by Ben Hale
Siarra frowned but nodded. “I request your leave to bring Liriana Alasse Tel’Runya, princess of Azertorn, and Maemi Sri’Lanya as my advisors.”
The dwarf hesitated, glancing between Liri and Mae, but agreed. Indicating the dwarf at his side, he said, “This is Faxon, he will take your companions. The three of you, follow me.”
“Thank you . . .” Liri prompted.
“Onix,” the dwarf replied, “High Captain of the southern defenses and first stratum of the engineering guild.”
“Thank you, Captain, for you hospitality,” Liri said, and the dwarf nodded curtly. With a sweep of his hand he gestured for the elves to follow him. Without waiting for a response the black-bearded dwarf turned towards a guarded tunnel in the western cliff.
Taryn watched his sister and friends disappear into the dark recess before turning to Faxon. Just then a flash of lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a thunderclap. On cue, the heavens opened as great drops splattered the gravel courtyard. Faxon ushered them into a different tunnel, and Taryn shook the water from his cloak. The smell of rain and wet stone struck him, reminding him of storms on Sri Rosen, where he'd been raised. It was a poignant reminder of better times.
“So where are we staying tonight?” Trin asked, speaking loud over the rain as he removed his cloak.
The guard snorted and grinned. “I thought we’d invite you to a little fun and games, with some wagering to keep things interesting.”
“I don’t know if—” Taryn began but Trin leapt passed him.
“You’re on.” he said and the dwarf’s grin widened. Beckoning to another guard to take the horses, he led them up tunnel. It didn't take long for Taryn to be lost in a maze of corridors, stairs, and wooden doors. Metal striking metal echoed from every direction, and Taryn listened in wonder to the hum of life within the mountain.
After several more minutes, Faxon strolled through a high archway into a large dining hall. Dwarves dressed in armor or blackened leather aprons sat on benches eating or drinking from large foaming mugs. At the back of the room, a long bar stood in front of massive barrels from which other dwarves were filling drinks.
“Faxon!” someone yelled from the right side of the room, and their guide turned towards the sound.
Arriving at a table with several other red-haired and bearded dwarves, Faxon said, “These are me clan mates, Fignus, Bodor, Fesrac, and Gadlin.”
Each grunted or grinned at the sight of Taryn, Jack, and Trin. “Welcome, boys, to our party,” Gadlin said and raised his mug. Draining it, he only spilled a little onto his smith’s apron. Then he pointed at Taryn’s red hair. “You look like you got some dwarf in you, lad, but we all know that ain’t possible—what with those little pointed ears showing your elf side.”
Offended, Taryn was about to interrupt their loud laughter to tell them the truth when Jack put a hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked at Jack and saw a knowing smirk on his lips. “Don’t tell them,” Jack whispered. “Let’s have some fun with 'em first.” Unsure of how to respond, Taryn reluctantly allowed Jack to take the lead. Clasping his hands, the thief said, “So, what’s the game for the evening?”
Bodor, dressed in light armor and wearing an axe on his back, stabbed a finger at Jack. “So you be thinkin’ you’re joinin’, laddy?”
Jack spread his hands wide and grinned. “That is why you brought us here, isn’t it? To see if you could lighten our pockets?”
Fignus, the only one who didn’t join in the ensuing laughter, said, “You brought a smart one this time, Faxon.”
Their guide grinned and pulled some chairs to the table. “It’s time for some fun then.”
“What’s the game then,” Trin said, sitting down and pounding the table with a fist. "I'm ready."
Gadlin laughed again, “It’s a drinkin game, but I don’t know if a human boy can stand up to it . . .”
Trin snorted. “Bring on the drink.”
All five of the dwarves laughed and Fesrac stood to get more ale. A short, double sided battle-axe shifted on his back as he strolled away. Not a minute later he returned, hefting a large barrel on his shoulder.
Adding three mugs to the table he said, “Fill yur glasses, but don’t drink until we explain the rules.”
Trin reached for the tap and began filling mugs as Faxon leaned forward. “The game is simple,” he said. “One of us makes a bet if we think we can drink the next glass without passing out—or throwing up. Then we circle the table matching it or dropping out. The last one standing gets it all.”
Jack grinned and slapped two copper on the table. “Let’s go then. The dust from the road begs to be washed away.”
The dwarves burst into rough laughter and watched him down the mug without batting an eye. Trin went next, dropping the coins and draining his glass. Taryn watched him, but had a difficult time getting his mind off what Jack was planning. He guessed these dwarves had been doing this for a while, and would certainly be the victors.
He also had the nagging thought that this was delaying their mission. For some reason it felt wrong to be drinking when the time was set to expire on so many lives. Clenching his teeth, he tried to reason that what Siarra was doing was also important, and she would likely be speaking with the Dwarven clan leaders for some time. He glanced at Jack and caught a smug expression, so he did his best to let it go. Seeing it was his turn, he dropped the coins on the table and took a long pull of the surprisingly mellow drink. At least he could learn more about his father's people, and nothing got a dwarf to talk like a full mug.
Three hours and two barrels later, Taryn wasn't the only one having a hard time. Of the dwarves, only Fignus, who the others said was an engineer and never drank, and Fesrac, the soldier, had voluntarily dropped out. Faxon, Bodor, and Gadlin still cheered every time Jack or Taryn dropped coins on the table and emptied a mug.
Taryn shook his head to clear it and dropped five silver to finish the round that Jack had begun. Emptying his glass amidst praise from his companions, he waited for it to be filled again. Not for the first time he doubted if this was a good idea. A glance at Trin, slumped and snoring on the table, only made him doubt it more.
To make matters worse, the dwarves had raised the stakes in the last few rounds, some even slapping down a few gold coins. Taryn discreetly checked his money bag and realized he was beginning to run out. His frustration mounting, he turned to Jack to find him still somewhat sober and laughing as Bodor tossed out an astonishing three gold coins. Then the dwarf threw back his glass like it was nothing more than water.
Taryn was about to protest the rising stakes, but Jack elbowed him and flashed him a sly grin. Reluctantly he finished his turn, and then participated in another round. Through the fog of drink, he caught the dwarves casting uncertain glances between each other. Like he'd been waiting for their response, Jack finished his glass to end the round and said, “Boys, I think we nee' a differen' game.”
Faxon leaned forward. “Are you derpping out?” he asked, unable to hide his eagerness.
Jack yawned and swayed, grabbing the table to right himself. “Not at all, but me think we should make things a little more interestin'.”
Bodor laughed and belched. “I have ne’er seen a pair of 'umans last this long,” he slurred. “But I am up for anythin' intrestin'.”
Jack hiccupped and said, “How about you throw some'ing special in the pot, and we will add some'ing of our own. Then yur can present any challenge you like, and me friend here—” He clapped a hand onto Taryn’s shoulder, making him start and stand up straighter, “Will beat yur challenge.”
“Are you mad!” Taryn hissed, but Fignus had already agreed to his terms.
“Give us a moment to figure out the challenge, then we will talk about the wager,” the engineer said, his expression shrewd.
As soon as the five dwarves had stepped away, Taryn grabbed Jack’s arm. “What in the name of Skorn do you think you are doing?”
Jack returned his gaze with
out flinching and shrugged. “You aren’t too drunk, are you?”
Taryn shook his head, confused. “Not too much, but enough to impair my senses. What does that have to do with anything?”
The thief smirked. “The drink has been watered down to make their victims last more rounds. I’m actually surprised Trin didn’t last longer.” He chuckled. “They think we should be unconscious, and have no idea you have dwarven blood. Whatever task they give you will be well within your abilities.”
Taryn frowned, noticing for the first time that Jack seemed completely at ease—and sober. “Wait, why aren’t you having a hard time? And when you did you stop slurring?”
Jack’s snorted like Taryn should know better. “I haven’t drunk anything.”
Before Taryn could respond the dwarves returned to the table. “So what’s your challenge?” Taryn demanded. He'd thought Jack was his friend, but now he felt betrayed into helping the thief get more money. And how had he not drunk anything? Was it magic again? Or something else? How many tricks did the thief have? The entire situation left him feeling trapped.
Faxon managed to wipe the smug look of his face before he said, “We thought we'd take it easy on you because you’ve drunk so much.”
The dwarves too seemed to have lost their difficulties in speech, causing Taryn to growl under his breath. Did everyone have such tricks? He felt manipulated, making him feel a rush of anger.
Fignus nodded, his eyes glinting. “We want you to catch a mountain goat.”
Jack blanched beside Taryn. “Have you lost your minds? You can’t catch a mountain goat. No one can climb the cliffs to where they live!”
Fesrac shrugged. “Oh, we do it all the time. Are you saying a dwarf can do what a human can’t?”
Despite the dwarf’s claim, Taryn got the feeling that catching a mountain goat did not happen often, but Jack seemed to fall for the challenge.
“Humans can do anything a dwarf can do!” Jack said hotly, but Taryn heard the note of falseness in his voice. Few would have noticed the inflection, but this time Taryn saw through him. Jack was just putting on a show, with Taryn as the victim.
Despite the thief's bravado, he added, “But it won't be easy for my friend here, so whatever you wager had better be good.”
Faxon pointed at the not-so-small pile of coins. “We’ll double the pot.”
Jack scratched his head before he responded, “I think that will do. What do you say, Taryn?”
Taryn frowned between the eager dwarves and Jack’s confident expression. He wasn’t pleased in how things had developed, and he wished they were anywhere else. At least it will get me out of this drinking game. Feeling cornered, he agreed with an explosive sigh.
Faxon laughed and drained his mug one last time. “I will lead you to the highest exit from the fortress. It will take you closest to the goats.” He winked slyly. “But not too close.
Taryn stood and followed the dwarf away, throwing one last look at Jack’s smug expression before it slipped from view. As their eyes made contact, he did his best to convey every bit of anger he felt, but it didn't seem to faze the thief.
Several minutes later, he stood before an open door, feeling the chill wind sting his face.
“There you go,” Faxon said brightly. “When you give up, come back to this door and tap on this metal pipe.” He pointed to a bar hanging from the ceiling. “Someone will come within a minute or two and lead you back to us.”
"Fine," Taryn said and stepped through the door and into the night air. Despite his annoyance at Jack, the cool wind on his face felt wonderful after the hot tavern. The chill brought a moment of renewed clarity, and a fleeting image that made him smile. Why not forget the goat and make Jack foot the bill? He chewed on the idea for a while, enjoying both the view and the thought of teaching the man a lesson.
In the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He sighed and let the image go with only a little regret. There was no way he could let a friend down, even one such as Jack. Frowning to himself, he set off along the trail, and guided by the bright moon, began looking for signs of a goat.
Two hours—and one goat later—Taryn sat down at the table amidst hearty cheers from many of the dwarves in the room.
“All right, Taryn,” Fignus said. “How’d you do it?”
“I saw a small herd on top of the cliff next to the frozen waterfall—”
“But that’s nearly five miles away!” Bodor exclaimed in astonishment. “And a thousand feet up!”
Taryn shrugged and continued, “It wasn’t easy to spot them standing in the patch of snow, but once I had, I just scaled the wall behind them and dropped on one of them from above.”
Faxon began chuckling, and it grew into a deep belly laugh which his clan brothers matched, even Fignus. “I can’t believe you did it. Dwarves rarely go after goats,” Faxon said through his laughter. “We are strong enough to climb the cliff, but not fast enough to catch one!”
Jack and Taryn joined in their laughter, until Bodor calmed down enough to ask, “What’s your secret, boy? We thought we were taking advantage of you.”
His question stole their levity as the dwarves looked at Taryn, but it was Jack who drew their gaze. His expression smug, he said, “He’s part elf . . . and dwarf.”
All five stared at him with their eyes popping out of their sockets. Some of their expressions changed from anger to humor and back again, until Bodor pounded his fist on the table. “Cheat! Not a fair bet! You should have told us!”
Jack spread his arms wide. “You didn’t ask.”
Faxon began laughing again and his friends looked at him. “We thought we were taking advantage of them, and they were taking advantage of us!”
His humor spread as amusement overcame anger and Bodor relented. “Anyone who can catch a mountain goat deserves a reward.”
The normally quiet Fesrac asked, “Which side is your dwarf blood from boy? And which clan did they hail from?”
Taryn shook his head. “I don’t know what clan. I never knew my father, who was half dwarf and half human, but his name was Mazer.”
If the dwarves were shocked when he’d brought back the goat, it was nothing compared to now. All five jaws dropped open and they stared at Taryn as if he'd begun to fly.
“Are you certain?” Faxon asked, working his jaw to get the words out.
Confused by their response, Taryn drew his father's sword and said, “This belonged to him, and it says Mazer . . .”
He stopped as all five leaned in and reverently touched the blade, whispering to themselves in their own guttural tongue. Catching sight of the weapon, nearby dwarves began to congregate, circling the table until the ones in the back were craning for a better view. The dining hall emptied of sound as the crowd around the glittering sword grew, their whisperings intensified by deference.
Taryn looked at Jack with a raised eyebrow, but Jack just shrugged and shook his head. For once, his puzzlement appeared genuine.
Faxon's eyes snapped to look at Taryn. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
He shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest as Fignus said, “This weapon is unique, and was forged by Mazer, one of the best smiths our people has ever seen, and enchanted during its construction, as well as after.”
Taryn’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the insight into his father’s life. “What does that mean?”
“This blade was forged, not from steel, but from magically melted diamonds combined with a mixture of steel and mithral,” the smith Gadlin said. “We use a similar process to make rakion armor, where we use the same raw material and weave it into a layered mesh to form the strongest and lightest armor possible. It’s beyond expensive, and can take centuries to complete. In our entire history, only three such armor sets have been forged successfully. What you carry is the sole rakion sword ever created.”
Gadlin burst into an excited laugh. “I never thought I’d see such a weapon again.”
Taryn shook his head
, frustrated that he still didn't understand. “What makes it so special?”
Faxon caressed the flat side of the blade and stared at Taryn. “This sword took nearly three hundred years to create, and was the life’s work of Mazer and several of our best dwarven magi and smiths. They used both stone and fire magics in every phase of its construction. The metal was magically formed, melted, and then flattened and folded multiple times a day. With each layer the stone magi bonded the material tighter and tighter to create a weapon that can only be described as indestructible.”
“Why, what was it for?” Taryn asked, stunned that his sword had been through so much.
“It was meant as a gift from our people to the Oracle," Faxon said, "but sometime after it was given to her, she returned it to Mazer—after adding her own enchantments.”
Gadlin blew out his breath and brushed his stubby finger on the sharp side of the blade. “A sharpening augmentation,” he breathed. “The most intricate and difficult stone magic, and the only known ninth-level spell. It shaves the blade down to the smallest unit of the material, and then binds the remaining sliver together. Drawing from the innate bonds within these tiny units, it keeps them eternally connected and can magically cut even stone.”
Taryn struggled to grasp the implications of the dwarves words as numerous questions came into his mind. The most important popped out first. “Do you know anything else about my father?”
Faxon’s expression turned sad and he shook his head. “Mazer was raised among humans, but came to us after his mother passed away. He kept to himself, training with the smith’s but living apart from the clans. Even with his skill, many dwarves did not consider him one of our kind.”
Gadlin nodded. “It was due to his ability that he was selected to create this weapon, an honor that many wanted. No one, however, could deny him the task. Even among dwarves, he stood apart in the forge. After its completion, he was sent to deliver it, but he never returned.”
Taryn fought to control his emotions. Hope at finding more about his parents had swelled to overflowing . . . and then evaporated just as fast. For one brief minute he’d imagined learning about his dwarven heritage and joining a clan, and his heart ached at the destruction of that future.
