The keel of the boat crunched onto the pebbled beach, and the two sailors who had rowed the boat leaped out into the freezing water and pulled the vessel ashore.
Culhen immediately hopped out and jumped around in the surf, and the rest of the passengers disembarked.
Khara hopped elegantly ashore, and Jelninolan left the boat with practised moves, but Ahren was struggling. His attempt to leave without getting wet failed miserably and when he finally stood on shore with sopping boots and trousers, he tried to ignore the smirks on the women’s faces. The two sailors heaved the two heavy trunks with all the group’s possessions onto the beach, then nodded silently but thankfully, before climbing back into the little vessel and rowing back to their ship.
Ahren looked over at The Queen of the Waves and was surprised to realise how much he would miss the ship. Neither the constant fear of drowning, nor the storms, nor the murderous sea creatures, but the pitching and rolling of the hulk and the ever-present creaking of the timbers. These sounds and feelings had subconsciously become part of his being, and although there was a cold wind howling around the cliff and the waves were crashing against the shore, it seemed remarkably still here on land.
He turned towards the cliff face which had lent its name to the town, but the setting sun was behind the cliff and all its details were now hidden in darkness.
Disappointed, he joined the others, who were standing around the hovering Uldini. Culhen came from the water at Ahren’s call and shook his fur heartily, causing the icy drops to fly in every direction. Ahren jumped quickly to the side so as not to get even wetter and so avoided the shower, but Uldini was the main recipient. Sparks flew between the wizard’s fingers as he looked threateningly around the group.
‘Great. Would anyone else like to wet me today?’ he growled, with a strangely hollow bass sound in his voice, which echoed with an unnatural loudness back from the cliff. Culhen disappeared into the night with his tail between his legs, and not a soul said a word or moved a muscle as the Arch Wizard fixed his eyes on them. Ten heartbeats of absolute silence passed before Uldini nodded curtly and floated silently towards the cliff.
Falk cleared his throat.
‘I’ll go on ahead. His Dwarfish isn’t the best and we don’t want the first impressions of us to be dependent on his diplomatic skills.’
The old Forest Guardian trotted after the Arch Wizard.
‘Just leave the things on the beach’, he called out over his shoulder. ‘The dwarves will bring everything in – as long as we’re welcomed.’
Ahren nodded but Jelninolan quickly took Tanentan out of one of the trunks. She was not going to let her folks’ artefact be minded by some unknown dwarf. She closed the trunk, then followed the others quietly up the shingle beach. Ahren looked around curiously, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Khara was straining her neck too, trying to make out more of their immediate surroundings. Ahren’s heart was warmed by the thought that he was no longer the only one in the group for whom so many things in the world were new and strange. He threw Khara a conspiratorial look but she only looked back at him with a puzzled frown. Their moment of solidarity was gone, and with a sigh Ahren continued to look around.
The beach had looked very narrow from the ship but now Ahren had to revise his impressions. He calculated that there were a good five furlongs between the two cliffs on either side and there were at least three hundred paces from where they had landed to the Silver Cliff. The shingle was slippery from the spray and some stubborn algae, and as the sun of the autumn evening didn’t reach them anymore, there was very little light. They walked forward slowly and carefully until suddenly, in the late evening gloom, a tongue of fire shot upwards in front of them.
Ahren crouched down instinctively, thinking they were under attack. But then his eyes became accustomed to the brightness and he was dumbstruck. What had started as a jet of flame had developed into a controlled fire that was shooting up the surface of the Silver Cliff. The way in which it spread out suggested some kind of gullies of oil, which the dwarves had lit, and which were brightening the entrance to the Cliff.
Two dozen heartbeats later and all the gullies were in flames and the result was unique and breathtakingly beautiful. Khara laughed with happiness and Ahren stopped for a moment to take in the view. The surface of the cliff was full of complex and strangely angled shapes that had been hewn into the silver. The lines of fiery oil were masterfully arranged so that they highlighted every detail, making them stand out against the darkness. The overall impression created by the complex silver-glittering mosaic of lines, light and shade was of power and majesty.
Ahren felt himself to be small and insignificant and he had the impression that this was exactly the effect that was intended for every onlooker, as if the dwarfish creators had calculated how best they could impress upon the visitor, no matter what time of day or night, the wealth and majesty of their dwarfish community.
And so the apprentice was not in the least surprised when he heard Jelninolan’s disapproving voice. ‘Garish. Far too garish!’ He also heard a slight undertone of marvel in her voice, but in the interest of self-preservation, he thought better than to mention it. He had neither the loyal eyes nor fluffy fur of a young wolf with which he could charm an irritated elf-priestess.
They walked towards the brightly lit rectangle in which Falk and Uldini were standing, together with four small, squat figures. Ahren couldn’t see an actual door, just an entrance, five paces wide and two paces high, around which he could see simple but finely worked symbols with motifs that suggested hammers, shields, hilltops and pickaxes
They heard Falk saying something in the rumbling and hollow-sounding Dwarfish language. In the backlight of the cliff interior only the outlines of the dwarves could be made out but Ahren recognised the jangling of chainmail as they moved, and the silhouettes of their axes and spades were threatening enough. Luckily, the body language of the four small mountain dwellers didn’t suggest any hostility.
When Falk had finished, one of the dwarves responded. He spoke twice as quickly as the Forest Guardian and with strangely flat cadences in his voice, but also twice as loudly. His voice was thrown back by the walls, and the echo of his words combined with the sound of what he was currently saying into a harmonious whole. Ahren was amazed when he realised that the dwarf chose his words carefully, so that their tone and rhythm would echo in perfect harmony with the words yet to be spoken.
The conversation ended and Falk grasped the dwarf’s forearm with his hand, and his opposite number did the same. Ahren could see that the mountain dweller’s arms and hands were disproportionately large and that his master’s powerful hand looked almost like one of a child.
Once they’d released their grasps, the guards stood aside and Falk waved at his companions to follow him inside. They entered the Silver Cliff and Ahren caught a glimpse of the four sentries standing on either side of the entrance, who let them pass with a smile.
Ahren had already seen a dwarf in the trading town of Three Rivers and so he wasn’t surprised by their appearance. Bushy eyebrows, long plaited beards which covered most of their faces, heavy chainmail protecting their torsos and extremities – all of which reminded him of the jewellery merchant he had encountered that time. Although there were also differences. Their armouring was considerably thicker and was further strengthened in vital places by steel plates. And while the merchant had two small hatchets on him, these guards were carrying massive two-handed axes and thick spades, which looked three times as heavy as those humans would carry. And they had a much stronger physique. But despite their ferocious appearance, their faces expressed a straightforward friendliness which he had never seen on a human guard when confronted by strangers.
Culhen sniffed curiously at the chainmail and the calloused hands, and the dwarves reacted with rumbling laughter and heavy slaps on the wolf’s flanks.
Falk noticed the wonder in Ahren’s face and grinned.
‘I tol
d you already that Culhen would be welcome here. Dwarves love seeing wolves because the skin of the little folk is too thick and their bodies too strong for any normal wolf to present a danger. So they’re looked on more as domesticated animals who live in the wild. The dwarf scouts who keep an eye out for enemies outside the mines sometimes train them as sniffer dogs.’
He looked at the wolf affectionately.
‘And dwarves value size and strength. Culhen has both, and the fact that he obeys you will counteract your own weaknesses in their eyes.’
Ahren sighed. His master had succeeded once again and quite casually in bringing him down to size. Then he noticed that the guards, on seeing the two women, had bowed respectfully and even blushed a little.
‘Why do they behave so strangely?’ he whispered to Falk, but he walked on and only replied gruffly, ‘I’ll explain it to you later’.
And so the apprentice followed his master along the short corridor. The surfaces of the walls were smooth and plain, and Ahren was a little disappointed at the absence of splendour, until eight paces later the corridor opened into a large dome-shaped hall.
Here the magnificence that Ahren had expected following the impressive exterior of the cliff revealed itself in all its glory. The apprentice saw walls and ceilings decorated with gold and silver and depicting marvellous mosaics, all of which were somehow connected with trade. There were coins and gemstones and stylised pictures of merchant dwarves, humans and even elves. They were haggling, evaluating, paying for or exchanging a multitude of goods whose outlines, depending on their worth, consisted of semi-precious or precious stones.
As he looked around, Ahren even saw measuring tapes made of pure gold set in the wall, in one section of the dome at about hip height. And to top it all, he saw a cord of thick silver which ran along the ground through the middle of the hall, neatly dividing the entrance through which they had come and the exit directly opposite.
The dome itself was empty, except for two elongated plain stone blocks on either side of the cord and a stone throne which, situated on the left of the room, stood precisely on the line, and from where both halves of the hall were clearly visible. Ahren could see a lonely figure sitting on the throne in perfect stillness. The whole scene was lit by a strange red flame that burned quietly in a basin hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.
‘What sort of a place is this?’ asked Ahren quietly and gave a surprised start as his voice echoed back loudly off the walls.
Falk stood still and spread out his arms.
‘This is the Trading Hall. Nine out of ten merchants never get past this point and don’t make it deeper into the mountain. The goods that you want to sell are placed on the block on this side, and the things that the dwarves want to exchange for your goods are placed on the block over there. Once you have agreed terms, the goods are moved along the silver cord on the floor simultaneously to the other side and the deal is done. The rules of trading are depicted in the mosaics on the walls. The dwarves have calculated exactly the relative values of the gemstones, coins and all other valid currencies, and they have even developed a system of measurement that all visiting traders have to adhere to.’
Ahren looked around again and now he could see the deeper meanings behind many of the pictures. Here was an elf handing over two sapphires and receiving a gold ingot in return. Over there were two dwarves, exchanging various combinations of semi-precious stones. Ahren was impressed by the directness and the thoroughness of this system. But he had seen enough traders haggling in his time to know that they would find such fixed regulations far from attractive.
While Khara seemed to be just as impressed as the apprentice, Uldini hardly gave the chamber a second glance and Jelninolan looked positively nauseated by the exhibition of wealth. Ahren knew that the elves only traded when they needed products that they thought would be useful, or sometimes to satisfy the greed of human traders when it meant keeping on good terms with them. It suddenly struck Ahren that were it not for the brisk trade between the elves and Knight Marshes and the consequent abundance of wealthy merchants, the defamatory messages of the Illuminated Path would have had a much more fruitful reception. Nevertheless, the elf priestess’s demeanour betrayed disgust at this place of ritualised trade with its greed etched into its walls. Culhen, on the other hand, trotted around the hall sniffing hopefully before finally giving up, as the hall didn’t provide any morsels to eat.
Falk indicated to them to follow, and they arrived at the exchange line and finally reached the stone throne on which the motionless dwarf was sitting, his eyes staring seemingly at nothing in the distance.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Ahren as quietly as possible and this time it was Uldini who answered him, while Falk planted himself in front of the sitting figure and performed a peculiar, angular, ritual bow.
‘No. Dwarves sleep differently to humans or elves. They can bring their bodies into a sleep-like condition, in which they can still see and hear. Their bodies do not age during this time and many dwarves take advantage of this ability during their long watches. This is why the life spans of dwarves can vary so much and their ages can range from three hundred to two thousand years.’ Uldini thought for a moment. ‘Although the later dwarves must have been living very boring lives’, he added with a wink.
The figure on the chair moved and sat up straight once he saw the visitors. The light now fell directly on the dwarf and Ahren could see a long grey beard falling over an enormous stomach. Intelligent, steel-blue eyes set in a deeply wrinkled face examined them carefully and widened considerably when they fell on Jelninolan and Khara. His chainmail was covered by a red material which gave the figure a strangely threatening demeanour, although he appeared to be unarmed. He spoke in an incredibly deep, rasping voice and Falk answered tersely and with a shake of his head. The dwarf looked reproachfully at the Forest Guardian and he began to speak again, but this time in the Northern tongue.
‘If your companions don’t possess the basic manners of speaking the language of those from whom they seek aid, then I will just have to speak in your tongue.’
The biting undertone in the old dwarf’s voice immediately reminded Ahren of dressing-downs he had received from his master and he wondered if Falk had learned a few tricks from the dwarves.
‘I know you, Dorian Falkenstein, Baron of Falkenstein. You are a Paladin of the gods; you have fought in fifty-three battles alongside the dwarves and have in the process saved one hundred and thirteen from certain death. You have insulted our dwarves eighteen times and you have atoned for them eighteen times. You have killed eight Cleft Skulkers and two Pit Mantises. You are a known friend of seven dwarves who live in these halls, and therefore you may pass.’
He then turned towards Uldini, who rolled his eyes and cut off the old dwarf before he had a chance to speak.
‘For the love of the THREE, this is going to take all night. Just give him your guarantee so that we can be on our way, because I swear, if he starts adding up my story, there will be two hundred and thirty-seven insults against the dwarf folk’.
Falk raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Jelninolan put her hand in front of her mouth and giggled quietly. Then an oppressive silence descended on the hall.
The old dwarf drew in his breath deeply, his face was the picture of fury, and Falk quickly jumped in.
‘Most noble Garmatulonok, you honour me with your remembrance of my deeds. I hereby place my companions under my guarantee. What they do, I will have done. What they say, I will have said.’ He shot Uldini a warning look, who responded with a grin and an innocent raising of his hands.
The dwarf nodded grumpily and said grudgingly: ‘so be it. You may pass. Your deeds will be reflected in your history’.
At these words a dwarf guard appeared out of the shadows of the passageway which led into the mountain and began, without moving a facial muscle or saying a word, to light a lantern which he held stretched out in front of him. Garmatulonok slumped back into his chai
r and stared blankly into the distance again, while the dwarf turned around and marched into the mountain without saying a word.
Falk bowed quickly and then hurried after the dwarf guard.
‘We’d better stick closely to him. Personally, I don’t want to get stuck on the wrong track’, he said hastily.
‘Wrong track?’ interjected Ahren anxiously and looked nervously around.
Uldini floated up beside him, giving him a shove forward at the same time.
‘A precautionary measure of the dwarves’, he said. ‘If anyone has the brainwave of attacking the mountain, first their ships are sunk by the dragon arrows, then they’re peppered with crossbow bolts, after that they’re slaughtered in the narrow passageway we’ve just come through, and finally they’re surrounded in the Trading Hall and butchered. If a few lucky sods manage to get past all that, then there’s the maze waiting for them made up of corridors and passageways consisting of trapdoors, tumbling rocks, not to mention the slides, which bring them down into ice cold potholes filled with water and with no way out.’ The little figure pointed at their guide. ‘Hence the guard. He knows his way. If you take a wrong turn here, you’re finished.’
Ahren felt distinctly uncomfortable. All of a sudden, he was very conscious of the massive rock that surrounded them, and he felt buried alive and imprisoned at the same time. The steady glow of light from the Trading Hall disappeared once they rounded a corner and now it was only the flickering light of the lantern before them that kept them from darkness. They passed by empty corridors which prompted Ahren to imagine unknown dangers lurking in the shadows, and he felt that if he took one false step, he would feel the grip of icy hands coming from the darkness. He brought Culhen firmly to heel and the wolf stuck close to his master, who looked down at him in amusement.
The Naming Page 26