by D. A. Adams
D.A. Adams
Copyright
© 2005 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: Sherrie Shuler
Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.
ISBN Number 978-1-937929-93-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012930665
Seventh Star Press
www.seventhstarpress.com
[email protected]
Publisher’s Note:
The Brotherhood of Dwarves 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
Second Edition
For Sam, who first turned on the light…
…and for Collin and Finn who keep it burning.
Chapter 1
A Rite of Passage
The dwarves of the western mountains are three distinct races, each offering unique physical characteristics, temperaments, and cultures. The southernmost dwarves, known as Tredjards or black beards, live under the rule of one kingdom that has been in nearly perpetual war with the orcs to their southeast. As their name suggests, these dwarves have thick, black hair and caramel skin. As warriors both male and female are fierce and unrelenting, preferring spears and halberds in hand to hand combat, and in a battle, Tredjards become overwhelmed with bloodlust and lose all sense of self. It’s common after a battle to find these berserkers without limbs but surrounded by scores of slain orcs, and in social life missing an arm or leg is considered a high honor. They live almost exclusively underground in fortified lairs of stone and metal, and outsiders, regardless of race, rarely find occasion to visit, for these dwarves prefer isolation and are known to attack strangers on sight. If Tredjards want something from the outside world, they will go to its source.
Conversely, the dwarves of the central mountains, known as Ghaldeons, prefer interaction with other races. For their part, all dwarves are brothers, and they will aid any of the dwarf nations that come under attack. The Ghaldeons cannot claim sovereignty, having been mostly conquered by the Great Empire to the east and existing in disjointed tribes to the west. In appearance these dwarves usually have brown or red hair and fair skin. They are taller than Tredjards by a few inches because they usually live above ground and are considered outstanding farmers, even in the highlands. In warfare, they are skilled with bows and short swords, and like all dwarves they are miners and blacksmiths, their skills with metals being unrivaled. Because of their outgoing nature and fondness for commerce, their three major cities, Kehldeon, Sturdeon, and Turhjik, are strong centers of trade, especially with humans, ogres, and the northern dwarves.
Kehldeon, the unofficial capital of the Ghaldeon tribes not ruled by the Great Empire, is the westernmost dwarf city and the least accessible from the east. The mountains in this region only have passes to the north and south, which means most of the trade in this city is with other dwarves. The foundations of the buildings are carved from the diorite of Mount Kehldeon and have a distinct salt and pepper coloring. Most buildings in the city are framed from large blocks of granite and decorated with palladium from local mines. Because of the steep slopes and difficult terrain, the farmers surrounding the city have built a patchwork of terraces filled with nutrient-rich soil from the lowlands and river basins, and the farms are so efficient that, in a normal season, they completely feed Kehldeon, supply the nearby villages and townships, and produce a surplus for trade.
Sturdeon was once the capital of the Ghaldeon Nation, before the Great Empire seized it. This city lies along the banks of the Yuejdeon River, and its buildings are formed mostly from blocks of basalt and gabbro. Unlike Kehldeon, the buildings of this city are finished with wood that is usually stained or painted to meet a particular purpose. For example, all official government buildings have wooden roofs, doors, and trimmings that are painted forest green. Likewise, any commercial building should be adorned with dull red. According to Ghaldeon lore, this tradition began under the rule of Pertomis the Orchammer, who believed that color coordination was the key to social harmony and who died in a peasant revolt. After taking control, the Great Empire, which is known for eradicating local customs, loved the colorful layout so much they put into law that this custom must remain intact.
Sturdeon prospers mostly from gems mined from the mountains and ore panned in the streams, but the blacksmiths of this region have produced the finest craftsmanship for centuries, which is one reason the Great Empire worked so diligently to conquer it. The economy of Sturdeon demands that weapons and resources be exported to other regions because, despite being somewhat flatter and lower terrain than Kehldeon, the farms of this area do not produce enough food for the city, so Sturdeon relies on the import of grains and vegetables. Because the soil away from the river is too rocky and too leached to sustain intensive farming, most of the land is used to raise chickens, cows, and pigs of good quality, and in many outlying regions, the families that can afford to import Sturdeon meats are considered very fortunate.
Of the three cities, Turhjik is the most unusual because it was taken from orcs hundreds of years before the Ghaldeons were conquered and divided. As such, the oldest parts of the city are carved deep underground, but the newer areas have spread across the mountain side. Turhjik serves two main economic purposes: the mining and the smelting of iron ore. Without these industries the city would have little to offer the outside world, but because the mines are so rich, Turhjik must defend itself from orcs routinely. Farmers in this region joke that they plant and harvest by the signs of raids, not by the signs of weather, and the soldiers of Turhjik are reputed to be as seasoned and cunning as Tredjards.
While the southern and central dwarves are known for their skill in warfare, the northern dwarves – known as Kiredurks locally but called white beards by the outside world – have lived peacefully for hundreds of years. Their military experience is usually limited to sending soldiers to other nations in need. Their own nation is located far to the northwest and their only neighbors are the Ghaldeon tribes not yet part of the Great Empire and the ogre clans, with whom they share close friendship and deep economic ties. Consequently, the Kiredurks have focused for centuries on art, music, craftsmanship, and poetry. While their axes and hammers are mediocre, their songs echo down from the mountains like melodic thunder, and bards from every land, even orcs and goblins, travel to the capital, Dorkhun, to study. Kiredurk tapestries and paintings adorn the halls of many wealthy estates, and their jewelry surpasses all others in beauty and craft.
In appearance, Kiredurks generally stand four feet tall, have pale skin, and grow hair and beards that range from sandy brown to light blond. Physically, most are slimmer than the other two races, but they are more nimble and swift, often able to outrun the snow leopards of their mountains. While they are slimmer than other dwarves, their chests and arms are still thick with muscle, and they are astonishingly strong for their size, capable of pressing twice their body weight above their heads. Without much military service required, most Kiredurks stay fit by competing in athletic events, and being known as a champion hammer slinger or an uphill snowplow winner raises a dwarf’s social status
considerably.
Because their winters are long and harsh, they live almost exclusively underground in complex cities that connect through hundreds of miles of tunnels, and they have developed systems of mirrors that allow sunlight into the deepest caverns, which allows them to farm miles below the surface. In turn, Kiredurks almost never face famine and have the most populous nation despite covering the least amount of surface land. Because of their love of art and skills with crafts like masonry and carving, their cities are marvels of beauty and engineering, humbling even the magnificence of Kehldeon.
Kiredurks also pride themselves in knowledge of the world and of history, and much time and energy is spent educating the young and continuing the education of adults. Even the lowest and least industrious families in the kingdom can read, write, and perform simple math, and in the most physically demanding professions, pride is taken in having knowledge of societies outside of their own mountains. This focus on education and passion for knowledge helps the country remain safe and peaceful, for carved above the door of the Hall of Gronwheil is a quote from Erycke the Just, founder of the First Kingdom: “Peace starts and ends within.” For the most part, the dwarves of the northern mountains embody this ancient belief – each individual doing his or her part to keep the local and national peace; each township maintaining efficient operations to keep taxes at a minimum; and each parent striving to instill this philosophy in their children. Of course there are Kiredurks who are outlaws and renegades, dwarves who steal from the granaries or drink too much ale too often, but they are the exceptions and are expelled from society if they show no willingness or ability to reform. In general, however, most Kiredurks seek peace, art, and beauty in their lives.
But there was one Kiredurk who did not yearn for peace and had grown to loathe the art and beauty of his home in Dorkhun, the capital city. This dwarf, first son to the king and heir to the throne, craved adventures and dreamed of glorious battles in which he would vanquish his enemies and become a legend. His desire for conflict began in his teens and was scoffed at by the elders as a phase, but the feelings lingered into his early twenties until even the most loyal of subjects began to whisper that the king’s son was mad. Most believed that the problem was that Roskin of the Dark Beard was not wholly Kiredurk, his mother being a wild elf of the Loorish Forest. The elf in him needed to live above ground, they would say. However, the elders remembered that King Kraganere had also been adventurous in his youth, which was why he had married a wild elf in the first place. Getting married calmed down the young king and helped him settle into the duties of his position, but their marriage had been brief – wild elves do not like living in densely populated underground cities – and the young woman had asked for and been granted a divorce shortly after Roskin was born.
The king remarried when Roskin was five and had three more children – two being girls who became the chief engineers on the structural reformation project after an earthquake had damaged much of Dorkhun’s foundations, but that is a different tale. Early on, Roskin was considered unusual as a dwarf and a Kiredurk. For one, he was much taller than most, standing just over five feet tall and having much larger feet and hands than even the biggest dwarf. For another, his hair and beard were black with streaks of white and silver, just like the hair on the heads of the Loorish elves, but the most striking difference between Roskin and other Kiredurks was his temper. Most white beards remain calm and relaxed even under powerful stress, but Roskin easily became frustrated. If he could not get the sound right on a particular instrument, that flute or lire or fiddle would find itself at the bottom of a lake. In log chopping events, if he missed a stroke, he would smash his axe into the nearest stone, and he had been completely banned from all grappling events in the kingdom, by order of his father. His temper only added to the whispers.
On his twenty-second birthday, Roskin was summoned to his father’s private study, a room high in the palace where the king would spend his evening hours with a book or a pen. Roskin had rarely been inside the study, but he had always been fond of the dark mahogany desk that faced the Hall of Gronwheil and the gray marble bookshelves that were lined with volumes of history, lore, and poetry. Roskin’s favorite was the oil canvas of his mother that hung with the other family portraits. He had a similar painting in his bedroom but preferred this one because the artist had more fiercely captured the wildness of her eyes. As he entered the study, Roskin stopped beside the painting and stared.
“She was magnificent,” his father said, standing from behind the desk and moving toward his son. “But she wasn’t happy here.”
“I know,” Roskin said, looking away from the painting. He often wondered why she had never attempted to visit him, and each year on his birthday he would hope all day that she would remember him and arrive at the palace.
“You also have trouble with our ways.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I try to do better.”
King Kraganere laughed and hugged his son. “Do not apologize for who you are. You can’t help your feelings. A person should be measured by their actions.”
“Yes sir.”
The two sat by the window, staring into the perpetual night of the underground city, darkness broken only by torches and the faint glow on the fields outside of town. As they watched people move towards the entrance to the symphony hall, on their way for the evening concert, Roskin wanted to reassure his father that he loved the city and the people, subjects who would one day bind themselves to him without question. He did love them, but the love was drowning in a fear he could not place.
“I want you to update the maps of our kingdom,” the king spoke after a long silence. “They are old and missing information.”
“I will start tomorrow morning at the Hall, before lecture.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Sir?”
“To be accurate, you must see what you are mapping.”
“We have good maps of Dorkhun.”
“Yes, we do, but the rest of the kingdom is poorly recorded. I think you can do better.”
“But I’m supposed to study the Fifth Kingdom from Master Hinkroh this session and finish my songs for the festival.”
“You need a change, something to help you relax. A little travel helps me.”
“I have never complained about my duty, sir,” Roskin said, suddenly afraid that this was a test.
“This is your assignment. Map the whole kingdom from the River of Fire to Erycke’s Tomb to the Kireghegon Halls of the great peak. There is no argument. The maps must be complete before you take your place on the council.”
“I cannot join the council until I finish school, at least five more years.”
“Do not question my orders. You have your duty. I expect not to see you in the morning.”
After that, the king returned to business, and Roskin went to his room, packed for the journey, and then said goodbye to his friends, siblings, and stepmother. Early the next morning, he gathered a set of maps from the Hall and set out for the Kireghegon Halls, the oldest remaining section of the kingdom. The city was actually from the Second Kingdom of Lord Thysian the Explorer, but all of the First Kingdom had long been abandoned because of structural issues. The Kireghegon Halls were two month’s walk from the capital, but to Roskin, that boundary was the most logical place to start because it was the highest point of the kingdom.
Travel was easy for the heir to the throne. In every township once someone recognized the king’s insignia, food and shelter were readily offered. For the first two and a half months, Roskin spent each night in a new tavern or inn, surrounded by new people who all laughed at his jokes and listened intently to his theories on goshkenh ball, and he was never in need of companionship or lonely at night. This new freedom began to quench his need for battle and lessened his dreams of glory, but in every new place and with every new companion, the dark fear scurried around the edges of his mind. While he never had reason to feel physically threatened – not even the m
ost foolish or distressed outlaw still underground would consider harming the heir – Roskin constantly felt that his life was at risk, but he dared not mention this fear to anyone.
When he reached the Kireghegon Halls, Roskin was astounded by the ancient architecture and engineering. Every town and city that he had seen were open at the entrances because the Kiredurks had learned that, during a siege, heavy fortifications can cause catastrophic cave-ins as they are ravaged by battering rams, so sometime in the Third Kingdom all new settlements were built with only guard posts at the tunnels. However, Kireghegon was built with and still utilized metal doors that rose forty feet from floor to ceiling, and the hinges alone were taller and thicker than Roskin. The surface facing away from the city was carved with images of great leaders who had long been forgotten, even by the best scholars, and the surface inside the city was covered by mosaics of Erycke the Just as he defended the first town from cave trolls. The mosaics were made from gems and minerals and still glimmered and sparkled in thousands of shades of every color, but to Roskin the most astonishing feature was the mechanism for opening and closing the gate. One person of average size could turn the crank that stood on a two foot tall pedestal beside the main path, and the crank would wind or unwind a chain that disappeared into the ceiling and snaked through a system of pulleys that leveraged the massive doors. As the guard who was at least eighty years old demonstrated the system, pride surged through Roskin, for his ancestors had built this contraption that still functioned flawlessly after thousands of years.
In Roskin’s time, most cities had been built by hollowing large caverns, then using the stones as blocks for new buildings. Ceilings were always reinforced with metal pillars and cross members, because they had found this system to offer more stability, yet every structure in the Kireghegon Halls was carved directly from the mountain. Many buildings were adorned with platinum, silver, and palladium ornaments, and all the doors were made of sturdy metals that showed no signs of rust. While he had seen paintings of this ancient city, Roskin found himself stopping every few steps and absorbing the grandeur of the former capital, and mapping the city took nearly two weeks.
