by Sean Hinn
Yet there was little choice: stay in the Maw and die or travel to the Sapphire and probably die anyhow.
“I have news, Sire,” Mac replied, “but I cannot say whether it be good. Jade and her scouts have returned in the company of a dozen gnomes. They wish audience with ye.”
“Audience? Ye did not arrest them?”
Mac exchanged a look with Kalder. “I, uh, well, we didn’t need to, Sire. They laid down their arms and asked for ye.”
“Lead the way.” King Dohr stood quickly; he and Kalder followed Mac outside into the dark. The group sat gathered a hundred paces beyond the tent line. A fire had been lit and the bedraggled company sat around it, eating and laughing with two dwarven soldiers who had met them when they arrived.
“What in Fury is this?” demanded King Dohr. The two soldiers stood at attention, the king’s anger unmistakable. “We give comfort to the enemies and traitors of Belgorne now? Who be my ranking dwarf here?”
“Ah, that would be me, Sire,” Mac replied.
“Fury it would be,” Jade objected, standing. “That’d be me, Sire.”
“Fury it would be! Ye ain’t but a deserter! Kalder, arrest Sergeant Jade and the rest of these!”
“Sire, I think ye oughta hear ’em–”
“Sergeant Macon I do not care a whit what ye think! Kalder, I gave ye an order!”
Kalder sighed. “Aye, me king. Sergeant Jade, I place ye and your company under arrest.”
“And where ye gonna lock us up?” asked Fannor. “Just tell us where we oughta stand and we’ll stand there. But ain’t here as good as anywhere?”
“Good enough for me,” Kari agreed. “Least there’s a fire.”
Jade, Fannor, and the gnomes laughed.
Dohr stood apoplectic, clenching his fists as he turned to Kalder.
“Sire, they ain’t going nowhere,” Kalder said. “Might be ye wanna hear what they have to say, so ye can decide how best to deal with ’em.”
Jade spoke. “King Dohr, we ain’t here for trouble. We got good news, real good. Might be we ain’t gonna need a war after all.”
“Aye? And ye’ve decided that all on your own, then?” Dohr demanded.
Oort Greykin stood to face the king, wiping sausage grease from his hands on his cloak. “I decided it, King Dohr. Or, well, we all did.”
Dohr ignored the gnome and addressed Jade. “And who in Fury might this be?”
“Wolfslayer,” whispered Argl.
“Wolfslayer,” the other gnomes repeated, the word spoken in varying tones of veneration and awe.
“This here’s King Oort Greykin the Brave, Your Majesty,” Argl continued, standing. “Wolfslayer and savior of the G’naar.”
“Wolfslayer,” the gnomes again repeated.
“Would ya knock that off?” Oort said.
“What trickery be this?” demanded the king. “G’naath ain’t got no king. Ye got a bunch o’ Elders is all. Are ye one o’ them?”
“Yer part right, Sire. I ain’t no king, not yet anyways, but fer right now I’m ’bout close enough, I s’pose. But them Elders,” Oort spat on the ground, “they be dead and gone, and good riddance.”
“So ye say.”
“So I say,” Jade affirmed. “So we all say.” Heads nodded. “Ye were right, King Dohr. The trouble in Belgorne, the quakes, all of it. All came from G’naath. But them Elders did every bit of it, callin’ down to Fury to some demon or another. Cindra Sandshingle put an end to all of ‘em.”
“Seen it meself,” said a gnome. “Dead to a one.”
“Rak here showed me,” said another gnome. “And it weren’t pretty.”
“Not much left of ‘em,” said another.
“Nothin’ at all left o’ some,” Rak agreed.
“I thought Cindra Sandshingle was one of your Elders, Wolfslayer,” Dohr said, disdain heavy in his tone.
Oort nodded solemnly. “Yup. But she was a good one.”
“Was?”
Oort looked down at his feet. Jade answered for him.
“They couldn’t find ‘er, Sire. Might be she’s gone, too.”
Dohr folded his arms. “Makes no difference to me. G’naath took my home from me, Wolfslayer. Ye gonna give it back?”
Oort met the king’s eyes. “I canna do that, Yer Highness,” he said. “But yer people can come live in G’naath, with us. Leastways till we can figure out how to fix up Belgorne again for ya.”
The other gnomes nodded enthusiastically as King Dohr’s jaw fell open.
“It’ll be snug, mind,” said Rak. “But better’n bein’ out here in the cold.”
“And we can dig,” Oort offered. “We can make more room. Might take a bit, but we ain’t got naught else to do.” Oort stepped forward cautiously, nearer to the king. “We ain’t evil, King Dohr. Most of us, anyways. And the real bad ones, well, I think theys gone for good. We don’t wanna war with yer people. We don’t wanna see yeh starvin’ out here in the Maw. Some o’ ours did this evil thing, but the rest’ll make it right, best we can, anyways.”
Dohr eyed the gnome in silence for a long turn, his expression unreadable in the dim firelight.
“Me king,” began Kari Flint, “I know ye might find a lot o’ this too hard to swallow–”
“Too easy, ye mean. Far too easy.” Dohr eyed Oort again.
“Aye, too easy, then. But ye know me. Ye know my uncle. Ye know Jade and Fannor, and–”
“There oughta be another,” King Dohr interrupted. “Corporal Jasper, ain’t it?”
Jade’s eyes went wide. The king’s question could mean only one thing.
“Lux and Nova made it? Do they live, Sire?”
“And my wife!” said Oort anxiously. “Thinsel Greykin, did she come with ‘em? She’s a gnome, like, me, yellow hair, ‘bout this tall, is she here?”
“Quiet, damn ye all! I asked ye a question, Sergeant. Where be Corporal Jasper?”
Jade bowed her head. “Lost, Sire.”
King Dohr took a breath. “How?”
“Mama,” said Kari.
“Mama? The dire wolf? And the rest of ye lived?”
“Wolfslayer,” mumbled the gnomes. Oort bowed his head.
“She’s dead now, Yer Highness. We, I mean, Kari and me–”
“You killed Mama?” asked Dohr. “Fury ye did.”
“He did, Sire,” Kari affirmed. “On his own, no matter what he tries to say on the matter. I chopped her neck at the end, but she was already dead.”
“Wolfslayer,” the gnomes repeated.
“King Dohr, please sir, will ya let me see my wife?” Oort pleaded. The king’s expression turned uncomfortable. None but Jade noticed. “Please, sir? I don’t care what ya do with me, just please lemme–”
“Not this night, Wolfslayer. Kalder, I want a tent set up for these… well, for all of ’em. Macon, ye wanna vouch for ‘em? Fine. Ye’ll set a guard outside the tent. Choose the dwarves or stand yourself, as ye like. On my seat in Stonarris, if I don’t count fifteen at dawn, ye’ll hang for treason.”
“Sire, about Lux and–”
“Sergeant Jade, ye will shut that trap o’ yours until I ask ye a question, and the next question I ask ye will be at trial! Ye’ve disgraced yourself in desertin’ your people. Aye, may be that ye’ve redeemed yourself, but for now ye stand a traitor to Belgorne!”
“King Dohr,” Kari started. The king met her gaze. “I ain’t no deserter. Wasn’t in the army. Will ye let me see Lux and Nova, and Lady Thinsel? Ain’t no reason under law to keep me under arrest.”
Sergeant Macon and Captain Kalder both turned to face the king. Despite their clear if silent opinions on the matter, Dohr was not moved. “Ye lie down with dogs, Kari Flint, ye wake up with fleas. Until I decide otherwise, ye’ll stay under arrest on suspicion o’ treason. Captain, execute my orders. Now.”
~
“It’s done, Sire,” Kalder said as he entered the tent.
“Mead?” the king asked, sliding a cup across the table as he dr
ank from his own. Kalder drained it. The king refilled them both.
“Too good to be true?” asked Dohr.
Kalder shook his head. “I be afraid to hope, Sire, but me gut tells me we heard the truth.”
“They truth as they know it, aye. But there be what, twenty thousand gnomes in G’naath? Ye think they’ll all just roll out a carpet for us?”
Kalder shrugged. “Maybe. Ye saw how they revere the Wolfslayer fellow.”
Dohr drained his cup again. He quickly refilled it.
“I lost me temper, Captain. On the gnome woman.”
Kalder did not reply.
“What do ye think me father would have done if a foreign king had misused my mother so?”
Kalder met the king’s gaze. “He’d have razed a kingdom.”
Dohr took a long swallow of mead. “Aye.”
The two dwarves sat silently for a turn.
“Ye know what we must do, Captain.”
Kalder turned to face the king. “What’s that?”
“Damn ye, do I need to say it? The gnome woman cannot be found.”
Kalder took a swallow of mead. “She ain’t lost, Sire.”
Dohr glared at the captain.
“Now ain’t the time to grow yourself some honor, Kalder. Ye know what be at stake here. It’d be much better for us all if Thinsel Greykin had been lost to the Maw.”
Kalder set his cup down and leaned forward. A thick vein in his forehead made clear his offense. “Grow some honor?”
“Ye’ll watch your tone, Captain. I allowed ye one swing at me, and I had it comin’, but the next’ll be your last.”
Kalder clenched his jaw.
“If ye cannot do it, I’ll do it me own self.” Dohr pointed at the captain’s shoulder. “But ye can leave that insignia here on the table as ye leave. I need a captain that’ll follow orders, and if ye don’t think the life o’ one gnome is worth all the lives of all your people, ye ain’t fit to wear it.”
Kalder stared at his feet for a long moment.
“Aye. I’ll see it done.”
Dohr nodded. “Now ye sound like a captain o’ Belgorne. So what I say next I trust ye can keep to yourself.”
Kalder looked up. “Aye.”
“We get into G’naath, there ain’t gonna be peace for long. Ye know it as well as I do. Too many dwarves lost too much. No doubt they’ll demand we surrender our weapons when we get there. We’ll do it, and we’ll make a show of it. But I want daggers under the cloak of every dwarf ye can trust to keep quiet about it. When the last of our people is in the tunnels, we’ll be takin’ G’naath for ourselves.”
For less than a moment, Kalder’s face was still as stone. In the next, he nodded. He downed the rest of his mead and stood.
“Ain’t no choice, is there?” Kalder asked. “I’ll get to armin’ folk right away.”
Dohr stood as well. “I know ye don’t like any o’ this. Me neither. But there ain’t no choice. We got us a reprieve here, and I intend to make use of it. Belgorne will rise again, Captain, and next time, there won’t be a gnome to tear it down.” King Dohr extended his hand. Kalder made certain not to hesitate in clasping his king’s arm.
“Let the bards write the ballads. Right, Sire?”
“Aye. Just so. And send a horse after Hatchet and Flint. Tell ’em to get their sorry arses back here. It’ll chap their hides just right to know they don’t get to play hero.”
~
Kalder placed one foot in front of the other with great effort as he walked deliberately from his king’s tent, for if he did not take care to force each step, he feared his feet would betray him and lead him around the table to stand before the king. If his feet did so defy him, he knew that his hand would as well, and the faithful captain of Belgorne would then become the first dwarf in history to commit regicide.
Though his feet did obey him in the end, his stomach did not. He made it less than twenty paces from the king’s tent before its contents – mostly mead – were expelled in a series of violent heaves as a sense of utter revulsion washed over him.
“Play hero?” he whispered from his knees. You rotten bastard, every last dwarf under Hatchet’s a bleedin’ hero. And every one o’ the rest of us be cowards, straight through to the bone.
But what can ye do? a part of his mind asked. Dohr’s right. We’ll be at war sooner or later. Ain’t it best we win it?
No, said his heart. That ain’t winnin’. That’s murder.
Oh? And whaddya call what they did to us? Ain’t that murder?
Aye. But ye don’t condemn a child for her father’s crime.
Another wave of retching doubled Kalder over. Children. Fury, what about their children?
The matter was decided. Kalder made his way to the healers’ tent where Nova and Thinsel were being held and, hopefully, treated. A middle-aged dwarven couple sat outside it, warming themselves by a fire.
“How do they fare?” he asked the pair, nodding towards the tent.
The female dwarf stood marched twowards the captain, an expression of loathing clear on her features. The male sat silent as she jabbed a finger into Kalder’s chest.
“Ye dare ask me that? Ye bloody butcher! Why’d ye have to mistreat that woman so? Fury’s sake, she ain’t but a–”
“Take it easy now, Phyllia,” her husband urged.
“I’ll do no such thing! Was it you, Captain? Or did ye assign the deed like a coward an’ keep your own hands clean?”
“Lady Phyllia, it ain’t like ye say,” Kalder insisted.
“Fury it ain’t!” The healer’s thick finger continued to jab Kalder as she spoke. “Was you or one o’ yours. No matter, the blood be on your hands! I knew your mother, Blythe Kalder! She’ll be weepin’ in Stonarris to see what ye’ve become!”
Phyllia’s husband stood and approached, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She shrugged it away.
“Damn ye, Pile, it ain’t right!”
Kalder whispered loudly. “Lady Phyllia! Please! I be here to cut ’er loose. Her and Nova. Will ye help me or won’t ye?”
Pile stepped forward, taking the cue to speak softly.
“Silverstone know ye be here?”
Kalder frowned at the dwarf. “He knows I be here, aye, but he don’t know what I intend.”
Phyllia and Pile exchanged a look.
“She ain’t fit to travel,” Phyllia whispered to her husband.
“Are ye sure?” Kalder asked.
Pile replied. “Had to snip a toe last night, cold got it. She ain’t gonna be walkin’ anywhere for a cycle, mayhap two.”
“How ’bout Nova?”
Phyllia sighed. “She be weak, but her fever broke a couple hours ago. She’ll live, long as she keeps that arm clean.”
“Can she march?”
“Not far,” Pile said.
“All right. I’ll be back with help. Can I trust ye two to keep quiet ‘bout this?”
Pile waited to see Phyllia nod before he followed suit.
“Aye, but ye tell me true now, Blythe Kalder,” Phyllia said. “Who done this to that woman?”
“She didn’t say?”
“She can’t speak! Did ye not see ’er? Now answer me question!”
Kalder sighed. “A dwarf did it, Lady. A dwarf out of his mind with grief. Can ye leave it at that?”
Phyllia reached for Kadler’s hands and yanked him closer to the fire. She turned them each over in the light. Her inspection complete, she released them.
“It was not me, Lady Phyllia. On me honor.”
Phyllia spat. “That’s for your honor,” she said, turning away and stomping into the tent.
“We’ll get ’em ready,” Pile said. “How long?”
“Not long,” Kalder replied. “Work fast, Pile.”
Kalder took off at a run towards where Lux was being held captive. He kept away from the fires and to the shadows, careful to avoid being pulled into a discussion with any of his soldiers that might be about. He arrived at the
tent, breathing heavily. A single – but large – dwarf stood guard.
“Evenin’ Captain,” said the guard, a young private named Martle – a favorite cousin to King Dohr. “Trouble?”
There’s about to be.
“Let’s have a talk inside, Private,” Kalder said, motioning to the tent. Martle held open the flap.
“Aye, c’mon in,” he replied.
“Right after ye,” Kalder said. The private frowned but did as he was told. Martle turned as the flap closed behind them, just in time to feel the cold iron dagger at his throat.
“What the–”
Kalder pressed the sharp weapon against Martle’s neck. “No talkin’. Turn around. Real slow, now.”
Kalder kept the edge of the knife against Martle’s flesh as he disarmed the private, first removing the axe strapped to his back and tossing it aside. He then yanked the soldier’s dagger free as Lux sat up in his bed, waking to the commotion.
“Key,” Kalder demanded.
The private nodded towards a low table.
“Unshackle ’im.”
“Captain, what’s th–”
“Now, Private. Don’t make me cut ye.”
Martle did not move for several breaths.
“Nah, I don’t think ye will.”
A sharp pain shot up Kalder’s right leg as the private smashed a boot into the top of the captain’s foot. Kalder cried out but did not let the soldier turn, digging the dagger deeply enough into his neck to draw blood.
Lux stood, catching Kalder’s eye. “I’ll take ‘im, Cap.”
Kalder shoved the soldier into the muscular scout’s waiting arms. Martle managed an abbreviated yelp before a massive forearm cut off his supply of air.
“Time for a little nap now, Private. Shh….”
Martle slumped to the ground a few moments later. Kalder tossed Lux the key and cut a strip of cloth from the bedding for a gag. A turn later, Lux was free and Martle was shackled to the bed in his place.
