The Eastern Dwarfs: Part One - The Red Fields

by deSouza, Leo

  “That’s all we got.” Olaf spoke.

  The dwarf woman frowned as she checked the bags. “It could be worse… Now leave, this is not a place for clumsy dwarfs.”

  Rurur motioned and smiled falsely. “Oh madam, what about a reward for these tired dutiful dwarfs? Guess the pork is ready to be tasted, and it would be good to have someone trying it before the King himself.”

  Madam pulled Rurur as she shouted. “Ye get out of my kitchen before I call the guards!”

  The dwarfs left and went to the staircase that led to the main hall of the settlement, a huge underground hall with pillars high enough to touch the cave’s roof.

  The entire place was lit by candles all around the pillars and the walls, and the marble floor was so polished that one could see his own reflection in it. Along the hall there were many long tables, and on them about seven hundred sitting dwarfs, many of the chairs were already filled by the many ones invited for the ceremony. It was the King’s birthday; Frar RockFoot was celebrating three hundred years of living under the halls of his ancestors, many years after taking rule of the kingdom, after his forefather died in the year 2810 of this era. Many banners were hanging there, displaying the RockFoot emblem, and there was pork, much pork on the tables, as well as many other meals that dwarfs used to eat. Bread, sausages, some hunting meat like rabbits and deer, but the most eagerly anticipated was the roast pork, and there was a lot of it. The smell took all the air and even with the celebration not started yet, the sitting dwarfs were drinking beer as they sang a song about food and satisfaction, and they were many, and their voices echoed in unison through the hall.

  “Salted roast pork,

  ribs and ham,

  green for what,

  when we have the jam.

  Eat like a hungry dog,

  drink like a thirsty sheep

  Rub your belly then

  And enjoy it while it's cheap!”

  The song ended with an outburst of laughs and slaps on tables and shoulders. Rurur and Olaf went through the hall looking for a place to sit nearby their mates and as they passed they greeted many friends and relatives, some with respectful wavings and some others with slaps and scolds, when they finally found their friends sitting on one of the tables, they pushed some of them out of the way to sit. Rurur looked at a big pork rib on the table and licked his lips. “Can we start?” He asked.

  Olaf gave him a poke. “Not yet, no one eats before the King.”

  There was Borin, Olaf’s cousin, sitting nearby. He took the beer bottle and filled two cups, giving them to the newcomers. “Drink! And don’t complain. It is the finest from the old brewer, he spent the entire last week in the brewery preparing all the beer he could.”

  “Where is he by the way?” Olaf asked.

  Borin shrugged. “He got drunk in the brewery, last time I saw he was sleeping inside an empty barley barrel.”

  Another dwarf sitting nearby looked at Rurur as if noticing his clothes. “Ye don’t look like someone who took time to get groomed.”

  Rurur stirred on his chair as he frowned and took a big gulp of beer making a loud noise in his throat. “And yet I look better than ye.”

  “Why did ye arrive so late?” Borin asked.

  Rurur looked at Olaf as if deciding what to say. “Well… We were sent to collect some berries for the pies. Madam Blavat sent us.” He spoke.

  “And I guess she got mad when ye arrived late and dirty as ye are. Did she at least get satisfied with the berries you brought?” Borin asked.

  “I hope so!” Rurur said loudly as he slapped the table.

  “Ye should have washed yourself before coming here, Olaf.” Continued Borin.

  Olaf furrowed his face as he looked at him and reached out his beer cup. “Tell me, my fellow cousin, master of cleanliness and neatness, when was the last time ye washed yourself?”

  Borin squinted as he rubbed his chin. “Hum… Last month, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Then leave me be, with my dirt on my clothes and the clay on my boots.” Olaf replied.

  From the top of a bench a dwarf dressed imposingly sounded a trumpet. Everyone fell silent and turned to look to where there was a big curtain, covering what was now revealed to be a wide staircase leading to a large altar as the curtain opened. There was the King, sitting on a glossy stone made throne. He was wearing a bulky robe and had an ornate hammer in his left hand. There were some subordinates around him. From the top of the bench the dwarf with the trumpet spoke loudly: “All hail King Frar, the wise!”

  Everyone in the hall cried in unison as they raised their beer cups. “Hail!”

  The dwarf on the bench continued his speech: “We are here to celebrate the King’s birthday, the birth day of your Majesty, in the year of 2719 of this era, the third era. A toast to the king!”

  Then everyone again raised their beer cups and toasted, and there was much beer splashed around. Rurur hit Olaf’s cup so hard that much of his beer leaked onto the table, smearing Olaf’s clothes, something that earned Rurur a poke in the ribs.

  “Now, bend yourselves in respect, for it is time for the King to speak.” The dwarf on the bench said.

  King Frar adjusted himself on the throne, he was an old wise dwarf, his skin was thick and wrinkled, his lips dry and fleshy and his fingers were rough. His eyes were grey and deep hidden under his voluminous eyebrows. The King wore a crown of many jewels, a legacy of the times of his ancestors, he coughed before speaking: “My fellow dwarfs, warriors and cooks, smiths and elders. Here we are once again to celebrate, celebrate our kingdom, and our many dwellings beneath the earth and above it. Our vast land with all its crops, and the many friendships among so many folks and kins. For there is no more blessed folk than the one from this house.”

  Everyone cried out as they clapped and raised their beer cups. But the King raised his hand and motioned, asking for them to be quiet. “However… My fellow kinsman, these are strange times and there are many rumors… Rumors about war and plague, betrayal and greed… So it is that we should keep vigil and more than ever reaffirm the bonds of trust with our friends and relatives.”

  The dwarfs in the hall nodded and whispered words of agreement. The old King one more time adjusted himself on the throne and coughed again, covering his mouth with his hand.

  “Ye all know…” He continued. “…That even among our kind, there are those ones who choose to join a side in the actual conflicts, but we have our stronghold, and our friends; we know who they are. No foe dares threaten us, so there is no reason to fear as since the first dwarf woke up and walked on this World we are still here, and we will still be.”

  Another hail was heard. The King leaned on the throne. “Now celebrate, my fellow dwarfs, and eat, for we are at our home, and we are safe and still.” Spoke he.

  Everyone turned to the tables and took cutlery as they looked at the food. A band started playing typical dwarf music, a type of music that could remind us of the Celtic Irish music we know, but with very particular instruments. The percussion was made of drums and anvils being hit by hammers, spreading a metallic noise around, fiddles and mandolins playing frantically and some flutes giving harmony to the composition.

  “I’m not sure about that.” Borin said.

  “About what?” Olaf replied without taking his eyes off of the pork.

  “About what the King told. About safety and about our… Friends.” Borin continued.

  Rurur shrugged with cutlery in hands. “Why bother? It’s the pork that matters now, forget about war and enemies, suffering and blood, pain and distrust. Don’t even say a word about this, it will spoil my appetite.”

  There are many dubious stories about how dwarfs eat. Some fools write that they eat like naughty children, that they throw food on each other and chew fast while the meal leaks from the corner of their mouths, and that they laugh while eating, spitting food on the table as they talk and scold. But this is just foolishness written by those who do not respect the dwarf lore
, or by people interested in telling bogus stories to catch attention. The fact is that a dwarf meal is something not that different from any other folk’s, except that they can eat and drink more than a man, and far more than an elf, and watching a dwarf eating is something refreshing and impressive, but there is no mess, except for occasional burping. So it was, the dwarfs ate under the rock ceiling of the big hall, illuminated by the flames of the torches and under the gaze of the King. The sovereign himself ate while sitting on his throne, a servant brought him a tray with every type of meal and drink available, and he seemed quite satisfied in watching his folk eating. It was a vigorous meal and at its end almost every dwarf was leaning back in his chair rubbing his belly or picking his teeth, the roasted pork smell was now not that attractive for everyone there as they were already satisfied. There was a moment of rest, and for a while they laughed and chatted as they heard the music playing on in the hall. Then came the dessert, dwarf women came from the kitchen bringing trays with pies, berry pies.

  “Oh, this is from our humble contribution.” Rurur said looking at the approaching dwarf women.

  They put the trays on the tables, so many trays and pies that Olaf thought about how they managed to prepare so many of them in so little time. Anyway they ate as before, and the taste was good, as they could prove, so they were well pleased with the sweet part of the meal. The speaker came back to the top of the bench and said loudly as his voice echoed around the hall: “Meal time and satisfied dwarfs, dirty tables and greasy mustaches and beards. But the party starts now, let’s clean the way for the dancing!”

  Then the chairs and tables were quickly removed and put to the sides, leaving the hall center empty, and then there was music and dancing and a big festival. Olaf, Rurur and Borin were chatting as they stood nearby a pillar.

  “This speech from the King was very strange.” Borin said as he picked his teeth.

  “Again this? Why are ye so troubled because of some words about war, friends and safety?” Olaf asked.

  “It is not about the words themselves, but about why he chose this moment to tell this. It is his birthday, and our Kings do not usually talk about things like that in celebration times. Guess it made the food’s taste a little bit more wishy-washy for many ones.” Borin replied.

  Rurur frowned. “Not for me at least.”

  “Rurur is right.” Olaf said holding Borin by his arms. “Why bother now? It is time to drink and party. War is far from us.”

  Borin chuckled. “Fine, fine… But let me warn ye, war is never far enough. Does not the roads that come from south and east end here in our lands? Does not the wind? The wind brings us murmur about war and ruin, the same wind can bring us all this evil omen.”

  “Well… The ones fighting are quite far from here, if they are willing to come to us, it will be a long road to travel through.” Olaf replied.

  “Unless they could fly.” Rurur replied looking to Olaf with an insinuating look.

  Olaf returned the glance and then looked back to the hall where there were many dwarfs dancing. “Then let’s hope that the wind will take it away the same way it brought.”

  Dwarfs are as strong to work as willing to celebrate, the party continued all night and there was lots of dancing, music and beer. They spent their energies until the last gasp, and at the end of the night there was nothing more than food leftovers and a hall floor polished by the many feet.

  An audience with the King.

  The underground kingdom of the RockFoot was filled with many houses. Each dwarf family had his house, and above its wooden doors its name carved on the rock. The smoke from their ovens was channeled by ducts dug into the rock to the surface, as were the bathrooms pipes. This was a formidable structure built by the dwarfs, by their skill and wit, and this was the dwelling of Rurur and Olaf.

  By morning on the day after the celebration, two guards came to Olaf’s house and knocked on the door, he opened it himself, coming from inside, and greeted the two newcomers.

  “Thuor, master of arms, calls to treat about matters of importance.” One of the guards said.

  “Oh, right. And where is he waiting for me?” Olaf asked.

  “In the council chamber, alongside the elders.” The guard replied.

  Olaf nodded. “Right, when is it going to happen?”

  The guard sighed as if bored. “Now, they are waiting for ye and the other one.”

  “The other one? Rurur ye mean.” Spoke Olaf.

  “Rurur, yes. But we cannot find him, and no one seems to know where he is since last night.” Said the guard.

  “Well I have a guess.” Olaf replied. He closed the door behind him and led the guards thought stairs and corridors until they got to the brewery.

  The stronghold was big and walking from here to there sometimes required time and effort. As they entered, the first thing they saw was Rurur asleep leaning against a barrel.

  Olaf took a half full cup of beer from a table and threw its contents into Rurur’s face. “Wake up you lazy rotter!”

  Rurur woke up wide eyed and looked around. “What is this?”

  Olaf gave him a flannel. “Clean yourself. We have an audience with the council.”

  “The council? What is it about? Oh… I know, I know.” Rurur said as he stood up, he cleaned himself with the flannel and belched. “Right, let’s go.”

  The group went walking to the council chamber, and again, it took some time to get there. The Stronghold was generally inhabited by many people during all the day, but along the path they could not see many dwarfs around, people were still exhausted from the last day’s festival. One of the guards knocked on the door and a voice from inside asked them to enter, it was the first time that Olaf and Rurur visited the place, there they found many elders sitting, but there was someone more who surprised the newcomers, King Frar himself. Olaf and Rurur looked at each other surprised as they saw the sovereign there, Thuor was also present, standing beside the King, they entered the room and the guards closed the door from outside. This room had huge windows to the mountainside and as it was located close to the outer surface, one could see the mountains extending to the horizon through the glass, a bucolic sight of the Red Mountains range.

  “These two are the ones who say they have seen the black rider yesterday.” Thuor said reaching out to the newcomers.

  “Have a seat.” Said King Frar.

  Olaf and Rurur found empty chairs and sat.

  “As your Majesty already knows, they supposedly saw the rider on the Berry Fields, at some distance from our gates.” Continued Thuor.

  “And there was also a great quadruped beast, and a flying one, very big.” Rurur said as he motioned his arms. “And also a ghost horse and…”

  “Enough.” The King spoke, interrupting him. “We already know about this, and we are here to discuss something else. The nature of this… Dark rider. But ye are not invited to argue with us, just to tell.”

  Rurur nodded quietly in humility.

  “Precisely, your majesty.” One of the elders said, the same one who Olaf and Rurur met before. “Tell me, my fellow ones. What clothes he wore?”

  “Nothing more than a dark robe, which covered all his body and head.” Replied Olaf.

  “Did ye see his face?” Another elder asked.

  “No. He was… Like a ghost.” Olaf continued.

  “I saw his hands.” Rurur said, surprising Olaf. “There was a strange glove, a metal one, like an armor glove. I don’t see who could wear gloves like that. Either he has very thin fingers or maybe no fingers at all.”

  King Frar was rubbing his chin, thoughtful. “That seems quite unusual.”

  “Indeed, your Majesty. As we came to know, they heard him talking to the beasts.” One of the elders spoke.

  Olaf pointed to the elder as he nodded. “Yes, not exactly talking but charming the animals. A strange language, very evil, very mean. I could swear it even hurt my ears.”

  “What about the cold? And the darkness?” Br
oke in Rurur. “It came from nothing, it was a sunny afternoon and then suddenly everything became dark and cold, as if the night had been anticipated, even the sun got shy.”

  There was a murmur among the elders as they whispered to each other.

  “Silence!” The King exclaimed restoring the order. “Tell me, my fellow dwarf. Ye say ye saw his hands.”

  Rurur noticed the King was looking to him poignantly

  “Did ye see something more than the strange gloves? Any piece of jewelry, a bracelet, perhaps a ring…” Continued the King.

  Everyone in the room looked at Rurur as if anxiously expecting him to say something, he shook his head. “No… There was not such a thing your majesty… Oh I… I don’t know exactly. Maybe there was, but I could not see anyway. It was cold, and it was dark, and there were many things to pay attention to, more than hands, gloves and rings. Like… Savage beasts eating and spitting blood around.” He said.

  The elders turned to the center of the table. “Now we must deliberate about this, as we already heard their testimony, which says not much, but there are also the old scriptures that could give us answers.” Said one of them.

  The others nodded.

  “Old scriptures…” Whispered Rurur to himself as he thought about how things were getting more and more strange for him.

  The voice from one of the elders sounded darkly: “Such is the nature of this rider that he can charm beasts and ride them. And he does it in a strange language, but judging by the description and its effects, we are led to believe that this is about an imminent threat.”

  “Why a threat? We have no issues with any kind of wizards or master chieftains. Except for some derisive ones that do not deserve our attention, and who can’t for sure charm beasts like that. This is no threat for us. I say let it be.” Another elder spoke.

  Again there was whispers and murmur, Olaf and Rurur watched on as Thuor was still standing beside the King.