The dwarfs’ ship was the last to set down. When it had been secured like the others, Nonn appeared with his fellow elders, descended the gangplank and crossed the pier to where Corr and the others stood. To Finn’s surprise the dwarf chieftain was no longer wearing the drab ring-mail and leathers he’d had on earlier. Instead he was dressed in a robe of sleek white fur embroidered with silver, and his lined brow was ringed with a thin circlet of bright gold. He walked with a staff now, too, a rod of roughly finished iron but topped with a spike of red stone.
The dwarf came toward them slowly and solemnly, like a monarch to his throne. He did not look at Corr or anyone else but strode past them all and halted at the very tip of the pier. He stood there for a time in silence, his head bowed, then he raised a hand.
“City of our fathers,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “Great Qarqanaq. Adamant the imperishable. Your children have returned home. I join my life’s blood with that of my fathers, and I vow I will not leave here again while yet a drop of that blood remains in me.”
With that he drew the red spike of his staff across the palm of his hand and closed the hand in a fist. As the dark blood oozed from between his fingers, he held his arm out and let the drops fall into the depths.
Finally he turned away and strode back to where Finn stood with Corr and the doctor.
“This was our great public gathering place,” the old dwarf said, gazing around the pier with its strewn bodies. “We gathered here on feast days and to welcome the sun at the end of winter. Oh, yes, we dwarfs loved the sun in those days. It wasn’t always hidden behind veils of smoke and we weren’t forced to hide in our tunnels then. We called our city Ban nor qalu, the circle of light and song. And now … now it is a charnel pit.” He cursed in his own language. “The slaves of the Night King have defiled this ground, as they defile everything they touch.”
“You and I will make this a living city once again, Nonn,” Corr said. “And for that we will need the mines, if they can be reached.”
“I have walked the path to those mines in my thoughts every day, Sky Lord,” the dwarf said. “There is a main road that winds down through the city to the mine entrance, though it was damaged in the upheavals of the earth that killed many of my people. The Nightbane may have repaired the road, but they are not Ironwise and it is very likely that way is still difficult to pass. It would be best if a company of my finest delvers go first, before anyone else.”
“Until we’re certain the Nightbane have left, nobody is going anywhere without an armed escort,” Corr said.
Finn thought the old dwarf would bristle at Corr’s words, but instead he smiled coldly.
“I agree,” he said. “That’s why I’ve brought one.”
Nonn gestured toward his own ship. From its far side now emerged a troop of thirty or more dwarfs in thickly plated armour, carrying great square-headed hammers and broad-bladed axes. Corr’s eyes narrowed at the sight of them, and Finn guessed that his brother had known nothing about this.
Corr studied the armed dwarfs in silence. Then he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Have your delvers send messengers back as soon as they’ve secured the mines. For now, though, I would ask that you yourself stay with me. We’re going to establish our base camp here, as you suggested, and I will need to consult you about many things.”
“Of course. But one more thing, Lord. There may be blockages and cave-ins that will be hard to clear, and that creature of clay is stronger than thirty men. The work of reaching the mines safely will go much faster for my delvers with his help.”
Corr turned and studied the silent, unmoving man of clay.
“The golem stays here for the time being,” he said at last. “If and when your delvers need him, I will reconsider.”
Nonn’s eyes burned. It looked as if he would protest, but he nodded slowly and marched off without another word. Finn watched him go. His suspicions about the old dwarf’s loyalty had been rekindled by the sight of the armed dwarfs and Nonn’s request for the golem. But before he could voice them, Corr spoke.
“Adamant has two masters now, it would seem,” he said. “Nonn is no happier about that than the fetches.”
“Can we trust him?” Finn asked.
“His little army isn’t enough to protect him if the Nightbane return,” Corr said. “He knows that. Nonn needs us as much as we need him.”
Grath, who had captained one of the other ships, now hurried to Corr’s side.
“My Lord, one of my men spotted two or three Nightbane as we came in. They were several levels down, on the far side of the city. They weren’t fetches, the man was certain of that. And we’ve found cooking pots with food still in them, as well as weapons and other gear lying about. They left in haste, by all the signs, but a few are still skulking around. Maybe more than a few.”
“We’re being monitored, Grath—you can be sure of that,” Corr said. “Strict watch is to be maintained at all times. Let the men know that anyone who fails to keep alert will have his ration of gaal suspended.”
Grath nodded and strode away, roaring orders to the Stormriders who were unloading the ships.
To his surprise Finn saw that Doctor Alazar had knelt beside the nearest of the Nightbane bodies.
“You can’t help that one, Doctor,” Corr said.
Alazar stood and adjusted his spectacles. “This creature died of battle wounds,” he said. “Who were they fighting?”
“One another, no doubt,” Corr said. “There were Nightbane of many races here, Doctor. They hate one another almost as much as they hate us. If the order to march on the fortress was given before they were fully prepared, there was probably much disagreement over it.”
Alazar hoisted his black bag over his shoulder. “I’m going to see if there are any others still living,” he said. “If I may, I’ll take one of your Stormriders as escort.”
“Doctor, if my Stormriders see you patching up their enemies, they may just decide to stick a sword in you, too. Stay here, if you please, and let my men take care of any Nightbane we find alive.”
“Take care of them?” Alazar laughed. “They’ll kill them.”
“They’ll bring them to me first. We need to find out all we can about what’s happened here. But whether they talk or not, we can’t let them go, and I won’t have you mending their wounds.”
The doctor shook his head slowly. “You don’t command me, Corr Madoc. If you won’t give me an escort, I’ll go myself.”
“You’ll stay right here.”
Alazar didn’t reply.
He turned to walk away, but Corr grasped his arm roughly. “You will stay here,” he growled. “Or be put in chains.”
Finn stepped forward. “My brother is right, Doctor,” he said.
Alazar stared at him with surprise. “Finn, how can you—”
“My brother is right, but I will go with you. If we find any living Nightbane, do what you can for them, then I’ll bring them to Corr.”
Now Alazar stared at Finn as if he no longer recognized him. There was a long, tense silence, then at last Corr released the doctor from his grip.
“Very well,” he said. “It’s on your head, Doctor. Just don’t stray too far. Night is coming, and we don’t know what else still calls this city home.”
9
AMMON BRAX STOOD OVER the smoothly polished table in the Loremaster’s library. Several books were open before him and many others were stacked or scattered across the table. He was reading one of the open books, restlessly running a finger up and down the columns of print and then turning quickly to the next page. The scowl on his face deepened with each page he turned.
“Stories,” he growled. “Nothing but stories.”
He had already scoured Pendrake’s workshop on the top floor. A tapestry on the wall there had caught his eye and held him: it depicted a blossoming green tree on a hill. A tree that glittered with silver points of light, as if stars had been caught among its branches.
He’d star
ed at the tapestry a long time, thinking and sifting through scraps of old legend he could only vaguely recall. Then he noticed with a start that words had been woven into the leafy pattern along the edges of the tapestry.
He’d traced the words slowly with a finger.
In the hand that grasps, it burns.
In the hand that opens, it flows like water.
Where you don’t expect to find it,
there it will be,
the hidden fire.
It was a clue—he was certain of it. The hidden fire was the source of the Loremaster’s power. But where was the place you didn’t expect to find it? He tore the tapestry down. Nothing but a solid wall stood behind it.
From there he’d scoured every other room in the house. In what he took to be the girl’s bedroom he’d found another tapestry hanging on the wall that looked to have been woven by the same hand. It was a portrait of a man and woman whom he guessed must be Rowen’s mother and father. The man was dressed in strange garments of a kind Brax had never seen before, and this troubled him for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom. But perhaps that was just it. There was something about the girl herself he didn’t yet understand. Something she knew, or something she was, still eluded him, just as she had herself.
Like water. Where you don’t expect to find it.
Studying the graceful, delicate weave of threads that made up the tapestry, Brax guessed the work had been done by Pendrake’s wife. All he had been able to discover about her in Fable was that she had gone away and no one knew where. That was a piece of the puzzle, as well, he was convinced. But he didn’t have enough of the pieces yet to see how they all fit together.
He had thought he might find the answer in one of the old man’s books, but so far they had proven nearly useless. There were scattered references to the Night King and the Broken Years and the dangers of werefire, but nothing that might offer a clue to how the fire could be summoned. And in every book Brax had found only more of what he didn’t want: stories.
A loud, bleating laugh came from the kitchen down the hall. The hogmen. Brax had got them searching the toyshop top to bottom, too, like pigs sniffing out truffles. But even Hodge’s supposed sensitivity to the werefire had failed to turn up anything. And now they were back to stuffing themselves and doing nothing useful.
Brax went back to the table and opened the only book he hadn’t examined yet, which turned about to be another journal written in the Loremaster’s own hand. And like all the others it was full of stories. More worthless old tales that Pendrake had gathered on his travels through the Realm.
There once was a poor woodcutter …
Long ago, in a faraway kingdom …
In the days when birds and beasts could speak with men …
More laughing and snorting erupted from the kitchen.
Brax snarled and swept the book off the table. He took up his staff and stalked down the hall.
The Marrowbone brothers were sprawled in upholstered armchairs they had dragged in from somewhere else in the house. Their feet were up on the table and they were chuckling about something. Both of them had dressed themselves in frock coats that they must have found among the Loremaster’s things. The coats were too small for their bloated bodies and made them look even more grotesque and ridiculous than they usually did.
Hodge was gnawing on a bone, and other bones lay scattered over the table and on the floor, along with dirty plates and other crockery in rickety heaps. Over everything hung a rank stench of rotting food. Then Brax saw that the stove woodbox was open and filled with half-burned books that had been shredded to light fires.
Hodge lifted his feet off the table quickly when Brax appeared. Flitch, Brax noted, did not.
“Where did you get those books?” the mage demanded, wrinkling his nose at the stench.
“We found them on the floor in the other room,” Flitch said casually. “We assumed you’d finished with them—”
“You don’t assume anything,” the mage snapped. “You leave everything as it is unless I tell you otherwise.”
“They’re just paper,” Hodge said in a wounded tone. “What use is that?”
“How long have you two been sitting here stuffing your faces?” Brax said, advancing on them. Hodge shrank into his chair. “Get up and get back to searching the house.”
Flitch set aside the sliver of bone he had been using as a toothpick.
“We’ve searched, my lord,” he said icily. “We’ve looked everywhere. Everywhere. And you haven’t even told us what it is we’re supposed to be looking for. If you ask me—”
“I am not asking you—I’m telling you. One would think that following my orders has got to be preferable to the hospitality of the Errantry.”
The hogman’s lips quivered. Brax noted with some concern that it was more from rage than fear. He would have to watch Flitch and not let down his guard for a moment.
“We’re only taking some well-earned refreshment, Master Brax,” Hodge said quickly. “We’ve been working very hard—honestly we have. As my brother said, we’ve looked everywhere. In every room, every corner. Under everything. Lots of places more than once, just to be sure. We’re very grateful for all you’ve done for us—truly we are. Aren’t we, Flitch? And we’re going to get right back to work.”
“We are,” Flitch echoed grudgingly, “but we do have one small request first.”
“What is it?”
“The Skalding woman has been useless to you, from anything we can see. We’d like to put her to work for us. Pay her back for handing us over to the Errantry, you see. She can cook for us and clean and …”
His gaze strayed to a wooden knife block sitting on the sideboard. Then he met Brax’s eyes again and grinned.
So it was true, Brax thought. The stories from Skald that the hogmen had eaten people were more than just rumours. In spite of himself, he shuddered.
Then he looked again at the filth in the kitchen, the bloodstains on the tabletop. This would be just the place to bring her, it occurred to him. The sight of the hogmen in their element might just loosen her tongue. Keeping her locked up was pointless. Flitch was right about that. And eventually word was sure to get out that she was being held prisoner.
Brax faced Hodge. “Bring her here,” he ordered.
Hodge sprang to his feet. “I’ll fetch her, Master Brax. Back in no time.” He lumbered from the room, his jowls jiggling in his haste.
Brax went over to the block of knives, slid out a long carving knife and turned it to examine the blade. Then with all his strength he jabbed the knife into the wooden top of the sideboard. It wobbled there a moment and went still. Brax stepped back to survey the effect.
Flitch watched all this with mingled fear and eagerness in his eyes.
“We’ll get her to put this place back in order, my lord,” he said. “Back the way the housekeeper had it. Nice and tidy, the way you people like it. And if she won’t do as we ask—well, I suppose that’ll mean you won’t mind us disposing of her for you.”
“We shall see,” Brax said. “For the time being she’s my prisoner, and neither of you will lay a finger on her. Is that clear?”
Flitch glowered silently at the table, then raised his head.
“As you wish, my lord. But, in that case, my brother and I were also wondering if you’d let us out of the toyshop from time to time. To look for others who might … make dinner for us. And such. What with things in the city all astir, I would think no one would notice us or care too much if they did. I mean, we blend in, you could say, with all the outlandish folk taking refuge here these days.”
The mage rounded suddenly on Flitch, whose beady black eyes went wide with surprise and fear. The sight pleased Brax even as it infuriated him. These creatures were more trouble than they were worth.
“Listen to me, hogman,” he said, his voice low and cold with threat. “I have Thorne’s sentries at the door as much to keep you from getting out as to prevent anyone getting in. I w
ould prefer not to have your foul stench anywhere near me, but the last thing I need is the Errantry coming here looking for people who’ve gone missing and have ended up in your cookpot. And so you and your feebleminded brother will do exactly what I tell you and nothing else, do you understand?”
“Very clearly, my lord,” Flitch muttered.
“With a word I can have the two of you back to rotting in that cell at Appleyard. Or worse. Far worse.” He raised his ivory staff and Flitch quailed. “You will do as you’re told and there will be no more talk of guests for dinner.”
Flitch pushed away his food. His thick hands were trembling.
“As you wish, my lord. My brother and I will keep searching. But—pardon me, I have to ask—isn’t there anything else you can tell us about what we’re looking for? It’s some secret of the old toymaker’s, we figured that out, but we’ve turned over all the toys in the place, shook them, took them apart. We’ve looked in every nook and cranny, under the beds, under the rugs, behind picture frames. I don’t think it’s really fair to get angry at us for failing to find this thing if”—he paused and glanced sideways at the mage—“if even you don’t know what it is.”
At that moment Hodge stumbled back into the room, breathing heavily.
“She’s gone,” he panted. “The room … it’s empty.”
Moments later the mage and the hogmen were standing in front of the broom closet. Two large metal-trimmed wooden chests stood stacked near the door, which was slightly ajar. Brax stepped into the broom closet and looked it over, top to bottom. He picked up a frayed length of rope.
“Her hands were bound tight as anything,” Hodge wheezed. “No way she could have got out of that.”
Brax stepped back out of the broom closet and studied the chests. “You say the door was shut when you came up just now and these were in front of it?”
Hodge nodded convulsively. “Yes. Yes. I swear it. We used those chests full of books you said you didn’t need anymore because you’d looked through them. They were so heavy the two of us together could barely lift them. There’s no way she could have …” He turned to his brother. “It was Flitch’s idea to stack the chests in front of the door. I told you it wasn’t enough. I told you—”
The Tree of Story Page 12
