Six dvargir warriors stood guard before the Gate of the Outlanders, watching Third and the deep orcs approach. They looked a great deal like dwarves, each warrior standing five or five and a half feet tall, broader and more muscular than humans, their skin the gray of granite. The similarities to the dwarves ended there. The dvargir shaved their heads, even their eyebrows, which made their void-filled eyes all the starker in their gray faces. Third felt the weight of their gazes as she approached.
Glowstones had been mounted on the wall above the gate, throwing a hazy light across the cavern floor. Third’s shadow flowed behind her, as did the shadows of her deep orc escorts.
The dvargir themselves, of course, cast no shadows.
But they could command shadows and become invisible. Third had no doubt that there were a score of invisible dvargir on either side of the gate, watching her for any sign of danger.
“What is this?” said the Dzark in command of the gate. The Dzarks were minor warrior-nobles of the dvargir, much like knights among the humans of Andomhaim. The Dzark’s black armor had been adorned with reliefs of red gold, displaying his rank. “You found something?”
“She is not human, despite her appearance, great lord,” said the deep orc leader.
“No,” murmured the Dzark. “No, those are elven ears, not human.”
“And she speaks the tongue of the masters, great lord,” said the deep orc.
The Dzark’s bottomless black eyes narrowed. “Does she, now?”
“She does,” said Third in that language. “I have business in Khaldurmar, lord Dzark.”
“Who are you and what is your business?” said the Dzark.
“I am Third of Nightmane Forest,” said Third. She saw the flicker go over his gaunt gray face. He recognized the name. Perhaps he knew of the Traveler’s death and Queen Mara’s rise. “As for my business, is the Lord Klothalin of the Great House Tklathar still the Dzark of the Market of the Outlanders?”
“Such is his honor, yes,” said the Dzark, a hint of mockery in his voice. The position of overseer of the Market of the Outlanders was not an office held in high honor by the dvargir.
“I have come to purchase something from him,” said Third. “While within Khaldurmar, I will start no fights, steal no property, liberate no slaves, pay the agreed price for any goods, take no sides in the lawsuits between the Great Houses, and speak no mockery against the Council of the Rzarns of the Great Houses of Khaldurmar.”
“I see you are familiar with our laws, Lady Third,” said the Dzark. “Outlanders are welcome within Khaldurmar, so long as they follow our laws and question not our nobles. If you break the law, the punishment is death or enslavement, as appropriate.” Enslavement was the more likely outcome. The dvargir scrupulously followed the letter of their laws while abusing the spirit at every available opportunity, and if there was profit to be had from enslaving an outlander, they would find a way to do it. For that matter, some of the lawsuits between the dvargir Great Houses had been going on for thousands of years. The High Kingdom of Andomhaim itself was far younger than a few of those lawsuits.
“I understand,” said Third. She made herself smile. “It would be interesting to watch you attempt to apply those penalties, lord Dzark.”
The Dzark’s black eyes narrowed. “One should be careful with wishes, Lady Third.” He pointed at two of his warriors. “Take her to the Market of the Outlanders. The Dzark Klothalin of Great House Tklathar should be there at this hour.”
The warriors bowed, and the Dzark turned and shouted a command.
A smaller postern door within the great gates of black metal slid open, and Third walked through it and into the city of the dvargir.
Chapter 3: Haggling
Beyond the Gate stretched the Hall of the Outlanders, a huge gallery of polished stone, the walls and the towering pillars carved with blocky reliefs in the dvargir style. The reliefs showed dvargir victories over the dark elves and urdmordar and high elves. Third spotted at least twenty mechanical traps hidden throughout the Hall of the Outlanders, some that would throw poisoned arrows from secret channels in the wall, others that would pour burning oil from the ceiling, and still more that would make blades erupt from the floor or open hidden trapdoors.
And those were just the ones that Third spotted.
After the Hall was a fortified corridor that led to an octagonal courtyard. The corridor could be sealed off with twelve massive doors of dvargirish steel, and Third saw more signs of mechanical traps, along with holes in the ceiling to pour burning oil upon any intruders. In places, she saw secret doors where the dvargir could burst forth to assail any attackers. If anyone tried to attack Khaldurmar through the Gate of the Outlanders, they would pay a horrific price. Little wonder the city had never fallen to any enemies.
Third wondered if she would be able to walk out again. The prospect of death did not daunt her. She had lived far, far too long already. But…she did not want to fail in her task from Queen Mara and High King Arandar. Third loved her sister and did not want to fail her.
And over the long and bloody centuries of her life, Ridmark Arban had been the first friend Third had ever made. If he and the Keeper and their children were in danger, Third was going to help them, no matter who stood in her way.
The dvargir escorts stayed a good distance from her. Perhaps something of her determination showed in her expression. More likely it was sensible dvargir paranoia.
Another wide gallery opened behind the octagonal courtyard, defended by more waiting doors of dvargir steel. Beyond that corridor was a tall arch flanked by two massive statues of armored dvargir warriors.
The vast space of the Market of the Outlanders opened before her.
It was a huge cavern, its sides terraced and descending towards a narrow stream that ran through a canal in the center. Shops and stalls lined the terraces. Dvargir merchants owned some of the shops, selling their goods to the outlanders who visited Khaldurmar. Orcish and kobold merchants rented the other buildings, selling their goods to the dvargir themselves. A large slave market, run by Great House Tzanar, filled the top tier on the left-hand side of the cavern. Both the dvargir and their visitors could purchase slaves, though the slaves for sale seemed to be a motley collection of kobolds and deep orcs.
Two massive inverted ziggurats hung from the cavern’s ceiling like angular stalactites. The sides of the ziggurats had been covered in glyphs that bled shadows, and their tiers had been highlighted with ghostly purple fire. Those ziggurats were the mansions of dvargir nobles. Why the dvargir nobles preferred to live in ziggurats hanging from the ceiling, Third had no idea. Perhaps they felt such a residence provided greater security.
The dvargir guards led her through the Market’s crowds. Third saw dvargir warriors in armor or dvargir nobles in solemn robes of dark red and black. There were kobolds and deep orcs and orcs from the surface, most of them Kothluuskan. There were even a few dark elves in blue armor and cloaks. All of them eyed Third warily as she passed. She did not fear any of them. The dvargir did not permit their visitors to fight each other within the bounds of Khaldurmar.
No, if anyone was going to kill Third, it would be the dvargir themselves.
Once they had found a legal loophole, of course. The proper forms had to be observed.
Third and her escorts descended to the bottom of the cavern, crossed a stone bridge over the stream, and climbed the tiers to the highest terrace on the right side. Atop the highest terrace was a cleared space, and in the center of the space stood a dais with a stone throne. Dvargir warriors stood guard near the throne, and on the chair itself sat a dvargir man in the red-trimmed armor of a Dzark. This dvargir was old, his face marked with scars, and his left hand had been replaced with a hook of black dvargirish steel.
Third had not seen him for a long time.
He hadn’t aged well.
“Lord Dzark,” said one of her escorts. “The woman claims she has business with you.”
“Do you, now?”
said the Dzark in a phlegmy voice. He coughed and sat up straighter. “I don’t remember you, madam, and I would remember such an unusual woman.” His void-filled eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. “Neither human nor dark elf, but marks of both kindreds upon you.”
“I greet you, Lord Klothalin of Great House Tklathar and Dzark of the Market of the Outlanders,” said Third. “And we have met twice before, though I doubt you remember it.”
Klothalin gave her a cold smile. “You speak our tongue well. Do refresh my memory.”
“The first time was when you accompanied an embassy of Khaldurmar to Nightmane Forest to speak with the Traveler,” said Third. Klothalin’s smile vanished. “The second was a century later when the Traveler sent an embassy of Anathgrimm orcs and urdhracosi to speak with the Council of Rzarns on his behalf.”
“Then you are an urdhracos?” said Klothalin. “Hybrids of humans and dark elves always transform in the end. Sometimes into urdhracosi, sometimes into urshanes.”
“I was an urdhracos,” said Third. “Now I am not.”
“I see,” said Klothalin, tapping his hook against the stone arm of his chair. It made an irritating rasping noise. “What a singularity you must be. I imagine you would fetch quite a high price as a slave.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Third. “However, you must ask yourself whether the profit of selling me as a slave would cover the cost of subduing me.”
Klothalin smiled. “And what would that cost be?”
Third drew on her power and traveled. She reappeared behind the Dzark’s throne as Klothalin shifted and the guards looked around in surprise.
She leaned forward, her lips only an inch from Klothalin’s ear.
“High,” she whispered.
Klothalin leaped out of his throne and whirled, but Third had already traveled back to her previous location. The dvargir spun to face her, and Klothalin stared at her with wide eyes.
“But I suggest,” said Third, “that it would be more profitable to conduct business in an orderly fashion.”
The silence stretched for a while, and then Klothalin sat back on his throne as if nothing had happened.
“How shall I address you then, madam?” said Klothalin. “I prefer to know someone’s name before I speak with them.”
“You may call me Third,” she said. “I am the sister of Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest.”
“So, the rumors are true, then,” said Klothalin. “The Traveler was indeed slain by his hybrid daughter?”
“He was,” said Third.
Klothalin grunted. “Serves the mad old fool right.” He waved his hook in irritation. “Getting payment out of him was like squeezing blood from a stone. I hope you will be more reasonable with your requests.” He smiled a little. “Because you do want something from us, I assume.”
“A map,” said Third.
“To where?” said Klothalin.
“To a continent about three thousand five hundred miles south of the city of Tarlion,” said Third. She would not tell the Dzark the reason she needed the map. If the dvargir knew that the Shield Knight and the Keeper were in danger, no doubt they would try to exploit the situation. “The dvargir know more of the tunnels of the Deeps south of Andomhaim than any other kindred. If anyone has a map of this continent, it will be you.”
Klothalin grunted again. “What do you know of this continent?”
“Little,” said Third, “save that it exists.”
“As it happens, we know a great deal of this continent, for we visit it often,” said Klothalin. “It has several names, but the most commonly used one is Owyllain, from the name of the largest human kingdom there. Previously, the kindreds of that land were ruled for the last several thousand years by a dark elven lord of great power called the Sovereign. However, five centuries ago a group of humans fled Andomhaim to escape the urdmordar, and when their fleet became lost, they wound up in Owyllain and founded a kingdom there.”
“Presumably this was before the Orders of the Magistri and the Swordbearers were founded,” said Third.
Klothalin gave her a thin smile at that. Given the defeats the Knights of the Order of the Soulblade had inflicted upon dvargir raiders, likely the Dzark did not enjoy the reminder.
“Indeed,” said Klothalin. “Had they been a little more patient, they would have seen victory over the urdmordar. But it is useless to dwell on the past, is it not? Suffice it to say that the exiles founded a kingdom called Owyllain, and spent the last five centuries struggling against the Sovereign. Twenty-five years ago, the men of Owyllain slew the Sovereign. Ever since then, their realm has fallen into civil war as the claimants to their throne fight each other and the Sovereign’s remaining lieutenants.”
“Remarkable,” said Third.
“Yes,” said Klothalin in a sour voice. “Remarkable, and annoying. Khaldurmar enjoyed a brisk trade with the Sovereign’s empire. Frequently he hired our mercenaries, employed our engineers, and purchased our slaves. And he always paid on time. Something your father never managed, I might add. The Sovereign’s remaining lieutenants aren’t nearly as profitable as business partners, sadly.”
“Sadly,” said Third. “Why was he called the Sovereign? The dark elves always enjoyed their cruel little nicknames for their princes and lords.”
“Ah,” said Klothalin with a chuckle. “The Sovereign was the greatest warrior and commander their kindred ever produced, just as his brother the Warden was the greatest wizard…”
Third blinked. “The Sovereign was the Warden’s brother?” She had never been to Urd Morlemoch and had never met the Warden, but her father had been terrified of him. For that matter, Ridmark and Calliande had both visited Urd Morlemoch about nine years ago in pursuit of the mystery of the Frostborn. Third had never heard the entire story, but she knew that Ridmark and Calliande and the others had barely escaped from the Warden’s stronghold alive.
“Indeed,” said Klothalin. “They both counseled the other dark elves against summoning the urdmordar, incidentally.”
“Clearly the other dark elves should have listened,” said Third.
Klothalin chuckled again. “Clearly. Well, to return to your previous question, the Warden fortified himself in Urd Morlemoch, but the Sovereign fled to the land that would become Owyllain and thought to make it into his personal empire. He won every battle, but inevitably his subjects and slaves rebelled against him, and he had to fight the same wars over and over again. Hence, the dark elves called him the Sovereign.”
“I see,” said Third. Just as well that this Sovereign was dead if Ridmark and Calliande and their children had been pulled to the remnants of his empire by that strange elven wizard with the golden staff.
“Might I ask why you wish to visit Owyllain?” said Klothalin.
“Curiosity,” said Third, which was true enough. She was curious to see what had happened to her friends. “I simply require a map through the tunnels of the Deeps to Owyllain. Though if the dvargir have a regular trade with Owyllain, I assume you have dug an underground canal to carry your barges there with great speed?”
“We have,” said Klothalin. “Truth be told, one of those barges is leaving Khaldurmar for Owyllain tomorrow. Taking the barge will get you to Owyllain far more quickly than traveling by foot. Even with your…peculiar…abilities.” He smiled. “Might I assume you wish to travel via barge?”
“I do,” said Third. “The sooner I can reach Owyllain, the sooner I can satisfy my curiosity.”
“I trust you understand,” said Klothalin, “that passage aboard a dvargir vessel is not free.”
“I believe this is the portion of the conversation,” said Third, “where we shall discuss price.”
Klothalin said nothing, tapping his hook against the stone arm of his throne. Third supposed it was a tactic designed to annoy her. She didn’t care. She had endured far worse things than a petty dvargir noble tapping his hook against a stone chair.
“Perhaps we can find a way for you to travel upon the barge w
ithout paying a fee,” said Klothalin.
“Oh?” said Third. “That seems unlikely.”
“In exchange for your help with a little…problem,” said Klothalin.
“And what manner of problem would that be?” said Third.
“Are you familiar with a group of human wizards who called themselves the Eternalists?” said Klothalin.
“Yes,” said Third, surprised. “They arose after the first war with the Frostborn. They sought to use magic to make themselves immortal and violated the strictures and the laws placed upon the Magistri of Andomhaim. The Swordbearers, the faithful Magistri, and the High King united to destroy them, and most of the Eternalists were killed.”
Most, she knew, but not all. One of them had fled to Nightmane Forest and sought refuge with her father, offering fidelity in a long and pompous speech. It had so irritated the Traveler that he had ordered the Eternalist tortured to death in front of him. In the end, the Eternalist’s magic had failed to keep him immortal, a fact that had amused the Traveler to no end.
“Most of them,” said Klothalin. “Some survived and hid in isolated places. One, however, made his way to Khaldurmar. At the time, it pleased the Council of Rzarns to grant him asylum here, and he settled in the Market of the Outlanders.”
“And who is this Eternalist?” said Third. “Presumably his magic has sustained him for the last two centuries, else we would not be discussing him now.”
“His name is Valgerius,” said Klothalin, “though in imitation of the dark elven nobles, he likes to call himself the Harvester.”
Third looked at Klothalin. A twitch went over his face, and they both laughed. Third had met dark elven nobles, had felt their rage and power and strength in her mind while she had still been an urdhracos, and the thought of a human wizard styling himself as a dark elven noble was ridiculous.
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