“You see, the Dradrien clans who mine and smelt and such, they became rich. Nature of the work,” he grudgingly admitted. “Lot easier to just haul gold and silver out of a hole than it is to earn it with your craft. When those clans prospered, the Kilnusk who ruled them prospered, too. And the one thing you can say about the Kilnusk, apart from their bravery and strength, is that they share the Dradrien’s love of owning. They aren’t makers,” he stressed, as if that was a crime. “They don’t make anything, they just enjoyed owning things.”
“And that caused problems,” I prompted.
“Oh, it did indeed,” Guri said, taking a long pull on his mug. “The tale goes that the Kilnusk lords of the Dradrien clans tried to bargain with the various Alka Alon factions, during the Warring States period,” he explained. “At first it was just for weapons – the Dradrien are fiendishly clever at building magical weapons, and the Alka Alon princes competed with each other for more and more elaborate tools of destruction.
“They made the Dradrien rich. And the Karshak,” he admitted. “We built a lot of their fortresses, back then. But it takes years to build a fortress. The Dradrien were building weapons in months, and trading them at high cost to all sides.
“That was bad enough – but then some of the Kilnusk lords started getting involved directly. The ones dealing with the Enshadowed and that lot started actually fighting for them. That’s wrong,” he stressed. “Our folk are supposed to be neutral in such conflicts, but that didn’t stop the Kilnusk and the Dradrien.
“When they started trying to impress the Karshak clans into service as warriors, we rebelled. Our Kilnusk protectors tried to command us, and we revolted. Oh, we fought – in defense of our lodges and our mansions. But we would not fight at the command of our Kilnusk, despite ancient custom to do so.”
“And so they held a great council of all the clans,” I guessed.
“Eventually, but not before hundreds, thousands had perished in the conflicts,” he sighed, sadly. “Brilliant craftsmen, slaughtered like common infantry in stupid battles. Entire families and lines extinguished. The Dradrien began conducting raids to compel the commands of the Kilnusk, but we resisted.
“Eventually, when the Karshak revolted, they did hold a great council. That’s when the clans split. We took in the Brangok and the Malkas, the former because they’re dedicated craftsmen and the latter because they’re useful, and the Dradrien took the Rudak and Izluk clans under their wing. Prospectors and miners, naturally.”
“And the Kilnusk?”
“By that point, everyone was pissed at the Kilnusk,” Guri reported with some amusement. “Pretentious pricks, the Kilnusk. Like that Prince of yours. They tried to tell us all how we should act, with them as our kings, but they couldn’t rightly explain why that should be.
“Ancient custom only takes you so far, when your folk are getting slaughtered, especially when they’re the ones supposed to be protecting you. The only thing the two factions could agree on was that we were done with the Kilnusk. We voted to exile the entire clan to the far north and repudiate their leadership. After that, we chose our own kings,” he said, proudly.
“How did that work out?”
“Pretty well, for a few centuries. Everything was in the chamberpot, back then, once Castabriel fell and shattered the Alka Alon’s civilization. The Dradrien had a hand in that,” he added. “There were dragons loose, the gurvani were revolting, the Enshadowed were still stirring up trouble, and without the Kilnusk to contain them, the Dradrien started raiding the other clans.
“They tried to dominate, to replace the Kilnusk, some of them,” he said, sourly. “There were five families in particular that pushed to control all of my folk, and they didn’t mind getting their hands bloody to do it. That’s about the time my ancestors built Angrenost, and other hidden fortresses. Dark times,” he added, unnecessarily.
“So why did you abandon them?”
“Because while it’s fun to build something magnificent for yourself,” Guri admitted, “after a while your folk start going stone crazy with nothing to do. The Dradrien got their asses handed to them by one of the Alka Alon factions they were dealing with, and withdrew to their own mansions. The Kilnusk were all but gone. No one was building anymore, with the Alka going back to living in trees, and you can’t make a living in a hole trading rocks back and forth to each other. We had to work . . . even if it was for, uh, the newcomers,” he said, attempting to be tactful.
“Well, I appreciate your open-mindedness,” I chuckled.
“Eventually we started leaving our mansions in pursuit of work. And wives,” he added. “Mostly we marry within our clans, but sometimes we go outside, for love. A few generations marrying each other’s cousins . . . well, I’m sure you can see why we left.”
“So how did it become lost? Angrenost?”
“Oh! Well, eventually it was just one or two families left there, for a few decades, but without much work to go around a lot of our folk lost touch. Been more than a century since anyone heard tale of the place. And no one who knows how to find its secret entrances lives, anymore,” he added, sadly. “It’s always been my hope to re-discover it, someday, and see the craft of my ancestors from when they worked to please no one but themselves.”
“I see,” appreciating the impulse. If I had an opportunity to see Perwyn at its height, I’d jump at it. “So . . . can you explain the attitudes of your folk to Rumel’s?” I asked, trying not to offend.
“Oh, well, the Malkas Alon . . . we’ve always worked closely with them, the poor bastards. You people call them the Wood Dwarves, and that’s apt; they breed more prolifically than us true Karshak, but they don’t live as long. A bit lazy, by reputation. And of course not as strong as us Karshak. But we’ve always looked out for them,” he added, in a conciliatory tone. “Some of them can be trained up decently. But to let them build in stone? On their own?” he asked, shaking his head in wonder. “That’s unheard of. If you need a hut or shed, call a Malkas. If you want a fortress, you call the Karshak,” he said, as if quoting holy writ.
“So it’s more custom than law,” I observed.
“Well, back in the old days the Kilnusk regulated such things. Every clan had their place, and they kept order. Wouldn’t let some clans intermarry,” he added, a little nervously. “Big believers in keeping the lines pure. When the Kilnusk were kicked out, some clans started getting . . . unbearably ambitious. For the Dradrien, they had problems with the Rudak. The smiths have always looked down on the miners, and the miners have always resented the smiths who profit from their labor. A lot of Rudak feel they can forge as well as the Dradrien.”
“Can they?”
“They do good work, the few I’ve met,” Guri conceded. “Better than Karshak smiths. Far better than human smiths,” he added, not wasting the opportunity to sneer at humanity. I didn’t take it personally. “But not up to Dradrien standards, and so they punished those Rudak who tried to change their stars.
“The Malkas, on the other hand . . . well, when we went into hiding, the little bastards started breeding like rabbits. Some even took up farming,” he said with a shudder. “Hells, Min, the first time I saw a Malkas settlement, it . . . it could have been a human settlement!” he said, scandalized. “I’m an open-minded bloke – hells, I can work with nearly anyone – but when I saw the Malkas tots rolling around in the mud and dirt, eking out a marginal existence without hope of a real job, I . . . I just had to take them on, Min. They’re good folk, they are, but . . . well, without direction, they’re content to live in squalor,” he pronounced.
“Rumel seems to do all right,” I pointed out, cautiously.
“He’s a good lad,” Guri agreed, reluctantly. “His dad is one of the clan elders, and he’s worked with my grandfather before. Rumel’s smarter than most Malkas. Good at what he does, none better. But he’s . . . uppity. Thinks he can work stone as well as a true Karshak. He should stick to scaffolding and trim work,” he advised. “Play to
his strengths.”
“He’s ambitious,” I countered. “He’s willing to work on jobs that the Karshak aren’t.”
“Undercutting our wages and diluting the market with substandard work,” Guri replied, stubbornly. “It doesn’t matter to you humans – a dwarf is a dwarf to your fuzzy eyes. But when Rumel’s folk try passing off their ham-handed attempts at stonework as real Karshak make, it makes us look bad!” he said, offended.
“I don’t think anyone could mistake what Rumel is doing in the Wilderlands for what you’re doing here in Sevendor,” I soothed.
“Oh, you’d think,” he replied, sourly. “But you’d be surprised. Sure, it might look pretty on the outside, to your primitive eye, but once that pile of rocks is finished a stiff wind will knock it down,” he predicted.
“It’s a rush job in a combat zone, done on a budget,” I pointed out. “Not something a real lodge would be willing to touch, I suspect.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” he muttered. “We don’t aim to build things just to see them fall down right after. That takes time. And gold,” he added. “If Rumel’s folk are willing to work for pennies . . .”
“Carmella tells me that most of his clan has been released from your service. This keeps their skills fresh,” I persuaded.
“Well, we have most of the timber we need for scaffolding and such,” he admitted. “We only need a few crews for finish work, and maintenance. But they were well-paid for their service,” he added, defensively.
“No one is arguing that. But if they aren’t under contract to your lodge anymore, why object to them hiring out to others?”
“Because it just isn’t right!” Guri insisted. “The Malkas aren’t builders! They’re woodcutters and charcoal burners!” he said, derisively. “Clowns and buffoons!”
“Well, those clowns and buffoons are putting up a castle faster than any ever built in the Wilderlands,” I explained calmly. “And while I know it isn’t up to the standards of the real Karshak, under the circumstances I would appreciate any forbearance your folk could show to Rumel’s clan on the matter. I need a castle in Vorone sufficient to protect the people there from the possibility of a sudden goblin attack – a possibility that grows ever passing day.”
“Well, he’s working with that humani mage, Carmella,” Guri reminded himself. “That’s unusual enough. I admit, I’ve learned a thing or two working with your folk. And the Malkas have always had a reputation for being . . . odd.
“I suppose, since it’s an emergency, and no one in their right mind is going to mistake it for actual Karshak workmanship, I can persuade the lodge elders to lay off. For now. But this is a bad precedent, Min,” he warned, shaking his shaggy head. “Once you start mucking around with the natural order of things, it never goes well.”
I didn’t comment. The same argument had been used against me and my profession to keep us divided and powerless. I’d broken that chain when I supported Rard, and he in turn expelled the Censorate from the kingdom. I could see the same kind of chains binding Rumel and the Wood Dwarves.
While Guri’s folk had hidden themselves in deep underground fortresses, Rumel’s had lived on the surface, subject to the chaos that ruled in the aftermath of the Alka wars . . . only to find themselves relegated to subsidiary status, when the true Karshak emerged.
I was sympathetic with Rumel, for that reason. Whatever ancient traditions tried to hold him back, from what Carmella had shared with me he was an adept builder and engineer, the finest she’d ever worked with.
His clan was hard-working, industrious, and ingenious . . . and they didn’t have the same arrogant attitudes toward working with humanity that the Karshak did. They were also cheaper, a particularly important factor for Anguin’s cash-strapped duchy.
But I didn’t want to alienate the Karshak, either. Particularly if I was working with the Dradrien, too. Now that I had a better idea of the politics of the strange species of Alon, perhaps I could keep my various dwarves from killing each other.
Chapter Nineteen
The Wounded Falcon and the Creeping Shadow
When I returned to Sevendor that evening, I had a visitor I didn’t expect: Dara.
My apprentice had excelled in her studies in the last few years, enhancing her knowledge of Imperial magic through her interactions with Lady Ithalia on the giant hawk project, and adding a breadth of experience to her native skills as a Beastmaster.
She read and wrote fluently, now, and had adapted to her position as ennobled magelord and ruler of her family’s estate with grace and poise. She was, perhaps, the third-most admired noble in the barony, after myself and the Dragonslayer.
But she was in tears, as she stood in my tower’s social room.
“What happened to Gareth?” she demanded, without preamble.
“He . . . left Sevendor,” I explained, quietly, as I shut the door.
“Why?” she demanded.
“You’d have to ask him,” I said, gently. “That’s not my news to share. But I’m certain that you can make an astute guess.”
“You didn’t send him away?”
“His resignation from his duties came as a complete surprise,” I admitted. “But he has his reasons.”
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.
“Again, that’s not for me to discuss. He asked for discretion, and I feel honor bound to grant it. I hope you understand.”
“No, no I don’t understand! I don’t understand any of this!” she nearly yelled. “One day, things are fine, and everyone is getting along! The next . . .”
“Perhaps something happened to change things?” I suggested, as I conjured some wine. The girl needed a drink, before she became overwrought.
Dara nodded, then took a deep breath.
“He . . . Gareth came to me in the Mewstower, the night of the Prince’s visit,” she explained through her sobs, as she accepted the goblet I gave her. “I was busy, hosting the baron and his party, and I was speaking to Nattia, but I gave him a few moments. He . . . he asked me if I loved him. I told him I valued his friendship above all things. He pressed the matter. I . . . I told him that he was among my most stalwart, best friends. I was frustrated and annoyed,” she confessed, “as I had duties to attend to, but he insisted that he needed an answer.”
“So, what did you tell him?”
“I . . . I told him that I . . . I was fond of him, but I saw . . . no future in romance between us,” she coughed out. “That my heart was not invested in him.”
“Well, that might explain his sudden departure,” I agreed, a few things from our brief, tense conversation becoming clearer. “You do realize that he would have quit Sevendor long ago, if he had not held out hope for your heart?”
“That’s what he said!” she almost screamed.
“In fact,” I continued, apologetically, “he put himself in grave danger last summer, helping Tyndal and Rondal in Enultramar, purely in an effort to attract your attention.”
“I never asked him to do that!” she fumed.
“Of course you didn’t. But that attempt . . . failed,” I said, as objectively as possible. “I’m sure the boy wanted the assurance that his efforts were not in vain before he made any further decisions.” I knew it was small comfort to my sobbing apprentice, but she needed to understand the truth. “When you did not return his affections after all he has done to impress you, and you told him in certain terms that it was a fruitless endeavor, what did you expect him to do?”
“No just pack up and leave! He won’t respond to me, mind-to-mind, and I have no idea where he is!”
“He’s the one who figured out how to use the Alkan Ways, on his own,” I reminded her. “I doubt he’s lingering near Sevendor. Or even in the Riverlands.”
“So where did he go? I need to talk to him!”
“And say what?” I asked. “That you’ve changed your mind? That you’ve found love in your heart in his absence that his presence
could not produce?” I suggested.
“That he doesn’t have to run away from me, just because I’m not in love with him!”
“Clearly, he feels differently about that,” I pointed out. “Asking a man with a broken heart to be proximate to the one who broke it . . . that seems a cruel request, Dara.”
“But I didn’t mean to break his heart! Now everyone thinks I drove him away! Banamor is pissed with me, Sire Cei isn’t happy that he’s lost one of his best aides, and the enchanters in town all hate me! Nattia isn’t even speaking to me! She thinks I was unfair to him!”
“You may not have meant to do it, but it is done. Gareth is a very, very smart man, Dara. He’s one of the most intuitive thaumaturges I know, and a brilliant enchanter. He’s as determined as Azar when it comes to achieving what he wants. And when he learns that what he wants he cannot have, he's smart enough to know that lingering in your shadow, pining for what cannot be, is a torture he cannot bear.”
“But I hold his friendship in the highest esteem!” she protested. “He was instrumental in the hawk project! He’s been a constant help to me, and come to my aid faithfully!”
“Did you think he did that out of the goodness of his heart?” I felt compelled to ask. “Oh, he’s a wholesome and worthy lad, don’t mistake me. But if you don’t return his affections, then continuing to be at your call is . . . well, it’s humiliating, Dara. Especially when you have other suitors you hold in more favor, nearby.”
“What do you mean, other suitors?” she demanded. Teenage girls are very demanding. Ask the youngest brother of five older sisters, if you doubt me.
“One doesn’t have to be a mage to see the growing bond of affection between you and Sir Festaran, who named you queen of his victory,” I observed
“I hold Sir Festaran’s friendship just as dearly as I hold Gareth’s!” she insisted, defiantly.
“Yet when pressed, you gave Gareth the answer in your heart. Had it been Sir Fes, I would wager that your answer may have been different.”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 27
