Footwizard

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Footwizard Page 28

by Terry Mancour


  “We had to see Anferny and Lakeshire,” I reported, as I sprawled into an over-stuffed chair. “There were a few complications. Some were rum-related,” I admitted.

  “How goes your great commission?” Fondaras asked, taking a seat next to me and striking his pipe.

  “The Kilnusk have not been among us in nearly four hundred years,” Master Suhi sighed. “We’ve been here a week, and I already find them insufferable.”

  “How so?” I asked, following the footwizard’s cue and packing my own pipe. I made certain that it was well-cleaned from the last time I smoked. I didn’t want any repeats of the Lakeshire experience.

  “They are arrogant beyond measure,” Azhguri said, condemningly.

  “Proud,” agreed Suhi, his eyes narrowing. “Conceited.”

  “They are extraordinarily competitive – about everything. They are thoroughly convinced of their own superiority in all matters. At all times.”

  “Vain,” Suhi nodded. “Smug.”

  “They are confident that they are correct. No matter the subject. Their heads are as big as a bushel basket, when it comes to their sense of righteousness,” the Karshak stonesinger said, miserably. “We are honored commissioners elected by our people to determine their status. And we have been treated no better than humani!” he said, clearly insulted.

  “And they fight,” condemned Suhi, shaking his head. “They call them ‘contests,’ but they are really just occasions to beat each other bloody.”

  “Oh, they wrestle, too,” Azhguri added, despondently. “They love to wrestle. I’ve had six young Kilnusk challenge me to a bout since I’ve been here. Including the prince. They do it only to show that they can beat you.”

  “Kilnusk know only wining,” Suhi agreed. “Only combat and competition.”

  “Well, they were bred as fighters,” I reminded them. “Were they not supposed to protect your peoples?”

  “Protect? Yes. But they are bullies, Minalan,” Azhguri accused. “Big, friendly, incredibly strong bullies. With no sense of taste or decorum, even after their long exile. Oh, there are some good craftsmen, here,” he admitted, reluctantly. “Some of the stonework is almost as good as the Karshak. Some of the smithcraft might be superior to Dradrien—” he said.

  “It’s crap,” dismissed Suhi. “They only think it’s good. So do you,” he challenged, condemningly.

  “My point is,” Azhguri said, patiently, as he shot a harsh glance at his colleague, “the Kilnusk have managed to not just survive this harsh land, but they seem to have made a bit of a home out of it. They seem quite comfortable here.”

  “So they don’t want to return?” asked Fondaras, confused.

  “They demand to return,” Azhguri said shaking his head. “Frequently. Politely. But loudly and insistently. They may have made a kind of home, here in Anghysbel, but they would prefer to leave it and take up their old positions. They feel that the other six clans were wrong to send them into exile. They feel that we overstepped our bounds and upended the natural order.”

  “Straw-beards,” snorted Suhi, derisively, as he shook his shaggy head. “They are lucky exile was their only sentence. They expected us to come back here and beg them to return to rule over us.”

  “Arrogant,” nodded Azhguri. “Prideful and arrogant.”

  Apparently, I reflected, dwarves have no sense of irony. Whatsoever.

  We dined with Prince Husadri, that evening, the same golden-haired heir to the Kilnusk throne who had come to Midmarket to fetch the emissaries. The king, we were told, would meet with us later, in the Kilnusk version of court.

  Prince Husadri proved fluent in Narasi, as well as being a generally knowledgeable fellow in most things. He had a certain style – arrogant, but polite. I could not disagree with Suhi and Azhguri’s assessment of the clan, but the prince was engaging and hospitable without being openly condescending.

  He was very interested in all the news from the south, including the actions of the Alka Alon Council and the new Beryen Council. He was even familiar with some of the names. He was shocked to hear that the Wood Dwarves had been welcomed in Vanador, was impressed at the work the Karshak were doing in Sevendor, and surprised that the Dradrien were cooperating with humanity at all. He was even curious about humani politics, though not entirely familiar with the feudal nature of our society.

  We dined in Prince Husadri’s private apartments, which included a broad glass window overlooking the Plain of Pillars. We were attended by three servants who ensure our comfort with admirable hospitality, and three of the Prince’s “gentlemen” dined with us – important members of the clan, but all younger than the elders that officially governed their affairs. The fare was good, to a human palate, if uninspired and under-seasoned. But there were no rodents involved in the meal. Alya checked.

  “I hear that you met Lord Kanset,” the prince said, after the last course. “Good man, he. I’ve hunted with him a few times. And his sister Tandine is a righteous warrior,” he praised.

  “He is a scholar, she a warrior,” I agreed. “Good Wilderlords, each. Their father, as well, poor man. Of course, they are now under the jurisdiction of the Magelaw,” I reminded him. “As my vassals, I want to ensure good relations with other local powers.”

  “You’ve naught to fear from the Kilnusk,” the prince chuckled, affably. “Why, if we attacked Anferny, who would grow barley for ale? No, we are good friends,” he insisted. “It will make me sad to leave them behind.”

  “There is no determination, yet, on that, my lord,” Master Azhguri reminded him. “We are far from making one. There are many questions that need to be asked and answered before we return to our mansions and deliberate.”

  “We are still far from reaching a decision,” agreed Master Suhi.

  “Bah!” dismissed the prince. “What other answer could the clans return? You have languished in our absence. You are forced to work for the humani,” he said, disparagingly. “No offense,” he added – to me, not them. “You are nearly lost, without us to inspire you.”

  “Inspire us?” snorted Azhguri. “That is not the perspective of the Karshak.”

  “Nor the Dradrien,” agreed Suhi.

  “I have every confidence that the clans will reach the right decision,” I said, diplomatically. “The emissaries have only just arrived. I’m certain that they will give an honest accounting to their fellows when they return. I understand that I’m an outsider, but I am curious about the circumstances of your exile. If it is permitted.”

  “It might help increase our understanding of the situation,” Fondaras added, sympathetically.

  The dwarves at the table exchanged looks, some dark, some questioning. Finally, Prince Husadri gave a deep, heaving sigh.

  “It is rare that we tell that tale to outsiders,” he said, slowly. “For good reason. It is our shame. A Karshak engineer desired to delve into a deep vein of jacasta – stone of adamant, with special properties. Very valuable.”

  “Jacasta can withstand great punishment without harm,” added Azhguri. “We prize it greatly. It can shield against a great many magics. To find a vein was considered fortunate – to find one of such size and quality was incredible. Yet the stonesingers who sang the vein were fearful. The engineer was ambitious. He delved on . . . and then the disaster happened.

  “The Beldurrazeko was loosed,” the prince continued, somberly. “We did not alert the Alka Alon Council when the beast was loosed from the mines. We thought we could contend with it ourselves, prideful in our might. Yet might, alone, could not prevail against it.”

  “It was vicious,” Azhguri related, gravely. “A thing of absolute darkness. It was passing strong and was possessed of a rage that could not be faced without consequence. Two hundred Karshak masons died the hour its chamber was breeched. Stonesingers of great repute, masters of the craft – gone, in an instant.”

  “For nine years we stalked it. Then it struck. For five bloody days, it killed us all, it is said,” Master Suhi offered,
darkly. “It slithered through the tunnels and slew all it encountered. A living darkness, moving with the speed of shadow. The ‘creeping doom,’ we called it.”

  “The Kilnusk came on the fourth day,” Prince Husadri said, shaking his golden head. “We knew it was dangerous, and we came armed and prepared for battle.

  “And battle it gave us. Two hundred of our finest warriors trapped it in a great chamber under the mountains. We believed it captured, and we tried to take advantage. It was a mighty battle – a glorious battle. But our power was for naught. One by one the warriors fell. Some never had a chance to strike a blow. The mightiest warriors of our generation battled for two days and nights, until only the greatest – or the luckiest – remained.

  “The most that could be done was to drive it back deeper into the mountains. Hundreds more Karshak were killed, and dozens more Kilnusk. Only then did we summon the Alka Alon. They, alone, could challenge it,” he said, with a mixture of respect and humiliation.

  “It is said that the Alka Alon spellsingers used sorceries forbidden since the days of their ancient wars against the terror,” sighed Azhguri. “Spells made illegal because of the ancient wars. But they were forced to. Nothing less could have challenged the Beldurrazeko. It took their finest art to slay it, at last, when it took refuge in the chamber it had been released from.”

  “Perhaps we could have escaped further repercussions,” the prince said, thoughtfully, “if the Alka Alon of the elder realms had not taken notice. But they did. They demanded accountability from the Council. They demoted this land, and the status of the Council. They took possession of the chamber of the Beldurrazeko. And they demanded the Karshak pay for their role. And, aye, the Kilnusk warriors, though we had sacrificed so much in the battle already,” he said, sadly.

  “The Alka Alon Council ordered a conclave of all seven clans to judge the Kilnusk,” reported Suhi. “It was our decision to demote the Kilnusk from their oversight of the rest of the clans and send them into exile. Here.”

  “But it was never meant to be a permanent exile!” objected Husadri. “I have been here since I was a child, and don’t wish to die of old age without having seen the world! My people languish, here,” he insisted. “We have paid for what crimes we have committed . . . if they were crimes at all!”

  “It sounds as if the clans were being pressured by the Alka Alon Council,” I observed. “By breaking the hold the Kilnusk had over the other clans, they were able to divide you. Control you. Splitting the leadership of the other six clans between the Dradrien and the Karshak allows them to play both sides against each other. It would not be the first time they have intervened in the affairs of the other Alon. Or humanity, for that matter,” I reminded the prince.

  “They fear the elder realms, first, and the rage of the Vundel next,” agreed the prince. “They do not care about the concerns of the Karshak or the Kilnusk nor the Dradrien.”

  “Such disdain forged renegades,” reminded Suhi. “Many of my folk have fought against the dictates of the Council. Not all of their reasons were good. Some were,” he admitted.

  “The longevity of the Fair Folk encourages a subtle perspective about power,” Fondaras argued. “To what end they use it, that is the question.”

  “There have been many questionable ends, over the millennia,” agreed Azhguri. “Our people suffered damnably in the ancient wars. Now they act as if that never happened. We have been used and discarded when we were no longer convenient. For all their pretensions of benevolent leadership, the pattern of corruption that arises is plain to see, if one knows history.”

  “I had one other question,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “Davachan – the engineer – I saw him at Midmarket. He is said to be over eight hundred years old, now. How is that possible?”

  The Kilnusk at the table stiffened and looked to their prince. Husadri looked uncomfortable as he stroked his golden beard.

  “That is not a matter for outsiders,” he insisted. “He was punished for his arrogance and willingness to delve when his stonesingers begged him not to. His greed wounded our people damnably. When he accompanied us in our exile as our prisoner, we could not bear to keep him near, after what he had cost us. So, my grandfather bargained with a . . . a power. An ancient spirit deep in the most desolate portions of this valley. Something that has lingered here since before the Alon came to this world.”

  “What kind of bargain, Prince Husadri?” Fondaras asked, somberly.

  “We begged the boon for the power to enslave him, after he was shorn and stripped and cast out of our halls. Since that time, he has been one of the servants of that power, forbidden from ever returning to Grost Kilnuskum. Or any of our lands. Lest he be slain. That power keeps him alive beyond his years,” explained the prince.

  “What is this power you speak of?” I asked, curious.

  “No living Kilnusk has seen it,” assured the prince. “But it is known as Szal the Yith. Legends say that none may see him or speak with him and not risk madness. The very madness Davachan suffers. He’s gone quite insane, now,” the prince assured, sadly. “He is no longer Karshak. And he is best to be avoided if you are wise,” Husadri warned.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Hall of the Mountain King

  The impressiveness of the Grost Kilnuskum cannot be overstated. The halls are exquisitely excavated and beautifully and the amenities provided the colony-in-exile are superb by any reckoning. It is as if the sting of exile and the shame of their condition inspired the Kilnusk clan to repent not with humility or sorrow, but with the spite of redoubled ambition. There was no guilt in the manner of the Kilnusk, but neither was there repentance. They seemed entirely devoted to their eventual return to civilized lands, and utterly convinced of their eventual vindication. If pride was a burden, then the Kilnusk took double their allotment and begged for more.

  from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Taren the Thaumaturge

  The next day, we toured Grost Kilnuskum with Prince Husadri as our guide. It was a truly magnificent place, and it didn’t get the tourist trade it deserved.

  The Kilnusk pride themselves at being masters at every dwarven tradecraft, only better. The other clans dispute this as a matter of course, but that doesn’t stop the Kilnusk from behaving that way. In the centuries they had been in exile, they had turned those skills on the mountain with a fierce desire to prove themselves. And because they were bored, I think.

  None of the dwarves can last long without some constructive project to occupy them, I learned. Inactivity is foreign to their nature. A dwarf without a job is a dwarf in peril. When the Kilnusk arrived at the mountain, they saw it as an opportunity to fill the time, and they felt compelled to fill it with grandeur.

  We saw workshop after workshop on our tour, each occupied with a crew of craftsmen busily working on everything from blowing glass to metalcraft to pottery to weaving. Indeed, the Kilnusk prided themselves on a skill that the other clans largely eschewed. That is not to say that their visual aesthetic was anything less than jarring, but they produced a good quality of cloth.

  When they weren’t attempting to show up the other clans in matters of craft, the Kilnusk indulged in their other fairly unique passion: combat. The Kilnusk took an intense interest in the physical health of their bodies and took great pains to train their mighty musculature to the peak of perfection.

  Indeed, one of the most impressive sights of the day was when we were shown the great gymnasium they had constructed for the purpose. Massive blocks of stone and weights of iron and lead were lifted and carried to improve their strength. Smooth balls of polished stone were flung from one mighty arm to another, to better their dexterity. Ropes, chains, and other implements were available to exercise with, and hundreds took advantage of the opportunity. I only wish the Kilnusk exercised with clothes on. They preferred to achieve their physique completely nude. That was a disturbing sight.

  Among the more sophisticated exercise av
ailable was a section of the gymnasium that was given over to the art of combat. The Kilnusk relish personal combat the way a knight delights in the crash of lances at tournament. They are natural fighters, eager for a conflict in which to prove their bravery, strength, and endurance. They prize skill in wrestling, in particular, but do not disdain the importance of mastering weaponry. This consists, mostly, of a number of blunt and sharpened objects which they bash against their foes with abandon. Not that they were devoid of skill – some of the instructors, older Kilnusk who had been fighting for centuries – demonstrated the kind of extreme adeptness at arms than any weaponsmaster gets, if he survives combat.

  They fought mostly with padded staves, as a training device. But there were also wooden axes, spears, hammers, cudgels, and great shields of wood that were used as weapons as much as their axes. The signature weapon was a wide-bladed, double-headed axe with a short haft. Despite the brutal nature of the weapon, the Kilnusk wielded it with great skill. They hacked at each other with the wooden version like the chivalry practicing swordplay, including dodges and parries that showed an elegant dedication to their mastery.

  I was startled when I noted that something I expected, while watching the dwarves fight against each other, was missing: the entrainment effect that I’d come to associate with the Alon. The Karshak and Dradrien demonstrated it when they worked, and I expected to see it when the Kilnusk were practicing fighting each other . . . but it was entirely absent. Each of the largely naked warriors operated independently. They bashed at each other without any sort of coordination, which was interesting.

  What was also interesting was the amount of punishment the Kilnusk could take without effect; I saw one young warrior receive a bash to the head with a wooden axe that would have splattered humani brains across the gymnasium. This lad shook it off like it was a sucker punch in a pub brawl and kept going.

 

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