Though the city was much smaller than Kingshold, there was nothing else she had seen of this size that had a massive roof of stone above it, lacking any support structures. It made the primal part of her mind scream it was unsafe and the sky likely to fall on her, but she knew this space had remained unmolested for many centuries.
She suspected that though no visible columns were holding up the cavern ceiling, there were magics in place far stronger than any pillar of stone could be. The cavern ceiling was covered in a phosphorescent moss, similar to that used by Motega and his friends, providing a dim light that in contrast to the passageways they had traveled through earlier in the day seemed like daylight. She could see the looks of wonder and amazement on her comrade’s faces as they followed behind; few people of Edland had ever seen the city of their closest neighbors.
They crossed a bridge over a wide river that emerged from under the cavern wall at this end of the city and flowed to disappear underground some distance away. Dwarves were filling stout barrels of water and loading them into carts pulled by teams of creatures resembling armadillos, but were the size of a pony. Egyed stopped at the crest of the bridge and turned to the gawping men behind.
“I’m sure you gentlemen haven’t been here before. All visitors come through the keybearer, and I’ve been in this role since before your parents even knew how babies were made.” The dwarf chuckled at his joke. “And so, let me take a moment to share with you the pride I have in my home.”
Egyed gestured to the large area of bare earth in front of the bridge where groups of heavily armed soldiers engaged in various physical activities: combat, sprinting in armor, target practice with large evil-looking crossbows. “These are our drilling fields. All citizens spend at least one day each week in drills, male or female, from the day they start school to the day they are too old to pick up their weapon.”
His arm swept to the right. “There, you see those strands of silver snaking and intersecting until they reach the ceiling? Those are chimneys that take the fumes from the forges and workshops of our city. No fires burn here underground. We use the heat from the earth itself, channeled for use by our craftsmen to melt those metals we mine far below where we stand. But we don’t want noxious fumes fouling our homes.
“Away from the forges there, you see those tall buildings. They store our harvests, which provide for all of our people. We don’t have any who starve in this city. All work and all live together.
“And in the center of the city, you see the two tallest buildings. On the left with the gold spire is the Smelter, the place where our council meets to make decisions for the good of all. It’s called the Smelter as all of our clans come together, with their own opinions and histories, and there they are combined into one view, tempered through discussion and argument.
“Opposite the Smelter is the House of Varcon, where the priesthood lives. They’re the only people who live day and night in this cavern.”
Mareth was at the front of the group and was listening intently. Neenahwi could see his mouth soundlessly word the new names of things. She supposed he was unconsciously committing them to memory. A bard was always a storyteller. “And so, where do all of the other people live?”
“Good question, sir! Glad to see you’re paying attention. This is but a fraction of the whole city. Many other caverns branch off this central chamber, where all of the living quarters are. Generally, people live with their clans, and these caverns are constantly expanding as they’re mined further; we’re not a people to stay still, you know. And now let’s be off to see the forger.”
The dwarf turned and strode off down the bridge and onto the smooth roadway ahead, Neenahwi trotting to get alongside him.
“Egyed, a question as we walk,” said Neenahwi. “What is a Grak?”
The keybearer turned his head and regarded Neenahwi. “And where did you hear that term, girl? Those guards back there didn’t realize you’re smarter than you look?” He smiled once more. “Seriously, though, that’s not for me to discuss with you. Come, the forger will be getting nicely shriveled by now.”
Neenahwi gave Egyed a puzzled look, but decided to refrain from asking further questions. They continued walking down the main street through the middle of the chamber, the twin spires growing in front of them as they moved closer. They passed the drilling fields and neared the workshop areas, but instead of continuing straight ahead toward the Smelter, they made a left turn onto another pathway heading to a smaller archway in the cavern wall.
“Where are we going, Egyed?” asked Neenahwi.
“As you requested,” said the keybearer, disappearing into a cloud of steam. “We’re going to see the forger.”
“So, you’re saying we have to take our clothes off?” asked Mareth.
“Yes. Don’t you normally take your clothes off for a bath?” replied Neenahwi.
“Yes, but I don’t normally meet with the leader of a city while naked.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Petra always seems happy enough,” said Florian, laughing.
“Look, this is a good thing. We’re going to have a quiet audience with the forger. Just go along with it,” said Neenahwi. “And, Florian, you can’t take your swords with you. Put them down.”
Neenahwi slipped out of her robes and took off her underclothes, her back to the men who seemed much more embarrassed about getting undressed than she was. She wrapped herself in the blanket they had all been provided and stood there, tapping her foot until the sounds of belts being unbuckled, weapons being laid on the floor, and boots being pulled off had ended.
Egyed returned to the small antechamber they had used to get changed, and he bade them all to follow him. They entered a cavern lit by red rocks set in the wall, numerous pillars arching from the floor up to the low ceiling, and all around were pools of steaming, bubbling water.
“These are our thermal baths,” explained Egyed, still content to play the tour guide. “Here the water is trapped close to the hot earth we use in our crafting. And, of course, after a long day’s hard work, everybody needs a rest.”
They walked past a series of pools, many inhabitants soaking in each one, male and female mixed together, most with eyes closed and a contented look on their faces. Egyed stopped at a pool much like the others, but with a solitary dwarf soaking inside.
His head was shiny, and he had a close-cropped white beard; wrinkles surrounded his eyes, but his shoulders and arms visible above the water still looked strong. Egyed dropped his blanket and slipped into the pool beckoning the others to join him.
“Master Forger, here are Neenahwi and her…ahhh…friends,” said the keybearer as he eased into the waters.
“Master Forger, thank you for seeing us and granting us the hospitality of your baths,” Neenahwi spoke to the old dwarf, but he had yet to open his eyes. “I come on important business. I want to introduce you to Lord Mareth Bollingsmead and potential future protector of Edland. This is his bodyguard, Dolph, and here is my brother, Motega, and my friends Florian and Trypp.”
The dwarf’s chest rose up and down in the water, curly white hairs appearing and disappearing under the bubbles. She counted five breaths before he opened his eyes. “Lady Neenahwi, you know it’s always a pleasure to see you. But usually, you use the front door. What is this important business you mentioned?”
“My lord,” interjected Mareth, “it’s concerning the election of a new lord protector of Edland. We need your help. Under the rules of the election, the people of Unedar Halt can take part. The candidates who are currently standing for this position are no friends of the dwarves. They are nobles who are shortsighted and selfish.
“We believe in doing something for the people of Edland to make it a fairer society, to make it where we’re not afraid of people who are different. That’s why I was persuaded to stand for election, though it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I believe we should have stronger ties with your people. But without your help, I’m not
going to be able to get the votes needed. And we’ll all be stuck with a protector we don’t want.”
“Hmmm. First of all, I’m no lord. We have no lords or ladies or kings or queens under the mountain. We only have people who are chosen to do the job that is right for them and our people,” said the forger.
“Second of all, you people always make so little sense to us! And this election is no different. Egyed here already told us we can vote if we want to; we can pay the price of admission probably better than most of the people of Kingshold. We discussed it at the Smelter, and we’ve decided not to be involved, as what does this have to do with us?”
“You’re right,” conceded Mareth, but he wasn’t going to give up yet. “You’re secluded down here. But if Lord Eden wins the election, he’s going to see there’s some opportunity for gain in the relationship with your people. And he’s going to bring war to the region. Is that going to stay away from you? I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either, but what I do know is the council met, and the council made a decision. We will not be involved. Now it’s very nice to meet you, Mareth, and I wish you well in this election if Lord Eden is as bad as you say, but I’m not minded to do anything more.”
“Master Forger, can I ask you a question?” asked Neenahwi. She needed to switch tack here. The direct approach wasn’t going to get them where they needed to be. “Why were the drilling fields so empty today? Is it because the infirmary has been overly busy of late? Grak problems?”
The old dwarf’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know? Egyed, have you been talking about things you shouldn’t?”
“Of course not,” Egyed huffed. “She’s been listening, and she’s smart. She’s probably figured half of it out already, and now she’s fishing for the rest.”
“Hah. Fishing indeed. I can sense you have a problem, and it just so happens I’m very good at fixing problems.” Neenahwi mirrored the relaxed pose of the forger, arms wide, elbows resting on the side of the pool. “And I know the deep people always try to help people who help them. So why don’t you tell me what pickle you’re in, and I’ll tell you how I can help.”
The two dwarves looked at each other. Egyed shrugged and said, “Why not tell her? Maybe she can help. You don’t have much longer before you’re going to have to make a decision that’s going to make you unhappy.”
The forger sighed. “I guess you’re right. But listen here, girl, this stays between us.” Neenahwi nodded and allowed him to continue. “There have been some of the younger dwarves who have gone missing. Except we know where they’ve gone. They’ve gone above ground. There have always been a few dwarves who get the Yellow Fever, the desire to see the sun and see the world not contained by the ground above.
“Usually, we lock them up for a while. For their own good, you understand. And then after they get hungry, they come to their senses, and we all move on. Why I think it may have even happened to me in my youth. Anyway, that’s beside the point, but now we have a more difficult situation.
“It’s not just one young dwarf who got the Yellow Fever, it’s a whole blasted gang of them, and the leader is my son! And my son just happens to be a priest of Varcon. He and his gang are holed up in one of the cavern branches trying to dig a new way to the surface. We thought we’d just starve them out, same as we usually do, and they’d come back to their senses and their families. But my son has taken one of our Juggernauts.
“They’re enchanted statues, and he’s one of the few who can animate and use his mind to control it. Make it move around. Make it dig. Make it fight. And these Juggernauts are big and difficult to take down. So, for the past three months, this gang has been raiding our very own city using the Juggernaut to fight their way to our food stores, and then take what they need and return to their hidey-hole.
“Nobody wants to kill another dwarf, especially one of our youngsters, and so, each time they attack, our soldiers and guards take injuries from these dwarves and the Juggernaut. And we’re running out of fit folk, and I’m running out of options. I’ve been holding off making the call that the next time they attack, we’re going to have to stop pulling our punches.”
“Sounds like a very difficult situation, Master Forger,” empathized Neenahwi. “What say you that the next time this troublemaker son and his friends raid the city, we stop them? And then you bring us your votes?”
“There can be no deaths! A few broken bones are fine, but any dwarf dies, and the deal is off. His mother would kill me. And the deal is this, and this is all I can promise. Once you do this deed, I’ll bring it before the council again and suggest we change our decision. But we also will need to have assurances, Mareth, that if you’re lord protector, there will be no changes in our relationship.”
“Master Forger, I can assure you, if you vote for me and I win, then our relationship is safe.”
“Fine, lass, you’ve got a deal,” said the forger, spitting on his hand and leaning over to shake Neenahwi’s outstretched hand. “Now, let’s get out of this piss pool and go get something to eat. I’m getting all shriveled.”
Chapter 28
Limits Of Power
“I took the liberty of laying out the black robes today, sir.”
“Percival, all my clothes are the same. Must you make the same joke every day?” Hoskin had woken at his usual hour, early, but Percival was always on his feet before him to help him with the task of getting dressed for the day ahead.
Hoskin had dressed himself for a good thirty years from the day he told his mother’s maids to leave him alone until he became lord chancellor of Edland, but apparently having someone like Percival came with the job and he wasn’t supposed to argue it. Of course, most other valets weren’t also acting as the treasurer for one of the most powerful nations in the Jeweled Continent. But needs must right now.
“I think it’s always important to start the day with a smile, sir.” Percival didn’t smile. Hoskin wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Percival smile. “And your breakfast awaits in your sitting room.”
Hoskin was helped into his clothes, and he combed his short hair to some semblance of order before slicking it back with animal fat.
Waiting for him on the table in his sitting room was his breakfast: porridge with chopped nuts, slices of hot fatty bacon, crispy bread, cheese, sliced apples, and a tall pot of strong, black coffee. Some days, breakfast was the only meal he’d have time for, especially the past few weeks, so he tried to make it count. He sat, picking up his spoon and knife when Percival cleared his throat.
“Yes, Percival? Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“I’m afraid so. I don’t think it’s good news. Lady Kingsley was assassinated last night.”
Hoskin spat out a mouthful of porridge. “What? Old Lady Kingsley? Always talking about her grandfather being chancellor?”
“Great grandfather, sir. And, yes, the very same,” said Percival. “She was standing for election,” he added unnecessarily.
Hoskin froze, not moving or talking, but a color slowly rising in his face. All of a sudden, he stood upright, pushing the chair, which toppled backward to the floor.
“This is outrageous! They can’t just go around killing each other like this. There’ll be no one left!” Hoskin began to pace around the table. “Jyuth,” he exclaimed after his third revolution.
“Pardon, my lord?”
“Jyuth! This is all his damned fault.” Wasn’t the wizard supposed to be the wise one? He must have seen this would happen. Anarchy!
Hoskin took for the door, flinging it open and striding out into the corridor in the direction of the wizard’s apartments. Percival ran to catch up with his master.
They made short time across the palace courtyard to the single-story, free-standing building Jyuth had called his home for longer than Hoskin could remember. Not stopping to knock, the chancellor swept through the doorway, buzzing like a swarm of bees, through the antechamber, and into the sitting room. A servant girl was clearing the br
eakfast dishes, Hoskin noting the wizard had been able to eat his breakfast this morning, unlike him. His breakfast would be cold by the time he returned, which only added insult to injury.
“Where is he, girl?” asked Hoskin.
The servant girl turned to face him. Hoskin recognized her as the usual young woman who attended to Jyuth, the one who had been assaulted by Aebur’s agent. She didn’t look afraid at Hoskin’s outburst, but did suffer a bout of stutters trying to answer.
“Are you looking for me, Lord Chancellor?” said Jyuth, walking into the sitting room, which suddenly felt smaller to Hoskin.
This had seemed like such a good idea a few minutes before, but now the wind had left Hoskin’s sails at the sight of the wizard standing tall, hands on hips, a frown framing his piercing dark stare. Hoskin gulped and tried to regain enough composure for his voice not to crack.
“Lord Jyuth,” he began, coughing slightly to clear his throat. “Yes, I was looking for you. Lady Kingsley has been assassinated.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” said the wizard nonchalantly, walking over to a sofa and making himself comfortable. “She was such a terribly nice xenophobe.”
Hoskin ignored the joke.
Or the truth in what the wizard said. He wasn’t sure which it was supposed to be, and it didn’t matter either way if one looked at it from the right point of view. That being his point of view that things were getting out of control. “You need to do something about this,” he implored.
“What can I do? You say it was an assassination, and it was probably a suitably expensive and professional job. And if it wasn’t sanctioned, then Chalice will take care of it. You know the law, Hoskin.”
“But it’s getting out of control, and it’s all because of your election.” There, he’d said it. He’d blamed Jyuth for this mess. In for a copper, in for a crown. “I’ve looked at the records, to double check my own memory, and there are normally only one or two contracts for the Hollow Syndicate a year in this city. We’ve had three in the past two weeks, and there’s still a week to go! They aren’t even civilized enough to duel.”
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