by D. A. Adams
Murderer.
He ignored the voice and hurried after Bordorn and Krondious, but Lorac was right behind him.
We are not so different, son of Sylva. I, too, have made hard decisions.
That was a mistake, Roskin responded, quickening his pace to distance himself from the castle.
Was it, now? Perhaps, your heart is darker than you know.
No. It was that place, that cage. I didn’t mean to.
Murderer.
The word hung in his mind as he crossed the bridge, following the horse. He hadn’t thought about that moment for a long time. He had pushed it down, refusing to acknowledge that he had in fact murdered that poor dwarf. Lorac was right. His heart was overcome with hate and anger, and he was selfish. How could he face his family again, knowing now what he was? He didn’t deserve to rule the Kiredurks. As he walked along the riverbank, following the dwarves, he forgot about the Great Empire and his injured father and Leinjar. The only thought filling him was that he had to reach the Koorleine Forest and hide for the rest of his life.
Chapter 10
As Redemption Comes to One Deserving
The capital of the Tredjard Kingdom, known to all as the Stone Fortress but officially named Teinkierk, was carved directly from the mountain. Its design made it impenetrable to military conquest, for siege weapons were useless against its fortifications, as any destruction of the foundations would result in a catastrophic cave-in of every surrounding tunnel. The entrances were all forged from thick slabs of iron that could withstand assault by even the strongest of battering rams. Its greatest defense, however, was that deep in the rocks, and why it had been chosen as the location for the capital, a natural spring bubbled up, providing a perpetual source of fresh drinking water.
In the early days of the kingdom, as the Tredjards fought fiercely against the orcs for control of the tunnels, the capital withstood dozens of assaults from massive forces. According to Tredjard history, one such assault lasted for nearly two years before the orcs were finally pushed from the tunnels. Over the centuries, artists had carved murals on the outer walls, depicting the most famous of the defenses, and during the short-lived times of peace, entire families would travel to the capital just to see these carvings and pass along history to the younger generations.
Under normal circumstances, other than the soldiers who defended the gates, military officers, high ranking civilians, and the royal family, visitors were forbidden from entering the fortress. For anyone else to receive an invitation inside meant one of two possibilities: either that dwarf had performed some act of valor worthy of the king’s attention or that dwarf had incited the king’s ire. As such, few Tredjards had ever seen the statues of great kings lining the bailey and the enclosure. Dozens filled the open spaces, some hundreds of years old, and all sculpted by the greatest living masters of their days.
Even fewer Tredjards had seen the great chamber, which had been carved one level above the natural spring. This room, though filled with fine furniture and elaborate tapestries, was most famous for its display of Tredjard weapons and armor. From the earliest crude spears to the most modern pikes, weaponry from every generation of Tredjard military development hung in ornate displays around the room. At the center of the great chamber, the king’s throne sat facing east, the direction from which the orcs usually attacked. The base of the throne, like the fortress itself, had been carved directly from the mountain, and the seat was forged in different sections from palladium and titanium, giving it a silvery and dark blue sheen. The seat was cushioned with thick layers of fabric created by the king’s personal weaver.
All official business was conducted in the great chamber, and for normal business, the chamber only contained enough seats for the king’s advisors and the visiting party, if their presence warranted a seat. However, for special occasions, such as bestowing a title on a valiant warrior or the expulsion of a particularly notorious criminal, the great chamber would be filled with seats, and dwarves of high social status could attend the meeting as observers. As word had spread through the capital that a crazed exile claiming to be Leinjar had been brought to the fortress, every Tredjard of any significance had requested attendance, and the great chamber was filled to capacity.
Leinjar stood a few feet from the throne, with the other two just behind him. As he waited for the king to enter, he studied the weapons along the walls, especially the oldest ones. He imagined defending the kingdom with the crude spears and admired the courage of the Tredjards who had done so. Like most young soldiers, he had often dreamed of seeing this room, and as he had been led through the outer wall, the bailey, the enclosure, the hall, and into the great chamber, he had soaked in as much of the history as he could. Of course, in his youthful dreams, he hadn’t been dressed in tattered rags and shackled at the wrists and ankles, and he had always imagined being rewarded for some act of bravery, instead of having to defend failure.
When the king entered the room, all the observers rose, and the guards surrounding the three prisoners snapped to attention. The king, bent and stiff from old age, shuffled to the throne with an aide holding each arm and stood before the prisoners. His skin, as dark as coffee, showed few wrinkles, but his hair and beard were both white as cotton. His beard clasp, forged from palladium in the shape of the royal symbol, twinkled in the flickering torchlight. His tired eyes studied the three dwarves, and after a few heartbeats, he asked the guards to remove their shackles. The guards obeyed, and as the bindings came off his wrists, Leinjar rubbed his skin to restore the circulation. He wished he could rub his ankles, too, but didn’t want to stoop before the king. With the help of his aides, the king sank into his throne, and the observers took their seats.
“Am I correct that you are here because you claim to be the dwarf named Leinjar?” the king asked, his voice thin and raspy.
“Yes, my king,” Leinjar responded, holding himself as erect as he could.
“If you are that dwarf, what do you ask of your king?”
“I ask first that you treat my two companions with mercy and gratitude. They are fine warriors who have endured many years of slavery.”
“I will consider your opinion of them later. What do you ask of your king?”
Leinjar’s eyes filled with moisture. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say hundreds of times in his mind during the trip here, but now, in front of his king, the words seemed empty and weak. He cleared his throat before speaking:
“I ask your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness?” the king repeated, looking around at his advisors. A murmur ran through the room.
“I failed at my post,” Leinjar said, falling to his knees. “Please, show me and my family mercy.”
“On your feet,” the king ordered.
Leinjar stood and wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Until this moment, I doubted you. You look nothing like the dwarf I imagined all these years, but I see it in your eyes.”
“I swear to you, my king, I held the gate as long as I could. There were so many. They never stopped coming.”
“Tell me what you did that night.”
Leinjar told the story as best he could remember. With his captain here on business, he had been in charge, so he sent runners to Torjhien and Stoljehn to warn the guards there and ordered the civilians to flee. Then, he and the fifty-three soldiers fought at the gate until they were taken.
“Yes, fifty-four Tredjards at the gate,” the king repeated. Another murmur rippled through the room.
“I failed to fight to my death to defend our kingdom,” Leinjar said, choking on the words. “Please, have mercy.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“No, sir.”
The king asked his aides to help him from the throne, and as he struggled from the seat, the observers stood. Leinjar bowed his head, awaiting his sentence. The king shuffled a couple of steps from the throne and then, with the help of his aides, knelt before Leinjar, touching his beard clip to the ston
e floor. The clink echoed through the room. The aides also bowed, followed by the guards, the observers, and finally the other two leisure slaves. The clinking of beard clips filled the room, and Leinjar looked around, in awe of the sight. Slowly, the notion dawned on him that he hadn’t failed. A rush of strange emotions overtook him.
“I’m honored to finally meet the sergeant who led the fifty-four,” the king said from his knees. “Welcome home, Lord Leinjar.”
The stunned dwarf stepped forward and helped the king to his feet. Then, the king embraced him, and the room filled with applause. Leinjar didn’t know what to say. For so many years, he had lived in shame, believing himself on level with Jorland the Coward, but here he was in the great chamber having just received the highest honor a Tredjard could receive from the king himself. It was all more than overwhelming, but a great weight lifted from him. The king stepped back and motioned for silence.
“First, you and your two friends will bathe in the royal bath, and then, tonight, we hold a feast in your honor.”
The king called for an assistant and ordered the young dwarf to take them to the bathhouse and prepare them for the feast. She nodded and led Leinjar and the other two through a door in the back of the great chamber. They descended a flight of stairs and meandered through a series of corridors until they reached the bathhouse, which was one room over from the spring. As he entered the steamy room, Leinjar realized he hadn’t bathed since the night before he had been captured.
The assistant found soaps and towels for them and left the room. The three dwarves stripped off their rags and climbed into the warm water. They lathered themselves and scrubbed off years of dirt, grime, and filth. The water soon swirled dark as mud. As they lathered, the assistant returned with two others and helped them wash and comb their hair and beards. That process took nearly an hour and many rewashes and recombs, but the assistants showed great patience as they worked the combs through years of tangles. When they finished, the three dwarves were provided with fresh clothes and were led into another room, where the assistants trimmed their hair and braided it into warriors’ knots. As he stared at the hair on the ground, Leinjar couldn’t believe the number of gray hairs mixed in with the black. He had noticed a few in his beard, but the ones on the ground seemed to outnumber the dark. When the assistants finished with their hair, they led the dwarves back through the series of corridors and up the stairs, but this time, instead of turning into the great chamber, they entered the banquet hall, where the king and most of the observers awaited them. The dwarves were seated near the king, but on either side of Leinjar’s seat were empty chairs. The king introduced Leinjar to the queen, whose skin was caramel colored like Leinjar’s but whose hair was as white as the king’s. He knelt before her and kissed her hand.
“Lord Leinjar, I have a surprise for you,” the king said, waving his hand to an aide.
A door opened and two young warriors strode into the room. One was tall for a Tredjard and sinewy, and the other was normal height but thicker and more muscular. As soon as Leinjar saw their faces, however, he felt like he was looking in a mirror as a young dwarf. He jumped up and rushed to them.
“Daddy!” they called, their eyes widening.
They ran to meet him, and Leinjar flung his arms around them, pressing against them as hard as he could. Tears streamed down his face, and they cried, too. From the moment he had awakened a captive, a knot of fear had burned in his stomach, and he had endured too many years of wondering if they were safe with no way of knowing or doing anything about it. Now, seeing them grown with thick, full beards, the knot disappeared, and he was whole again.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“We’ve lived here since you were taken,” the older, taller one said.
“Where’s your mother?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” the younger one said. “She took ill a couple of years ago and passed away.”
“She’s gone?” Leinjar asked, his heart breaking.
“I’m sorry,” the king said from behind him. “I wish it were all good news.”
Full of mixed emotions, Leinjar stepped back from his sons and looked at them. They had grown into such fine Tredjards. Their beard clips told him they were lieutenants in the military, which meant technically they were higher rank than he was, so he saluted them. They returned the salute and laughed, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Leinjar laughed, too, a full belly laugh from deep inside. Then, he thought about his wife and wished she could see them together again.
“Come, sit,” the king said, pointing at the chairs.
Leinjar allowed his sons to go first and then sat between them, once he was settled, the king tapped his glass with a fork, and the room fell silent.
“First, I will tell you what happened that night, and then I want to hear your tale.”
The king explained how the largest force ever to invade the Tredjard lands had attacked the fortress near Turljein. A thousand well-armed, well-trained Tredjards had fled the stronghold in terror, scattering in all directions. The orcs had then pushed to Leinjar’s gate, more than twenty thousand strong. Leinjar’s decision to send runners to the other towns and evacuate the civilians had allowed the army to fortify the gates and fend off the siege, which had lasted for weeks. The time he had spent holding the gate had allowed everyone to reach safety and had saved many lives. Given the cowardice of the soldiers at the fortress, Sergeant Leinjar had been declared a hero of the kingdom for his valor and was elevated to the status of Lord of Arms, the highest rank in the military, beneath only the king and queen. Since he was gone and feared dead, his family had been brought to the palace, where his sons had been raised as part of the royal family. When he finished speaking, the king took a box from one of his aides and asked Leinjar to come closer.
“No Tredjard is complete without his beard clip,” the king said.
He opened the box and lifted out a palladium clip fashioned as two great halberds forming an X. The king handed it to Leinjar’s oldest son and told the young dwarf to clip it on. The dwarf rose from his seat and attached it to the proper location halfway down the beard. As soon as it was in place, his oldest son stepped back and with all sincerity saluted his father. Every member of the military in the room, including his youngest son, rose from their seats and also saluted him. Leinjar returned the gesture and looked at the king, his eyes damp.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, bowing his head.
“No, son. Thank you. Now, please, tell us your story.”
Leinjar started with awaking on the surface and described the trip to Koshlonsen. He detailed the horrors of the trading block, how dwarves, elves, and even some humans were bought and sold with no more regard than cattle. He described the Slithsythe Plantation, explaining the division of labor among the orcs and slaves. When he came to the leisure slave cage, he paused and fell silent.
“I’d rather not tell you about that place,” he said, after composing himself. “My friends here can attest. None of you need to know what we endured.”
“I understand,” the king said.
Continuing, Leinjar explained about Roskin arriving and trying to escape. He detailed the beating Roskin had endured for the attempt, how he had reminded all of them that they were still dwarves. After that, he told them about the uprising and the ogre smashing through the cage door. When he mentioned the name of Crushaw, the king interrupted:
“The Crushaw? Evil Blade?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You fought with the general from the north who drinks his victims’ blood?”
“I never saw him do that, but we liberated many plantations together,” Leinjar said, smiling at the recollection. “And then defeated the orcs near the Pass of Hard Hope.”
“I’ve heard of this man. He’s almost as old as I am. Is he still a fierce warrior?”
“The fiercest.”
Leinjar resumed his tale, every ear in the room leaning closer to hear each word. He descri
bed the trek from the Marshwoggs to Kwarck’s home, relating how Roskin had chased and slain the dog-beast on the mountains. He explained about Molgheon being captured and having to hunt down the slave trader who took her. He illustrated their flight up the old road to avoid the Great Empire and the earthquake as they entered the Kiredurk gate. Then, he finished by describing how he and the other two had sneaked around the valley to avoid the Great Empire and return home.
“And all this time, you thought you had failed us?” the queen asked.
Leinjar nodded.
“Yet you chose to return, anyway?” she continued.
“Well, actually, I returned at the request of Roskin,” Leinjar said.
“Let me guess,” the king said. “The Kiredurks need help fighting the humans.”
“Yes, sir,” Leinjar said, holding the king’s gaze. “After the earthquake, their defenses are in ruins, and the Great Empire has sent a massive force against them.”
“What do you think?” the king asked. “Do they deserve our help.”
“If not for Roskin, I’d still be a slave. He’s a good dwarf, worthy of being a Tredjard.”
“High praise for a Kiredurk. Other than your debt to him, why should we get involved?”
“If the Great Empire conquers the Kiredurks, they will turn south on the Ghaldeons. Eventually, they will be at our gate. We should march out and stop them before that day arrives.”
“I see the wisdom in that,” the king said softly. “We should have done more when they first attacked Sturdeon. You are Lord of Arms. How many troops do you want?”
From the moment he had agreed to return, Leinjar had been so worried about how he would be greeted that he hadn’t once considered that question. If he were to make any difference in the battle, he would need at least two thousand, but he didn’t know how to ask, so he just sat there, staring blankly.
