakably dwarvish. And they fought like bastard whirlwinds.
It took a bit, but Ven managed to get the fallen mass of decapitated mud-thing off his back. With an effort, he half rolled, half skated his way around to face the chaos behind him. He saw half a dozen dwarves; his dwarves, the ones he’d worked with back in Grok’s Hollow, among other places, swinging their blades with a savage ferocity, cleaving their way through their gunky, globular tribesmen with sticky, passionate fury. He could smell the inky auburn sweat on their brow; hear the unbridled glee for combat behind their roars. But the others, the deep down dwarves, the old and ignominious bastions of another age, refused to break under the onslaught, and their own battle cries screeched through the din of chiseled masonry meeting iron forged steel. Ven thought he could hear X’on screaming, pleading for the groups to stop, to see reason. But the dwarves were beyond reason, Ven knew. War had drained them of their capacity to see anything beyond their enmity.
It was only moments after Ven had managed to face the cacophony that it ended. His ears rang, and his eyes and nose burned from the dust and mountain muck the battle had dislodged. He heard X’on coughing somewhere behind him. He blinked a few times and a bewhiskered, bulbous-nosed visage with beady eyes under a thick black iron helm swam into focus before him.
“And jus’ whot did the mud-bugs want wi’ you lot, eh?” the dwarf asked.
Your nose looks like a tomato. “I sincerely have no idea,” Ven said.
Chapter 13
“Wait, they came fer ye oot on the plains, like?” Abokei, the group’s commander and track boss, asked them, mouth agape. Ven idly wondered how much rubble dust a dwarf happened to eat on any given day just by talking.
“That’s how I remember it,” he said. “X’on and I were walking the valley leading up to the mountain here, then boom, unconscious. Woke up with the tubby one kicking me in the jaw.”
“Indeed,” X’on said. He looked rather comical as they traveled through the tunnel Abokei and his brethren had used to transform a raid attempt into a rescue, as he was far too tall to stand upright, or even on his knees. As a compromise, he had to finesse between an odd crab walk and scooting on his rear to make any forward momentum. Ven had to admit, though, that it was working; the big guy was keeping good pace with both Ven and Abokei at the head of the party. Two subordinates trailed behind the rest, heaving a makeshift stretcher that carried a third dwarf, the only one seriously injured, back to the adit where they were stationed. Ven himself was managing okay just by walking at a decent squat, though he had to admit his legs were starting to cramp. The dwarves, of course, kept a brisk pace with no difficulty.
“S’at right, then? How’d they take a biggun like you down so quick, eh?” he cut a look over to X'on, who cracked a smile.
“Not easily,” he said. “They managed to take Ven first. He was a few paces ahead of me. I tried to call out a warning, but I was too late. The creature seemed to come up out of the ground itself, and it had the shaft of one of their earthen weapons across the back of his skull before I could blink. I swear something so small and, well, round, shouldn’t be able to move that fast. I clocked the one that attacked my friend... ”
“Thanks,” Ven said.
“My pleasure. Anyway, I was focused on the one before me, so I did not initially register the aggregate of its fellows behind me. They brought me low with a strong blow to the knee… after that, it was a numbers game.”
“Aye, the mud-bugs are fast, and too clever by ‘alf, mate,” Abokei nodded. One of his lieutenants rasped out another agreement behind them. “ An’ they bin known to tunnel like rock worms, an’ no mistake. Tree root.”
“Tree what? Ow!”
It caught Ven just above the left temple--a knotted corkscrew that protruded from the tunnel’s uneven ceiling like a diseased wart. He was knocked back on his haunches, b
arely missing his own tail in the fall, and landed with a heavy thump, knocking back the party following him. He rubbed his head and glared at X’on, who looked to be fighting a snicker behind his hand, and losing.
“Shut it,” he grumbled as he started forward again.
“By the by,” Abokei said, “yore Dwarvish is excellent, f'r a canary.”
“Thanks? I guess?” Ven sighed. I guess he heard the mushy one talking earlier. “Dwarvish has a lot of the same roots as Elvish Common, I've noticed. A lot more shouting and hard consonants in Dwarvish, though.” A thought suddenly struck him; something Abokei had mentioned before. “So you’re telling me the other dwarves, the deep down old ones, the uh, the mud-bugs… they haven’t kidnapped surface dwellers that far out?”
“Let me ask ye a question,” Abokei said, his face serious. “Have ye’ver been in our mountains? Deep down, like we’s now?”
“Not these mountains, no,” Ven said. X’on shook his head.
“And have ye’ver seen a deep dweller? In person, like? Before tonight, I mean?”
“I haven’t. I mean, I’ve dealt with dwarves in my line of work, but never one of them.”
“That’s because,” Abokei said, “the mud-bugs have never left the underneath. Not before tonight. And if they’ve escalated…if they’re willin’ to break surface now…there’s a whole new dimension to this war.”
“So, we’re the first?” Ven glanced at X’on. He seemed lost in contemplation, his brow furrowed deep. He looked worried, which made Ven uneasy. X’on wasn’t the type to worry over nothing.
“Aye,” Abokei said solemnly. “But to what sinister purpose, I cannae say. Outcropping.”
“What-cropping? Ow!”
*
After what felt like an eternity in a maze of potential concussions, the band finally arrived at the dwarves’ staging ground. It was a cavern tucked away just a mere two hundred feet below the surface of the mountainside, so large that even X’on could stand up without difficulty, if not stretch his arms above his head. Mine Lighters burned bright in sconces set high enough on the wall that Ven felt surrounded by a warm and welcoming halo. The air was dusted with all colors of smells, each one rich and inviting. All around, just about waist-high, dwarves of every beard and style of armament scurried on fleet, mailed feet. They appeared to have entered the main hall, Ven judged. In addition to making and cleaning weaponry, there were dwarves talking and laughing, a tankard of ale in each fist; children ran about, playing Find the Seam, their beards patchy and soft as goose down; in the corner, a group studied maps and charts of the caverns and tunnels of the nearby ranges.
The injured dwarf--Euogenralf was his name, Ven learned--was taken to a medical care facility that looked to be made up entirely of large rocks, pits of fire, and hot irons. For all the dwarves advances in technology, Ven guessed they hadn't spent much time on medicine. Abokei led the newcomers past that hall of horrors to what looked like a commissary, complete with a dwarf behind a stone counter, a chain mail hairnet over his scalp. Ven decided against asking why he didn’t have something similar over his rich auburn bristles.
“Get’cher selves a good meal, lads,” Abokei said. “We can set’cher up wi’ bunks fer the rest of the evenin’, then get’cher ter the surface come morn.”
“I thank you for the hospitality, my friend,” X’on said, “but I’m afraid we may need tax it further. You see, I suffer from terrible headaches if I travel during the day. My eyes are very sensitive to sunlight. That’s why my companion and I travel by night.” Ven felt like he could hug the big oaf. “If it wouldn’t inconvenience you further, we would prefer to be on our way at moonrise,” X’on finished.
“Meh,” the dwarf replied. “No shine off my helm. Jus’ be sure no' to stand around all overfoot.” And with that, their dwarven guide left them.
“That was brusk,” X'on said.
“Dwarves aren't much for pleasantries. You get used to it,” Ven replied. He turned to survey the dining options before him. What he saw and smelled was quite a feast; cast haphazardly among the boiled rat, boiled lichen, boiled potatoes, and boiled dirt were some beautiful quartz nuggets, a delectable malachite crystal the size of his pinkie talon, and even some Kaolinite for dessert. He looked up at the chef, twisting his beak into its most radiant smile.
“Do you mind if, uh, I just pick out the bits I want, sir?” he asked.
The cook's face was a blank stare. He said, “Guest’s priv’lege, I warrant. More fer the rest’ve us.”
“Thank you!” Ven beamed. The chef offered a chipped stone plate to X’on, who declined with a polite, “Thank you, no.”
When the pair found a seat set relatively apart from the other diners, Ven said, “By the way, that was genuinely the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Oh, I'm sure the chef didn't mind fishing the stone detritus out for you,” X'on said.
“Wow, sarcasm! I wasn't sure you knew how to do that,” Ven smirked. “No, I meant telling Abokei that we couldn't leave at daybreak for your sake. I appreciate you keeping my secret.”
“Think nothing of it,” X’on said. “You’ve worked diligently to conceal your condition from outsiders. It was on my honor to maintain your privacy.”
“Still, I appreciate it. I’m losing track of what debts I owe you and which I’ve paid.”
“No debts. Your only obligation is to help me find the… hoard.” He said this last word at a low rumbling whisper, though they'd taken to singing Lath'shian and no dwarf could understand them.
“Hey, speaking of,” Ven said, lowering his voice a touch as well, “how exactly are we supposed to do that now? I mean, we got out of Taal'anquor with your book and my devastatingly good looks, but that’s it. We didn’t just lose my journal, or the weapons I was supposed to use to protect your giant ass. Your half-giant ass,” he corrected himself. “We lost the map, right? I mean, her bitchiness must have taken it off you, even if she couldn't decipher it.” Ven's brow ridges bolted up. “Could she have? Do you think she figured it out?”
X’on gave him a knowing smile. “We lost the physical copy, yes. And if she'd paired the map and the book, she might have even discerned its purpose. But the map was written in Draconic, and you may have noticed by now the Book is only useful if the language is spoken.” Ven nodded at that. He remembered opening the book for the first time and not recognizing the languages he'd been speaking. It made sense that the reverse was true as well.
“As for locating our quarry,” X'on resumed, “I’ve studied that map for years. Longer, I daresay, than you’ve been out of Lathshia’s Blessing. I could find my way to our destination blindfolded, my friend.”
“Cold hell, you almost did,” Ven cracked.
X’on rolled his good eye at that, but the smile didn’t falter. “We remain on our target, have no fear,” he said. “The prize at the end remains well within our reach.”
Ven smiled too; it was hard not to, with that big honest face beaming at him. Then he started chuckling for good measure.
“Of course you did,” he said through the chortle. “Of course you memorized the damn thing. Why not? It was only written in Draconic, a language that hasn't even been heard in like five centuries.” He polished off the last of the salty-white smelling Kaolinite (so delicious), licked his talons, and said, “How'd you do that, anyway? You're smart, but I don't know if you're 'speak an old, dead language' smart.”
“Study,” X'on replied, without a trace of his newfound sarcasm. “I spent a year learning the Draconic alphabet, and another three months learning the syllables by rote memorization.”
“Wow, a year learning Draconic, months picking me out of a roster… how hard was it to not just pick up and go alone?”
“I believe I've mentioned before,” X'on said, straight faced but with a touch of laughter in his good eye, “I am quite thorough.”
Ven nodded. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want something on your stomach? That rat smelled almost
edible, if you’re a huge fan of chewing.”
X’on sighed. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been all that taken with dwarvish cuisine. It’s too bad they don’t have any dwarf bread though. There's always something to eat when you have dwarf bread. But no. I’m afraid I must retire for the nonce. It’s been almost a full day since I last slept, if you recall.”
“I do,” Ven nodded. “Get some rest, big guy.”
“Do you not wish to know where the bunks are? For yourself, I mean?”
“This far down, I can’t go dense. I don't go dense, I don't sleep. Same thing happened in the Elvish prison. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll check out what the locals are up too.”
“Are you sure?” X’on smiled again. “I could always knock you unconscious.”
Now it was Ven’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’ve already been knocked out more times on this job than… you know what, never mind. I’m good. Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”
X’on nodded, and with a tired wave over his shoulder, left the commissary. Ven picked his beak with a talon, and stood. He offered his compliments to the chef, received a glower in response, and set off to find the common room again.
Chapter 14
Stretching his legs felt good after such an extended period spent crouching, so Ven decided to take a walk around the outer wall of the common room. He thought about asking after a keg of dwarvish ale; he'd had a mug or two before in his time, and had quite enjoyed it. But he decided instead to take a look around. Ale, for all its advantages, dulled the senses, and he wanted to keep sharp in this unknown territory. He'd made easy acquaintance with dwarves before, sure; but that had been out in the world, away from their homeland. Here, he was the stranger.
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