“Won many battles,” he interrupted. “Yet killed many innocents.”
“As did your many commanders. The Wearer of White—the one chosen to represent the whole of your army… he burned down the very town where I grew up. Slaughtered everyone there to send a message to my father. I suppose he didn’t consider that my father was four days’ travel away, and there was not a single warrior present. I barely escaped with my life.”
Pi frowned. “I’m glad you did, Caleef Mahraveh.”
Mahi smiled at the use of her title. Another mark for the young Glass King. The arrogance of his predecessors would have kept them from putting themselves on equal ground, but apparently, not this one.
“Mistakes are made in every war,” he continued, “on every side. My father made many while believing all people should think like him. I’m here because I want all fighting to stop, so we can work together.”
“Two miracle children of legendary leaders joined as one.”
“Exactly.”
Mahi stood to her full, impressive height. Her midriff was exposed by her lacy gold dress with black shells strung along the trim. Her obsidian skin glowed a soft green from the nigh’jel lanterns hanging around the room. She skirted around the table, letting her fingers drag along its surface.
“And so, we must marry,” she said, stopping right beside Pi. “I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be a rambling fool I could rollover. I thought this would be simple.”
Pi stood as well. He rose only to the base of her chin, but he was younger by a few years and would likely pass her in height. And up close, she could see the slight muscles of his chest through the loose collar of his tunic. Maybe he wouldn’t be Liam the Conqueror, but he would be strong.
“I thought many things, all of them wrong,” Pi said in near-perfect Saitjuese.
Mahi took one step closer. “If I do this, and we defeat Nesilia, can I trust you not to betray my people? Not to force Iam upon them, or your people’s indulgent ways that have no place in our unforgiving desert.”
“I’m not my father,” he said, not backing down. “Can I trust you not to rebel and burn villages? To know when talking might be more beneficial than the sword?”
“I’m not mine,” she replied.
“Then I would be honored to have you as Queen of the Glass. You need not love me or force yourself to try to. We need only work together.”
“Then tomorrow, beneath the light of your god’s domain, and on the shores of mine, we will be made one.”
Pi smiled as he took her hand. She thought he might try and kiss it, but he only held it for a moment, staring down before releasing it and sitting again. “Then we should eat.”
“We should,” Mahi agreed. She stared into his eyes for a moment, only then realizing how blue they were—like the Boiling Waters on a clear day, all the many hues and shades of playing over and under each other.
She started toward her seat. “And King Pi,” she said as she walked, not looking back. “If you keep your word, I do not believe love for you will be hard to muster.” She fell back into her seat, catching his slight smirk before it faded. Then, she clapped twice loudly.
As if reading her mind, Serpent Guards promptly reopened the entry. Again, the face awaiting her was Bit’rudam’s, as if he hadn’t even moved. Sweeping in, his features lit up, which he hid by checking the room for any wrongdoing.
Then came a man she’d never seen, but immediately recognized. The massive, Glintish Shieldsman who wore a blindfold, yet could see. The legendary warrior her father had faced off against and defeated, and yet, one of the few men to be there when Muskigo died.
Pi’s calm composure slipped away when he, too, realized Torsten Unger had arrived.
“Master Unger!” he exclaimed, pushing off the table so hard a goblet fell. Torsten placed a fist against his chest and bowed, and Pi embraced him, barely able to wrap his hands around the man’s broad torso.
“Your Grace,” Torsten spoke, tracing his eyes in prayer to Iam. Then, he returned Pi’s embrace. While he did, his head lifted and the enchanted blindfold Tingur had warned Mahi about aimed straight at her. Immediately, she knew. Winning over the King was important, but winning over Torsten Unger was the key to the Glass Kingdom’s army.
The Outcast
Balonhearth.
It had been far too long since Dwotratum “Tum Tum” Goodbrew laid eyes upon the majestic mountain. Far too long since he’d breathed in the frigid air of Brotlebir and the Dragon’s Tail.
It was home. He was home.
So why didn’t he feel like it?
Perhaps, it was that for longer than any of his companions had been alive, Tum Tum had called Winde Port home, and he’d liked it. No, that wasn’t true, he’d loved it. Every second spent serving up ales and jesting with the locals at the Winder’s Dwarf—he was still proud of that name—had been pure joy. His heart had been heavy since that awful, fateful day when the fires of Elsewhere charred its walls, and the winds tore the place asunder. That’s not even mentioning the dastardly Black Sandsmen.
But this… Balonhearth, the home of King Lorgit Cragrock, the ruler of Three Kingdoms, the seat of dwarven power in all the realm—this was where Tum Tum had popped out of his mum, beard already touching the floor, hand outstretched in search of an ale and a pickaxe.
Then, when he was of age, his father did what all dwarven fathers had done, sending his son out on his Commute—a day all dwarves longed for and feared. It was rare that one of his kind left the halls of the Dragon’s Tail and didn’t return. Why would they? Within the stone of the mountains, they had all they’d ever need. Food, ale, gold, warmth, and the camaraderie of fellows.
Secretly, Tum Tum figured they’d all covered their britches in shog when the day of their Commute arrived.
The Commute… one year under the open Pantego skies. Each one had their own path to carve, their own destiny to fulfill. The goal was simple: learn what he may from the vast, wide world. Most couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of Balonhearth or any of the other peaks, but Tum Tum fell in love.
Not with some lady or wench, but with the wood of Winder’s Wharf and the salt of Trader’s Bay, the hustle and bustle of a city alive. No, Tum Tum didn’t like adventuring, but he loved hearing the tales.
He supposed that’s why he and Whitney Fierstown had become such quick friends. Sure, the kid was full of shog and spit, but he spun quite the yarn.
Tum Tum’s Commute had been spent sweeping floors and polishing mugs for a cranky old man whose name wasn’t significant enough to be remembered. However, the same day that old bugger’d kicked the bucket, Tum Tum used every autla he’d earned—and some of his father’s—swiped up the deed, and made the bar his own.
Until this moment, he hadn’t a single regret. But now, looking up at Balonhearth, the King of the Dragon’s Tail Mountains, he longed to be back amid the rock, gold and silver veins, and iron mines with a goblet the size of his head filled with the most potent dwarven draught—the stuff those flower-pickers in the south couldn’t handle.
It was gorgeous.
It was magnificent.
It was the place of dreams and legends.
“That’s it?” Whitney said.
Shog-shuckin, thief, Tum Tum thought to himself, balling his fists.
“How could you know?” Whitney went on. “They all look the same.” He pointed. “Oh, look, that mountain has a little nib at the top, too. Sure, but this one slopes a bit to the east while that one dips to the west.”
Sora elbowed Whitney and offered an apologetic smile to Tum Tum.
Since the first they’d met when Tum Tum saw her walk into The Winder’s Dwarf, side by side with Whitney, he liked her. He also knew he’d seen a spark between the two of them. He couldn’t imagine what anyone saw in that feather of a man.
“It’s home,” Tum Tum said softly.
“And a beautiful one at that,” Lucindur said.
“Ooookaaay,” Whitney said, dragging
out the word.
“Whit, cut it out,” Sora scolded.
Aquira made a little burping sound and sped off ahead, zipping under an arch formed by a fallen boulder caught between two rocky walls.
They continued to argue, but Tum Tum barely took notice. As they walked, he let his hand scoop up snow that reached his waist in some places. Closing his fist and reopening it, he watched it clump and melt.
“Up this way,” Tum Tum said, then started off, not bothering to see if anyone would follow.
From there, they could see the faint outline of King Andur Cragrock, the first King of the Three Kingdoms, jutting out of the mountain, pointing the way to his city, the place Tum Tum had worked so hard to stay away from, yet couldn’t wait to return to.
He only hoped they welcomed him back.
“Is it safe?” Lucindur asked.
“If ye wanted safety,” Tum Tum answered, “ye should’ve stayed behind yer golden arches. Besides, if Kazimir—rest whatever soul the demon had—was right, and Nesilia only brought her weakest, first wave with her to the Citadel, we’ve got no time to be wastin.”
“Hear, hear!” Whitney said. Then, he turned to Lucindur and said softer, “But it wasn’t a dumb question. Looks like the whole mountain’s going to turn into a landslide any moment.”
Tum Tum ignored him again. “Won’t be long now,” he said.
The next hour was spent climbing rock, waiting for the flower-pickers to catch up, and trying to bury the feeling of dread he had at the thought of standing before King Lorgit and asking for his most prized possession. Legends spoke of a time when dragons soared the skies in great numbers, but none had been seen in many lifetimes. They’d all vanished and never returned, save for the one whose heart lay in a vault, offered for Brike Sledgeborne’s life in exchange for a home for dwarves. Its power helped carve out their kingdom long ago.
Tum Tum knew this, as any dwarf of Balonhearth did.
His father had once been in the presence of the stone—so he’d said. Dwarves were known for telling tales. Though Tum Tum couldn’t be sure if his father had spoken truth, he’d said that too much time within the glow of it made him feel faint—exhausted like he carried the pain of the entire extinct species. Though even with all that power, it had become no more than a trinket for the King. The last non-skeletal remnant of a dragon on Pantego.
For the first dozen minutes of their trek up the mountainside, Whitney and Sora had been hand-in-hand. But now, Whitney was huffing, and Sora was doing her best to help him along.
Strong one, that Sora, Tum Tum thought.
“Okay, come on,” Whitney said, out of breath once they reached the entrance. “This it?”
A giant statue of a dwarf was sculpted into a ridge and pointed toward a flat area of rock across from it. The wide stone door carved into the mountain was nearly invisible to the eye. Tum Tum dragged his hand across the inscription, feeling the bumps and lines of an old form of his language, covered in frost.
“What’s it say?” Sora asked.
“’Balonhearth, The Great Mountain. King Lorgit Cragrock, Master of the Three Kingdoms.’” Tum Tum read the symbols, but he didn’t need to. He’d remember those words for a thousand years to come. This was home.
“That’s nice, but it’s freezing,” Whitney said. Then, shoving everyone aside, he raised his hand to knock on the door.
“Oi! Do that if ye want to die a death most terrible.” The voice came from up the path a ways.
Whitney’s hand froze, and Tum Tum scooted around him to see the speaker. The dwarf wore fine armor, plated and blocky, but with dwarven geometric patterns set in gold that no human blacksmith had hands steady enough to inscribe. His barbute helm was equally impressive, rising to three flattened points over his forehead. Behind him marched a contingent of dwarven clanbreakers, each decked out in black mail covered in spikes.
“Meungor’s frozen beard,” Tum Tum said.
“Who the yig are you?” Whitney shouted at the same time.
“That ain’t a question needing answerin,” the armored dwarf said. “It’d best to be turned around on ye.”
Whitney looked around, confused, then elbowed Tum Tum. “What did he just say?”
“Name’s Tum Tum—Dwotratum Goodbrew—and these are me compan—“
“Mountain’s sealed shut. No one in. No one out,” the armored dwarf said.
“Sealed? By whose order?” Tum Tum asked.
A clanbreaker on each side of the speaker stepped forward.
“Whoa, whoa!” Tum Tum said. “I mean no harm. Just come a long way, we have. This be home to me.”
“Anyone who calls Balonhearth home for true would know of the King’s decree. No one in. No one out,” the dwarf repeated.
“But why?” Tum Tum asked.
The armored dwarf strode forward. Two quick steps and the nose bridge of his helm was tickling Tum Tum’s mustache.
“Think I don’t remember ye, outcast?” he asked.
Those words hit Tum Tum harder than any blow could have. So many years had passed since Tum Tum had left on his Commute. That Tum Tum’s name was remembered spoke to just how rare it was that someone would not return. Or maybe, it merely spoke to the famed memories of his kin.
The armored dwarf made a show of removing his helmet.
Underneath, hair as golden as the summer sun unfolded down to the middle of his back. His beard was braided, but not hanging as most dwarves wore them. His were tight against the skin of his face in sharp zig-zag patterns designed to keep the hair beneath his helm.
Tum Tum recognized him, as anyone from Balonhearth would. Gargamane the Gold had been the leader of King Cragrock’s royal guard for as long as Lorgit had been king. If the commander of those elite forces was out here instead of inside guarding the throne room, something had to be wrong.
“Got lost on me way home from Commute,” Tum Tum said.
“Got lost, my arse,” Gargamane said. “Got used to bein warm and livin under the sun. Ye’ve forgotten yer people, and we forget just as quick.”
“If ye’ve forgotten, then all is well.”
“Ye think this a joke?” Gargamane spat. “Ye ain’t welcome here no more. Ye can’t just not return from a Commute. And bringing them? Flower-pickers and worse? What were ye thinking?”
“Had no choice, brother—“
“That’s just it. We ain’t brothers.” Gargamane stepped forward. “I hope the south was worth it. Now, go.”
The commander jabbed a finger, then turned, and as he did, Tum Tum said, “Ye don’t think I’d just waltz back for no reason do ye? We’re all in dire straits, my commander.”
“Don’t ye, ‘my commander’ me,” Gargamane said, spinning back so fast his hair slapped the clanbreaker beside him. “We all know ye call Pi Nothhelm king these days. I heard what happened in Winde Port. Yer desperate. Destitute. Yer home’s gone, but ye made yer choice when ye overstayed yer year.”
“And it was a choice I’d have just as soon held on to!” Tum Tum said, terse. Then he exhaled through his teeth. “Look, I ain’t here because me home burnt. I’m here because all our homes are about to be burnt. Includin yer own. No one’s safe. Ain’t ye heard what happened to the Strongirons up north? Surely, if I heard, ye have too.”
Gargamane approached Tum Tum again. “Drav Cra bastards got em, what I heard. What about it?”
“It wasn’t just any Drav Cra,” Sora said, stepping forward.
The look on Gargamane’s face as he peered over Tum Tum’s shoulder could have dried up Trader’s Bay.
“And what do ye know?” Gargamane said.
Tum Tum turned and expected to see Sora backing down, but she didn’t at all. Instead, she took another step.
She’s got a bigger set on her than all the flower-pickers combined, he thought.
“I was there,” she proclaimed.
Gargamane shoved his way past Tum Tum to stand before Sora. His hand rested on the handle of a thick bastard sword. “Y
e’d best explain how ye were there when me kin died and yet stand here now, tellin the tale.”
Whitney now stepped up beside Sora, puffing out his chest. “I think you need to learn some manners, wee-bit.”
Gargamane advanced on Whitney now. “Who ye callin wee-bit, twigs-for-legs?”
Things were quickly spiraling out of control. Tum Tum knew he had to do something, but before he could, Lucindur stepped between them. She was slight, but her presence carried a certain matronly aura with it. If it intimidated Gargamane in the least, he didn’t show it. Instead, he responded in kind, stepping forward again.
Whitney mumbled something under his breath and turned away.
“Well, this is a strange party ye’ve brought with ye, Dwotratum,” Gargamane said, eyes fixated on the Lightmancer. “Yer father would be ashamed.”
“It’s just Tum Tum now,” he replied.
“Changed yer name, too. Aye, makes sense. Ye’ve abandoned everything else—why not drive the pickaxe in as deep as it can go?”
“That ain’t fair—“
“Well, what is it I’m missing?” he said, cutting off Tum Tum’s response. “Because all I see is a homeless dwarf.”
“Commander Gargamane,” Tum Tum said. “Sora… this is Sora… she suffered some horrors at the hand of…”
Tum Tum couldn’t finish his sentence. He’d been there in the Citadel and still found it difficult to believe what he’d seen. Gods and goddesses in Pantego again? It seemed ridiculous.
“Nesilia, the Buried Goddess,” Sora finished.
Tum Tum expected him to laugh, but Gargamane’s face contorted into something between anger and fear. “What do ye know of the witch?” Gargamane asked, his voice low and brimming with urgency. Fearful muttering broke out amongst his clanbreakers as well.
“She’s returned—“
“Keep yer voice down!” Gargamane hissed. “Heard rumors about this… heard some folks saw her in the south. Either way. Been strange happenins with all these beastie attacks.”
Tum Tum’s stomach dropped. “Ye’ve seen them? The grimaurs?”
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 123