Kathir's Redemption (Book 6)

by Kristian Alva

  “A slaver? Why would you call me that? That’s just a vicious rumor, you know,” Druknor said. “Is it so hard to believe that I would want this situation resolved quickly? Orcs spreading farther north would be bad for Miklagard, but it would be even worse for me. My fortress isn’t protected by a magical dome.”

  Kathir’s eyes narrowed. “You could have let the High Council deal with this without involving yourself. Why are you really here?”

  “Sutt-Burr doesn’t have much of a defense against an army of greenskins, so I’m invested in the outcome of this little skirmish. And of course, there are certain…opportunities when such conflicts arise.”

  “Of course,” said Kathir. “Now it all makes sense. You saw another opportunity to make a profit—off someone else’s misery.”

  Druknor smiled slightly. “I’m a businessman, not a charity. I see opportunities in many things.”

  “You’re a war profiteer,” Kathir retorted. Wars meant captives, refugees, and stranded civilians. For a man like Druknor, it would be a perfect hunting ground to collect more helpless slaves to smuggle and sell like cattle.

  Druknor’s eyes hardened, but he didn’t stop smiling. He stepped forward so that his face almost touched Kathir’s. “Those are some tough words, mercenary. What are you going to do about it?”

  Kathir clenched his teeth and backed away. He knew it would be foolish to start a fight with Druknor now. He spun on his heel and walked back to the camp, inhaling deeply to calm his pounding heart.

  As he walked through the dwarf camp, the stares were no longer as friendly as they had been while they were on the march. Days ago, the dwarves had considered him a protector and a friend, but now many looked at him with hostility. It seemed that Bolrakei’s negative propaganda was working. People were easily swayed when they were hungry and desperate.

  Kathir slipped quietly through the camp, making his way back towards Skemtun’s tent. In the darkness, he saw the two dwarves creeping toward the tent. Both were dressed plainly in simple brown tunics and cloaks. But Kathir also noticed the glint of chainmail under their simple clothing, and each of them carried an axe in his hand.

  “Can I help you?” Kathir said loudly, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

  The two dwarves jerked back and hissed at Kathir. “It’s the human! Get ‘im!” one shouted.

  The other dwarf spun and swung his axe at Kathir. Kathir jumped back and slid his sword out of its scabbard. The dwarf swung again, and Kathir managed to block the blow. As he defended himself, he noticed that the other dwarf was running toward Skemtun’s tent.

  “Skemtun,” Kathir yelled. “Wake up! They’re trying to kill you!”

  He parried the next swing and then smashed his head into his attacker’s face. The head-butt was risky, but Kathir had size and momentum on his side. He succeeded in knocking his opponent back, sending him stumbling to the ground. Kathir drove his sword into the dwarf’s neck to finish him off.

  The other dwarf jumped inside Skemtun’s tent, his weapon already raised. In his desperation, Kathir grabbed his dagger and threw it. It tumbled end over end before embedding itself in the second attacker’s back. The dwarf shrieked, falling back just as Skemtun himself came out, holding his axe and ready for a fight. The attacker fell down his side awkwardly, and Skemtun jumped on top of him, finishing him off.

  “What in Baghra’s name is going on here?” Skemtun demanded, as he rose up.

  “I watched these two heading inside your tent,” Kathir said. “When I questioned them, they attacked me. They wanted to kill you.”

  “To kill me?” Skemtun asked in disbelief. “Who would attempt somethin’ like this now?”

  “Who do you think? Do I have to say her name?” Kathir asked.

  Skemtun shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it. Bolrakei wouldn’t dare, not right now.”

  “She wants a war,” Kathir said. “Your death would give her exactly that—she’d blame it on Utan. There are many who believe everything she says.”

  “Aye,” Skemtun conceded as he looked down at the two dead dwarves. “But there’s no chance provin’ any of that with these two dead. We can’t question ‘em now.”

  “Sorry,” said Kathir.

  Skemtun looked around the camp. “We can’t risk anyone findin’ out about this.” It was already dark, and his tent was surrounded by trees, so no one seemed to have noticed the scuffle. “We’d better hide the bodies, then. It’s better if this attack didn’t happen.”

  Kathir nodded, went inside the tent, and returned with a shovel. “It’s a grisly business, but it needs to be done.”

  They wrapped the bodies in their cloaks and dragged them far away from the camp. They dug a hole without speaking. When the hole was deep enough, they slid the bodies into the grave, covering it with gravel and leaves.

  After they finished, Kathir explained what he saw happening throughout the camp, as well as Bolrakei’s attempt to spread false rumors in order to increase tensions between the clans. He was vague about the details. No reason to scare Skemtun any more than necessary, he told himself.

  They both walked slowly back into camp, picking their way over the rocky slopes as they went.

  “Did ye talk to Utan yet?” Skemtun asked.

  Kathir shook his head. “No, not yet, sorry. I’ve tried several times, but there’s always someone around, and I want to be discreet. He’s a difficult person to get ahold of. ”

  “I know,” Skemtun said quietly. “I’m not good at any of this—ye know—this political stuff. I’m just an old miner. I know how to dig caves and find ore. That’s what I’m good at. Bolrakei’s usin’ her money to influence everyone around her. I don’t have any connections; I don’t have any money, so how can I compete with her?”

  “Don’t despair—not yet. Things are going to work out.” Kathir tried to sound convincing.

  “What would ye do if ye were in my shoes?” asked Skemtun.

  Kathir fell silent for a few moments. “I think we should focus on the High Council,” he replied. “We need to find out what they really want. If you can convince the High Council, they’ll support you. Once the clans unite together in peace, everything will be fine, and Bolrakei’s opinion won’t matter.”

  “I don’t have anythin’ to offer the High Council. And I won’t put any more of my people in danger.”

  They were stuck. And the assassins would just keep coming. Kathir swallowed nervously. He was a mercenary and a warrior—he would stay by Skemtun’s side and protect him—but he couldn’t watch him all the time. How long could he keep him safe?

  The two of them walked back into camp, and watched as the supper food lines started to form.

  Sela and Elias were watching over everything, trying to keep order. Everyone was cold and restless, and the atmosphere was negative. It was strange to think that two of the most powerful mageborns on the continent were now charged with supervising the distribution of bread.

  Suddenly, an idea popped into Kathir’s head. “Skemtun, could you call a meeting where all the important people are present? You, Utan, Bolrakei, the High Council, and the dragon riders? Everyone? And could you make it open to the public, so anyone else could be there and witness it?”

  “I guess I could,” Skemtun said, scratching his chin. “But what good would it do? Bolrakei shouts everyone down. If the High Council is as corrupt as ye say, they won’t help us, either. Wouldn’t such a meeting be a complete waste of time, just like the others?”

  “Not this time. I’m going to speak up,” Kathir said, “and tell them the truth. We just have to make sure that enough people are around to hear it.”

  11. Kathir Speaks

  Skemtun called the meeting. The next day, everyone came together inside Highport’s still-unfinished great hall. The dragon riders, the High Council, and representative members of the dwarf clans were
all in attendance. Bolrakei came with her entire entourage.

  Though the hall was unfinished, it was still rather and was spacious enough for a large crowd. The ceiling was filled with hanging stalactites, and the Vardmiters had carved niches into the stalactites to hold candles, so that the room shone with a soft glow. The floor was stone, which had been decorated with carved tiles. Stone chairs sat around the edges of a great table, and everyone came in and took their seats.

  Kathir stood in the middle of the floor, looking around at the others. The dwarf leaders were each accompanied by a group of supporters. Kathir couldn’t help but notice that the little group that came with Skemtun was clearly the smallest in the room.

  Councilor Delthen stood next to Druknor, while Issani and Blias whispered occasionally to Komu, who stood quietly in a nearby corner.

  Elias and Sela left their dragons outside, but even then, they still had a commanding presence. Kathir knew how powerful they were. In fact, he was relying on their support.

  “Thank you all for attending,” Kathir said. Being the center of attention was uncomfortable for him. Standing there, Kathir couldn’t help but think about what everyone looking at him was thinking—he was a former slave, a mercenary—someone with no real authority at all.

  “Ha! What’s this? Your bodyguard’s speaking for you now, Skemtun?” Bolrakei said. “Unbelievable! It’s bad enough that I had to come here to listen to you. Having to listen to some human scum is simply unacceptable!”

  “Kathir has important information that he needs to share, and I’ve agreed to let him speak,” Skemtun said. “Ye should listen.”

  “Fah!” Bolrakei snorted. “What could this miserable human possibly have to say that would be of interest to any of us?”

  “She makes a good point,” Druknor said. “This is a gathering of leaders. What is your bodyguard doing? I wasn’t called here to listen to a commoner.”

  Kathir bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from responding angrily.

  To his surprise, Elias spoke up to defend him. “Let the man speak,” he said, “let him say what he needs to say.”

  “Thank you,” Kathir said. “I believe I have a way to end the problems here.”

  “And how would you propose to do that, mercenary?” Councilor Delthen asked with a sneer. “The rest of us have been trying our best to come up with a solution. How have you succeeded where we have not?”

  Kathir took a deep breath. This was the moment where it could all go very wrong. “With all due respect, Councilor, I doubt that you have been trying very hard.”

  Delthen’s eyebrows knitted together, and his voice lowered to a menacing tone. “I don’t understand what you mean. If you’re looking to get some kind of political advantage out of this little show…”

  “I’m not a politician, Councilor,” Kathir pointed out. “So I care little for political intrigue. I’m a mercenary, and yes, I’m also a former slave—all of you know this. As for what I have to gain from this—well, I have few possessions in this world, so I have nothing to lose here.”

  Kathir looked up and addressed the circle of people before him. “The dwarf clans can’t reach an agreement on a treaty for their people. That is because Bolrakei has been actively blocking all attempts to forge a peace. She wishes to secure enough power to take over all the clans and crown herself queen.”

  Bolrakei stood up, fiery and furious. “Liar! Liar! You have no proof!”

  Kathir continued talking. “It’s obvious to everyone that you’ve been trying to maintain the tensions between the clans. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. I’ve seen open bribery, lying, and the list goes on.”

  “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this!” she said, turning to go.

  “If you leave, you won’t hear the best part,” Kathir said.

  She turned back for a moment. “And what would that be?” Her lip curled up in a sneer.

  Delthen cleared his throat and spoke. “Kathir, where are you going with this? Everyone is saddened by Mount Velik’s fall to the orcs. It was unexpected. But we will work together to stop the spread of the greenskins—and that includes Lady Bolrakei. There’s no reason to start a war of slander.”

  Kathir continued. “This isn’t slander. It’s more complicated than that. Bolrakei doesn’t want a quick resolution. She wants to return to Mount Velik and re-take the mountain. If that means sending thousands of dwarves to their deaths, so be it. And worst of all, the High Council is complicit in this scheme. Miklagard also wants the orcs to be routed from Mount Velik, even if it means thousands of lives are lost.”

  The room fell dead silent. Bolrakei’s mouth twitched.

  Skemtun stood up to speak. “I believe Kathir. Why is the High Council here, anyway? Why are they involved in our struggles all of a sudden?”

  “Tell the truth, Bolrakei. You are more interested in securing your own power than helping your people,” Kathir said. “You want to go back to Mount Velik—and retake it by force, with the Vardmiters on the front lines… as your cannon fodder.”

  “Yes! Is that so wrong? We must win back our home!” Bolrakei yelled, pounding her meaty fist on the table. “Mount Velik belongs to us, not those filthy greenskins! We must retake what’s ours! The Vardmiters owe us that much!”

  “It’s a death wish,” said Utan quietly. “I’ve seen the reports. Trust me, there’s no way to retake Mount Velik with the numbers we have now—the orcs outnumber the dwarves ten to one. They even brought some of their females to Mount Velik, and they’ve already started multiplying like flies. Just accept it—Mount Velik is lost to the dwarves forever.”

  “Oh, you're wrong!” Bolrakei screamed wildly. “You’re wrong, wrong, wrong! My clan can’t live here—not in Highport! Look around you! Cramped quarters, dripping water, and no raw gemstones to mine! This whole place smells horrible because of all of those filthy pig farms of yours! I can’t live like this! It’s intolerable! We must go back to Mount Velik.”

  Druknor stepped out from the darkness, smiling. Of all the people inside the hall, he seemed to be enjoying the chaos the most.

  “Does anyone have a solution?” Sela asked. “Even setting aside the enmity between the clans, the dwarves simply aren’t strong enough to mount an offensive against the greenskins—maybe not for several years. The clans simply don’t have enough men, plus, the orcs are vicious. Does anyone doubt that King Nar would sacrifice ten of his orcs in order to kill a single dwarf?”

  Kathir looked directly at Sela, imploring her with his eyes. “But what about the dragon riders? You have powers! With help from the dragon riders, maybe we can drive the orcs out.”

  Skemtun piped up. “Ye know, he’s got a point. There’s plenty of open tunnels into the mountain. What if a small group could get inside and find a way to collapse the exits—seal them all properly— that would make Mount Velik completely useless to the orcs. Collapsing the tunnels would cause so much chaos and confusion that they would be forced to abandon it as a stronghold.”

  “Sealing the exits wouldn’t be enough; we would have to do more,” said Sela. “The orcs have their own mineworkers, and they can create crude tunnels, too. Sealing the exits would only cause a temporary disruption.”

  “There are thousands of orcs occupying the mountain and thousands of tunnels inside,” said Bolrakei. “It would be impossible to collapse them all. We must gather support and attack with a proper army.”

  “But what if we did more than that?” said Skemtun. “There’s an underground stream that runs underneath the caverns. Mount Velik has been flooded before—on accident. What if we did it on purpose this time? Filled all the caves with water, I mean? The orcs would be trapped, and we could drown them all, like rats in a sewer! Could you spellcasters do that?”

  A low murmur ran round the table.

  Sela thought for a moment, then nodded. “The p
lan is risky, but it could work, if we had enough spellcasters. I received a message from Tallin a short while ago. He, his aunt Mugla, and two elf dragon riders are coming to Highport. That’s four more mageborns. With their help, we might be able to do it.”

  “We should all go back to Mount Velik—including the High Council,” said Kathir. “They wanted to be involved, so their spellcasters should assist, as well.”

  “You want us to go to Mount Velik and fight the orcs?” Councilor Delthen asked, his eyes popping. “That’s a ridiculous—”

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea!” Komu shouted suddenly. He spoke so abruptly that everyone jumped. “Ah, Mount Velik. I remember it well. The festivals, the beautiful caves, and that wonderful food!”

  “Mount Velik is full of greenskins now, you doddering old fool!” Delthen snapped, abandoning his carefully maintained facade.

  “Full of orcs? Well, that’s a terrible shame,” said Komu. “Well, that’s all the more reason we should help, don’t you think?”

  Delthen fumed, but he held his tongue.

  Kathir was grateful for Komu’s outburst. Between the High Council and the dragon riders, they would have a large group of mageborns to help them with their plan.

  “The plan is risky, and it could damage the tunnels inside,” Bolrakei pouted. “What if we can’t go back for years? I still think that we should send an army.”

  “What army? Would ye send our women and children? Our injured soldiers? Wake up, Bolrakei! We don’t have enough men!” Skemtun said.

  Delthen nodded, but he looked unhappy. “He’s right. The greenskins are too powerful—it would take years to build an army large enough to rout them out of that mountain. If the dragon riders agree to help, then I’ll go.”

  Kathir’s eyes sparked. “I’ll join the fight, too. Where Skemtun goes, I also go.”

  Councilor Delthen’s expression soured even further. Beside him, Komu smiled and nodded his approval.

  Sela stood up and raised her hand to speak. “It seems that we’ve decided on a course of action. Spellcasters will travel to Mount Velik and will try to neutralize the orc threat. I will contact Tallin and the elves and tell them to join us along the way. If all of us work together, we might be able to overcome the greenskins and take back the mountain.”