15
Arrival at Dagbar's Freehold
The three griffons soared above the treetops, the leaves below a blur. The Deepwood was a sea of green beneath them.
They made good time and the knights could see the Bastion of Dagbar's Freehold where it jutted above the forest's canopy. The sun sat high in the cloudless sky, the warmth of its rays made the tower appear to float on a shimmering haze.
Finngyr tightened his grip on Safu's reins and banked left. The other knights trailed close behind and followed his lead. He wanted to get a look at this place before landing. He was sure they would have been forewarned of his arrival. Something as important as a visit from three Knights from the Temple of Justice would have warranted the use of a runesmith. Magister Dagbar would be expecting them. He would have prepared for them more like, Finngyr mused.
Some type of pale wooden structure on the top of the bastion caught his attention. It was square, like the tower it squatted on, but rose an additional two stories before angling up into a pitched roof. Why in Daomur's name would a dwarf build something on top of a Bastion. Worse still, why build it of wood? Where were they to land?
The forest fell away beneath them to reveal rolling hills covered with cultivated fields of wheat, corn and barley, their square patterns pushing all the way up to the forest's edge. Finngyr expected to see the humans of the settlement scattered through them, working the land, but he saw no one. He guided Safu lower and noted high weeds amongst the crops. He had only taken this in when they passed over the first abandoned farmstead.
The door to the one story farm house lay forgotten in the weeds a short distance from the porch. Even from this height Finngyr could tell it had been torn off and thrown there. The animal paddock was empty, the water trough covered with a green film. It was the same with the other farms they took in as they scouted the borderlands of the settlement. What happened here? Finngyr didn't see the telltale signs of the passage of a large force, the fields were not burned, just abandoned. They were too far into the Deep Wood for this to be barbarian raiders from the plains. If something happened here, why had Knight Justice Griff not reported it?
They flew low and followed one of the many roads that cut a straight line through the fields towards the Bastion. Dagbar's Freehold was built to the same design as the many Bastion's Finngyr had seen in the plains. The Bastion, the entry to the Underways sat at the center of the settlement. From there, paved streets lead away from its surrounding courtyard in the four cardinal directions to four fortified gates. The gates were connected by a protective stone wall built in the shape of a square. Simple and efficient.
The majority of the buildings behind the protective walls were stone. There were a smattering of wooden structures peppered throughout, but most were of stone. This surprised Finngyr. There couldn't possibly be that many dwarves in this outpost. He was not aware of any sizable troops being assigned to the Freehold either.
Where the outlying fields were devoid of life, the streets and buildings behind the protective walls was teeming with it. Humans and dwarves moved throughout the streets, shuffling their way around tents of every different design and color. Hastily erected paddocks held livestock of all sorts. Even the flat roofs of the buildings were crowded with makeshift shelters, chicken coops, and laundry lines. Human women squatted on the roofs, tending cooking pots, while their screaming offspring ran among them pointing up at the griffons.
It wasn't until the second pass that Finngyr saw a small group of perhaps a half dozen dwarves and humans gathered outside one of the gatehouses. They held aloft triangular banners of blue and white, a white tree decorating the center, Magister Dagbar's trade guild emblem.
It reminded Finngyr he was not just dealing with some unknown magister of a human containment, but a grandmaster of a trade guild.
Finngyr disengaged his harness as soon as Safu touched ground.
“Thank you, Safu.”
He spoke the words of the riding ritual and then cleared his hammer and gear. He noted with satisfaction that both Horth and Kjar also thanked their mounts.
Finngyr took his time to watched the three griffons take to the skies and only then turned to find a human male bowing before him, its palms turned upward. “May I take your belongings, Knight Justice?” The human was thin, its head clean shaven, with half its face stained blue. It made to reach for his pack.
Finngyr glared at it until it lowered its hand and stepped back hurriedly. Two other humans who had stepped forward to make the same offer to Horth and Kjar followed suit.
A dwarf in deep blue robes stepped forward and inclined his head. “Greetings and well met, Knight Justices. Welcome to the Emporium. I am Magister Dagbar,” he said in a thick northern accent.
Finngyr unfastened the clasp on his helmet and removed it. He had not missed that Magister Dagbar had only inclined his head instead of bowing. He had also said Magister instead of his higher rank of Grandmaster. Was he insulting them by using his lesser title and paying respect as an equal or saying they ranked no higher than a magister. Either way, Finngyr disliked him already.
Dagbar was wide, even for a dwarf, Finngyr would not have said he was fat, but he didn't appear to miss too many meals. He wore Magister's robes of a deep blue with shoulder plates of polished silver with gold filigree. The robe was made of velvet from the south, a precious import unless Finngyr missed his guess. His flame red hair and beard were intricately twisted in long braids and heavily oiled. Not one finger was wont for a band of gold or precious stone. Most striking were the colors of his eyes. One was a deep blue, which matched his robe, the other pure white.
Both Horth and Kjar stepped up next to Finngyr and bowed at the waist. Finngyr frowned and inclined his head at the Magister.
“His word is law, Magister,” Finngyr said. He let the traditional greeting hang there a moment. “I am Knight Justice Finngyr. This is Knight Kjar and Knight Horth.”
“Yes, well, we have been expecting you. Though, I must say I do not understand the reason for your visit. One of your brethren, a Knight Justice Griff, I believe, was here not too long ago to perform the Rite of Attrition,” Dagbar said.
“We will discuss that in due time, Magister, I can assure you.” Finngyr motioned towards the gatehouse. “What has happened here?”
“Ah, well, that. Yes, we can discuss that in due time as well. Please follow me.” With that, Dagbar turned and motioned for them to follow. The dwarves and humans with banners took up position around Dagbar and the knights and guided them towards the gatehouse.
“You said the Emporium, Magister Dagbar. I thought this settlement was known as Dagbar's Freehold,” Horth said.
Dagbar gave them an indulgent grin. “Yes, I have heard this name. Some have said we are more…liberal…here than other parts of the Empire.”
Magister Dagbar placed his hands together within his broad sleeves and said no more.
As they approached the gatehouse, the large intricately carved set of stone doors swung outwards on well oiled hinges. Finngyr made out images of dwarves reaching towards what appeared to be living trees, set against a backdrop of swirling vines. Detailed leaves etched around the outside.
“I did not know there was a contingent of Artificers from the Temple of Art in the Emporium,” Kjar said.
“Oh, there has not been a contingent of Artificers in the Emporium for many years, though journeymen priests are here often enough,” one of the blue faced humans volunteered.
Kjar did not look at the human, but said. “I did not address you, human.”
The man cleared his throat and suddenly found something on the ground very interesting.
Finngyr took in the armed gate guards. Both dwarf and human, both with half their faces stained blue, working side by side to open the gate.
He glanced back at the human who deigned to speak before being spoken to. “I can see how this place has come to be called Dagbar's Freehold.”
Bile formed in the back of Finngyr's
throat as he took it all in. His gauntleted fist involuntarily tightened on his hammer. Here was a place he would be honored to administer the Rite of Attrition.
All the noise and smells held within the walls escaped through the open doors and crashed over them. Knight Horth put a gauntleted fist to his nose and grimaced.
The banners acted like the keel of a ship, parting the crowds before their entourage. Finngyr found the scene before him a dichotomy. It was obvious the Freehold was overcrowded and had been for some time, something driving the humans behind the safety of the Freehold's walls. The smell of so many living together was overpowering, but still many cheered and called the Magister's name. For every jubilant greeting for Magister Dagbar, Finngyr found a cold stare for himself and his fellow knights. From opened windows, shadowed doorways and rooftops, the humans watching them pass could not hide the fear Finngyr saw behind their eyes waiting for him like an old friend.
“You arm the humans with steel and allow them to reside within buildings of dwarf make, Magister?” Finngyr said. He noted Horth and Kjar shared a look.
Magister Dagbar responded as if he were commenting on the weather. “There is no law restricting humans from wielding steel weapons within a settlement, Knight Justice. Nor is it written that they may not reside in stone buildings, I'll assume that is what you are referring to, only that they are not allowed to work with stone.”
“A thin distinction at best,” Finngyr said.
Dagbar motioned to the throngs around them. “There is no law being broken here. On the contrary, we follow it. Do the laws not read we are to watch over humans?”
Finngyr had seen this before. A politician taking the word of Daomur and twisting it to his own ends. Finngyr was tired. He had spent too many days in the saddle and was not going to be drawn into a debate he wouldn't be allowed to win. He knew he was restricted in his actions. The Magister was no more going to change his beliefs than Finngyr was going to change his own. The Magister held the power and was within his rights to interpret the law the way he saw fit in his settlement.
For now.
Those two words gave Finngyr hope and he clung to them in the face of all the blatant abominations of the law before him.
“Since you do not wish to speak of what has caused all the humans to seek shelter behind your walls, perhaps you care to enlighten me on what that is?” Finngyr pointed at the wooden structure atop the Bastion.
Dagbar smiled, seeming excited at the change of subject. “Ah, that magnificent creation is my home, Knight Justice.”
“It is built of Silverwood,” Kjar stated in awe.
Finngyr found such a display of wealth sickening. Silverwood was only found within the Deepwood. It was treasured by merchant houses and nobles alike as a symbol of wealth and prestige. Just to have a few pieces of carved artwork marked one as wealthy. No grandmaster of any trade guild would have less than a few fine pieces of furniture on display or service their guests on a silverwood table, but this?
“Indeed, it is. I find stone so restricting, don't you? I'm especially fond of the view from the larger windows. The smaller windows in the Bastion do not allow one to take in the forest,” Dagbar said, warming to the subject.
Kjar quirked an eyebrow at Finngyr and shook his head in disbelief. Finngyr had thought the Magister eccentric, now he thought him mad. Finngyr grunted a response and said no more of it as they continued on through the crowds.
The buildings pushing in on each side of the street fell away behind them as they entered the main square surrounding the Bastion. Finngyr was impressed to see dwarven guards restricting access to the square, even if they too had blue stained faces. The guards flowed back into place behind Dagbar's entourage.
“Are your humans not thankful for the shelter you provide, Magister?” Kjar said.
Dagbar seemed confused at first and then realized he referred to the guards. “Oh, no, Knight Justice. The guard is necessary for trade. No matter what happens outside, the Emporium must remain open.” Dagbar finished the end of his sentence with his arms spread wide.
Where the street leading to the square was packed with mostly human refugees, the square was filled with trade. Tents of every seeming make and color crisscrossed the square, like a maze of canvas. Harkers, both dwarven and human, called out over the crowd, their voices a sharp contrast to the underlying din.
The sheer size of the open market was overwhelming and hard to take in all at once. Stalls displaying numerous rugs of vibrant colors were pushed up against others displaying exotic jewels and rare gemstones. The smell of scented oils competed with the smell of spices and cooked meats. The rumbling babel as dwarves haggled prices and the clink of exchanged coins swept over Finngyr, threatening to carry him away. Dagbar's representatives walked through the cacophony like veteran sentinels, undisturbed by the chaos around them.
Finngyr noted Dagbar's representatives consisted of both dwarves and humans alike. They wore long white robes and their faces were stained half white and half blue, making them easy to find in the crowd. Each carried a stone abacus. Finngyr past near a human one overseeing a transaction between two dwarves. The man listened intently as he slid the stones across the abacus with smooth efficiency. Finngyr felt his jaw clenching.
The Emporium would rival the best markets in any of the mountain cities. Though, the one difference not to be seen there, were all the humans. Finngyr could smell their stench seep through all else. Their thin spindly bodies everywhere, as if they belonged here. He was less bothered when he spotted two orcs and even some Nordlah barbarians there trading. Dagbar explained it all away with the simple phrase, “The Emporium is open to all creatures of Allwyn who come to trade.”
Each new sight scratched a little more away from Finngyr's sensibilities. He knew why he was here and how important his task. He felt the tick of his clenched jaw like a heartbeat. He tried repeating a prayer to Daomur over and over in his head, tried controlling his breathing, even at one point simply looked down at the back of Dagbar's over adorned slippers in an attempt to hold it all in. He thought he had made it through the gauntlet of sin when the shadow of the Bastion washed over him and he knew it was almost over.
“By Daomur's beard,” Horth said.
Finngyr looked up and stared in disbelief. The Bastion loomed before them. An undergate, at the Bastion's base, its stone doors open wide before them. In front of the undergate a stone statue in the shape of a dwarven priest towered, just shy of clearing the arched entrance. A stone golem, a sacred protector of the forbidden cities, created by the Artificers, stood harnessed to a train of wagons.
“Sacrilege!” Kjar whispered, dumbstruck.
Finngyr snapped. He grabbed Dagbar by the robes, spinning him about and lifting his bulk effortlessly into the air.
“What is the meaning of this, coin monger!” He could feel the blood raging through his temples. Finngyr could hear Lord Knight Gyldoon's warning somewhere in the distant corners of his mind.
The sound of drawn steel echoed around him. All the sound of the market was gone. He heard the whispered warnings of both the younger knights, saw them from the corner of his eyes, their weapons raised and backs to him.
Finngyr blinked and looked beyond them and down two dozen blades to the blue stained faces of dwarves. Had even one of the weapons been in the hands of a human, Finngyr wasn't sure he could have controlled himself.
Kjar glanced at him and then back at the guards who had moved to surround them. It was obvious to Finngyr they had been prepared for just such a reaction. Finngyr focused on Kjar's face. It was filled with concern, but also a sort of stoic resolve. Finngyr knew if he decided to break Dagbar in half, Kjar would fight by his side until the end.
The realization that it would in fact be the end settled on Finngyr then. He could enact justifiable vengeance on this blasphemer now, but pay the ultimate price. Finngyr had no compunction with dying. He would stare Daomur in the eyes when that day came. But, the idea of Ghile Stonechosen allow
ed to go free, and potentially fulfill the prophecies, stayed his hand.
It took all of Finngyr's control to set the Magister down and unlock his trembling fingers from the dwarf's robes.
Magister Dagbar made a deliberate show of straightening his robes and clearing his throat before speaking. If he was shaken from being grabbed, it didn't show on his features, he almost looked…disappointed.
“Knight Justice, you have traveled far and are surely tired.”
“You go too far-” Finngyr began.
“Let me assure you I had the full support of the High Council of Daomount in removing the golems from the Fallen City and using them here.”
“You are using them as beasts of burden?” Kjar said. He had lowered his hammer and now simply stared at the golem.
“And we have quadrupled the amount of product we deliver throughout the Empire as a result,” Dagbar said.
“But the city-” Horth said.
“Is protected by the Alvar and their Deepwood,” Dagbar finished.
“Alvar?”
“I believe you name them Elves,” Dagbar said.
16
The Alvar
Ghile lost track of how long he had been walking. As he followed the fae, the bright shafts of light he dodged earlier in the day faded from piercing white to somber shades of orange and red. Twilight painted itself across what little sky that could be seen through the trees, giant sentinels trying to conceal all beneath from the outside world.
Ast and Cuz awoke from their drug-induced sleep some time ago and now trotted along at his side. Upon waking, they were too accepting of the fae, in Ghile's opinion. Instead of being surprised at being surrounded by the creatures, they seemed excited to the point of wanting to play, and the fae were more than happy to oblige. They only now walked beside him because they were tired from playing chase the pixie and wrestle the hob. Their tongues lolled and they looked half asleep already.
This part of the Deepwood didn't seem much different from when he first entered from the village. He had no idea whether he was farther in or if they were traveling along its edge. The massive roots, the size of trees themselves, still dominated the forest floor. He assumed he was moving deeper in since he could feel the pull of the soulstone getting stronger. He would have thought the wood would become more dangerous as they went deeper, but judging on the Hobbs swaggering gait and the way the pixies and sprites flitted around them, they had nothing to fear. They chittered amongst themselves, laughing and giggling, as if this was some grand adventure.
Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2) Page 18
