It wasn’t long before Bindaar was shackled and collared. He felt like a leashed scrod with Laarvel dragging him by a chain connected to the thick, leather collar around his neck. Aarvin brought up the rear, occasionally whispering threats and nastiness in his ear.
“Ahm will have your head off for sure this time,” Aarvin chuckled quietly. “Ye won’t be thinking ye’re so funny then. Maybe I’ll be asking him if I can keep your ugly mug as a prize for me wall.”
Bindaar didn’t respond. His balance still wasn’t all there, and coming down off the fairy weed had him ready for a long nap. His shackles were heavy too. They seemed to gain weight with every stumbling step he took. Even if he weren’t ready to pass out right there on the trail into the city, he’d pass on another go round with Aarvin. He’d had enough brawling for one day and had no intention of causing any more trouble.
The three dwarves walked up the main road through the center of the city, past the shacks that served as the dwarves’ homes and then past the shops and pubs. All the while they moved farther up the mountain. The shops were all run by older dwarves who no longer had the back to be working in the mines. There wasn’t much business during daylight hours. That’s when most of the population was down in the mines or out in the fields and the old folk manning the shops had time to gossip. Bindaar could hear them mumbling all up and down the road. Stories of him being dragged past in shackles would definitely be the talk of the town once the mining folk returned from their toils. Those nosy ninnies would go ahead and gab about him to any who would listen. He ignored them as best he could. There wasn’t much else he could do. Even if he wanted to stop and give them a piece of his mind, Laarvel kept a firm grip on his chain and he wasn’t leaving much in the way of slack.
As the small group moved toward the center of the city, the land flattened out. Mount Elbahor—the peak mined by the dwarves of Maomnosett since the beginning of time—had been leveled to provide a flat, solid base for Ahm’s palace. As much as Bindaar despised everything it stood for, he couldn’t help but be overcome with awe every time he beheld it. And there it was, stretching up toward the sky before him. The massive structure was made of brick and mortar reinforced with prang that glowed like the sun during daylight hours. The outside walls measured one thousand feet each making a perfect square, and all four were fifty feet tall except at the points of the compass. At each of the cardinal points, stood a guard tower rising another ten feet toward the sky. Below the guard towers were gates, entryways into the courtyard. Every entrance was twenty-five feet tall and fifteen feet across. At the top of the southern gate was the crest of Maomnosett, an eagle with wings spread carrying a mighty hammer in one talon and a giant spear in the other. Within the outer wall was another wall identical to it, with the exception of being set in fifteen feet. In between the two walls were three floors, each fifteen feet above the prior leaving five feet of wall above the top floor. On the inside of the outer wall were stairwells every fifty feet on each floor for access to the floor above. These walls were meant to give the solidas a safe place from which to defend the palace in case of enemy attack. Up to this point in Maomnosett’s history, there had never been cause to use them.
By the time Laarvel, Aarvin and Bindaar arrived at the gates of the courtyard, Bindaar was starting to get his wits back about him. In fact, he was beginning to get nervous. Doentaat had been completely right about his being out of chances. It was quite possible he wouldn’t get the chance to hear Doentaat tell him so. A shiver raced through Bindaar, rolling down his spine and shaking through his arms hard enough to get the heavy links of his shackles banging and clanging on one another.
“Ye be thinking about them crows plucking out your eyes while that merciless sun cracks your skin, ain’t ye?” Aarvin whispered in his ear, as if the jingling of Bindaar’s shackles were some kind of cue.
That didn’t help at all. Bindaar was certainly too frightened by this point to offer even a remotely cheeky response, but he hadn’t yet considered what might happen after facing the great and terrible Ahm. The thought of standing before the most frightening creature east of the Great Sea was enough to chill him to the bone. The giant’s icy stare alone was enough to cause the mightiest of dwarves to soil themselves. The thought that what came after might be even worse was something Bindaar didn’t need lumbering about his head.
Two guards manned the front gate. They wore brown, leather tunics over sturdy, leather trousers just like Laarvel and Aarvin. They’d look identical to Bindaar’s captors if it weren’t for the heavy, prang gauntlets they wore. Those were the mark of Ahm’s royal guard, the best of Maomnosett’s army. Bindaar knew them all a bit too well. Maartuk was the one on the left. He was a giant, as far as dwarves go, nearly as tall as a man. He’d tapped the back of Bindaar’s favorite head against more than a few walls. The ornery cuss got great pleasure out of hurting things smaller than him.
Shigaan stood rigid to the right of the gate. He wasn’t the biggest, nor the meanest, but he could wield a dwarf axe with one hand as fluidly and effortlessly as most could with two. Bindaar had watched the artist cleave a grong into three pieces with two graceful blows once; a forehand through the thing’s thick neck and a backhand through its waist. Neither the scales nor the spine slowed him in the least. Two slashes in one fluid motion, and there was a pile of three twitching pieces squirming in the dirt.
Maartuk stepped toward Laarvel and glanced disapprovingly at Bindaar. “State your business with the house of Maomnosett,” he growled with a bit more throat than was probably necessary.
Bindaar would have rolled his eyes at the formality if he weren’t shaking to the core.
“Laarvel reporting, sir. I be accompanied by Aarvin, me partner, and Bindaar, a stray from the mines. We be seeking an audience with the great and mighty Ahm to get his judgment on this disobedient dwarf’s fate,” the big dwarf saluted as he finished.
Maartuk returned the salute, about-faced, and marched just inside the gate passing the message on to another guard who would take it to Ahm. All the formality was nearly enough to raise Bindaar’s level of frustration higher than his level of fear. It was such a pain, not to mention a huge waste of time. Maomnosett hadn’t seen war since the great campaign. There hadn’t been a threat of dragons in centuries, and men feared giants. What did Ahm have to worry about? Who would dare challenge Maomnosett and her great army of dwarves? Exactly nobody, that’s who. Even still, Ahm would march his solidas all over the courtyard and all around the city on a daily basis. A faint sigh slipped past Bindaar’s lips, so slight nobody noticed it but him.
Bindaar didn’t need to see inside the gate to know what was going on behind the towering walls before him. This was far from his first visit to the courtyard where Ahm passed his laws down to the tribal leaders and sat in judgement of dwarves who didn’t follow them. He probably knew the place as well as any solida, maybe as well as the great Ahm himself.
At the back of the courtyard, connected to the northern guard wall, were Ahm’s living quarters, the palace of the palace. This building stretched from the eastern wall to the western wall and extended out three hundred feet from the northern wall with tower after tower reaching up to the sky well beyond the reach of the outer walls. Bindaar could only imagine all the rooms inside the place or how immense each must be. At the front of the palace was a grand stairway leading up to a set of thrones in front of two gigantic doors where Ahm, with his wife Loh by his side, decided dwarves’ fates.
By the time Maartuk returned—after what seemed like three eternities—Bindaar’s clothes were soaking from sweat. The prim, palace guard instructed the group to enter the courtyard. Inside the gates two columns of solidas, standing fifteen feet apart and facing each other, stretched from the gates to the stairway of the palace. Bindaar looked up and saw the giant, Maomnosett Ahm. He was terrifying, fifteen feet tall with daggers for teeth. It wasn’t the first time he had stood before Ahm to be judged, and the last time had been quite uncomfortable. A
hm might just pop his head right off. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. He had no choice but to follow Laarvel and Aarvin to his doom. The two stopped and bowed ceremoniously about five feet in front of the grand staircase while Bindaar stood behind them shaking like a fairy weed bud in a gale of wind.
“Bow, idiot,” Aarvin hissed.
Bindaar stooped awkwardly. It was more like a curtsey than a bow. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Rise,” Ahm commanded, his booming voice filling the courtyard like thunder rolling across a low valley. Once the dwarves were standing again, he continued, “What are the charges you bring against this dwarf on this day?”
“Most noble and mighty Ahm,” Laarvel began, a hint of fear lurking around in his voice, “the dwarf before ye be Bindaar. We found him in the fairy fields shirking his duty in the mines, all confused from the fairy weed. He’d been having a fanciful chat with a fairy that weren’t even there. He be a poor excuse for a dwarf.”
“Bindaar,” Ahm boomed, his glare nearly boring a hole through Bindaar’s middle, “this is not the first time I have sat in judgment against you, not the first time by far. What have you to say for yourself?”
Before Bindaar’s feeble mind could stop his stupid mouth from spewing all sorts of nonsense, it did. “I say this. I be tired of breaking me back in them mines so you can wrap your fat arse in the fruits of me toils, ye giant slug!”
Bindaar’s hands immediately shot to his mouth as Laarvel and Aarvin both looked back at him, slack-jawed and eyes bulging. It was over. He couldn’t help himself. That wouldn’t matter to Ahm. The giant would probably eat him right then and there. He’d chew him slow and make him suffer.
Ahm remained surprisingly calm. He raised his eyebrows and smiled with only half of his mouth. He held it together for just a moment before he burst into laughter. Bindaar’s hands were still covering his mouth to keep any more nonsense from trickling out. He winced as if he were already being chewed by the giant, but there was no shouting. Ahm’s laughter filled the courtyard and echoed off the walls until it sounded like an army laughing. Not Bindaar, nor anyone he knew, had ever heard Ahm laugh. Bindaar was barely aware of the nervous glances being shared by solidas all around him as his wide eyes remained trained on the laughing giant. A smile was all set to replace the shock on his face when the laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
Ahm’s stern, sober expression returned as he casually muttered, “Hang the insolent worm from your sacred pine.”
Chapter 6
The Sacred Pine
No words were spoken as the three dwarves solemnly marched back through the city. The entire episode from the fairy weed field to the courtyard was almost humorous right up until the cold end. Bindaar glanced over at Laarvel. The way the stout solida met his gaze was at once saddening and uplifting. Most of his kin wouldn’t make eye contact with him. As he trudged along shackled and guarded, with moments of his life dancing by like scenes on the stage of his mind, he found it difficult to damn them and blame them the way he normally would. He was a scrubby waste of space. Somewhere deep in the back of his conscience, he had always known that. Somehow, just then, it was brighter and louder, screaming and flashing like a night sky hosting a furious storm. He had spent his life trying to be worse than what they thought of him.
He kept his eyes locked on Laarvel’s for a good, long while. They had never been friends, and, truthfully, they probably weren’t just then either. Even still, there was warmth, sadness, and honest caring in Laarvel’s gaze. Watching a dwarf get hung upon the sacred pine, the symbol of dwarf heritage, was like stabbing your mother. It would be tough to find a solida who didn’t hate the practice as much, if not more, than any other dwarf. Bindaar knew the concern on Laarvel’s face was probably more for the stain the act of hanging a brother from the great tree to die would have on his soul than any new found love for him, but he’d keep it nonetheless. It would probably be the closest thing to comfort he’d have to take with him to the Lake.
When Bindaar did finally shift his gaze away from Laarvel’s, he looked over at Aarvin. Again, the customary scowl that would adorn the face of a fellow dwarf when they cast a brief glance full of judgement at him before looking away in disgust just as quickly was absent. It looked as if he wanted to say something, perhaps offer some words of encouragement. Nothing came, though. Even still, Bindaar found some solace in the concern painted across Aarvin’s face.
The pace of the group slowed as they progressed past all the same shops and nosy people they had passed on the way into the city. Bindaar was barely aware that all of the sniggers and quiet, damning comments that greeted him on his way into the city were missing on his slow march to the Sacred Pine. He glanced at some of the faces. There wasn’t a scowl or sour look among them. He even found a few eyes failing to keep all of their water in them.
Bindaar’s world spun slowly around him, like he’d had a bit too much ale to drink. Death had never seemed like a real thing. Now it did. As he marched slowly toward his doom, death became a thick and heavy burden perching upon his shoulders. No slick comment or adolescent gesture could stop it, and no amount of begging or pleading would change his fate. He was going to die. He would take his last breath while strapped to the Sacred Pine.
Bindaar finally found his voice as the gates of the city came into view, “Ye could just let me go, Laarvel.” For the first time in his life, the little bit of sweetness in his voice was sincere.
“I be wishing I could, Bindaar,” Laarvel began, “but ye be knowing as well as I, Ahm would be crushing both me and Aarvin’s heads if I’d be doing something so foolish.”
“Damn it,” Aarvin sighed. “Why’d ye have to be pushing him so?”
Bindaar didn’t answer. He’d never been very good at holding his tongue. Of course, the stakes had never been quite so high.
The Sacred Pine stretched toward the sky. It was the biggest on the mountain reaching almost four hundred feet into the air. It was sixty feet in diameter at the base. Chains hung from it. Bindaar couldn’t bring himself to look at it for more than a few moments. Laarvel and Aarvin would bind him to the tree with those chains and he would hang there until he died. By the time he finally did, it would be a relief.
Bindaar offered no resistance as Laarvel and Aarvin fastened cuffs to his wrists and his ankles. Once the cuffs were secure, Laarvel stayed with Bindaar as Aarvin walked around to the back of the tree. A few moments later, Bindaar’s arms began to rise and he was slowly pulled against the tree. The gears of the spindle on the opposite side of the tree clicked loudly. Before long Bindaar was rising off of the ground. He let out a little squeak as the chains pulled his arms and legs apart, as if they would wrap him around the tree. His chest, stomach and groin burned in response to the force cranking at his limbs. All of his joints felt ready to pop.
“That be far enough!” Laarvel yelled to Aarvin, the strength gone from his voice. A tear trickled down his stony face as his eyes met Bindaar’s, “That be far enough. Kallum be with ye, Bindaar. May he be speeding ye home.”
By this time a large crowd, made up mostly of innkeepers and shop owners, had gathered around the tree. Never in his life had so many shown up to be a part of something that had anything to do with Bindaar. His already wet cheeks received a fresh coating of tears as his emotions poured from them. One of the priests from the temple was among the crowd. Laarvel bowed his head to pray. Aarvin moved back around the tree, stood next to Laarvel and followed suit. The rest of the crowd did the same, and the priest led them in prayer.
“Oh mighty Kallum, maker of all things, oh all powerful god of gods, hear us as we offer up praise in your name. Take our brother, Bindaar, and forgive his foolish ways. Soften your heart to him and bring him home. Oh great and mighty Kallum, let this torture he must endure on the tree serve as his penance, and let him walk through the gates of the house ye provided for us in the life after this. In your name, we pray, Telos,” when the priest had finished the prayer he
remained with his head bowed.
The crowd mumbled in response, “Telos,” which simply meant, end. All prayers to Kallum end in that way.
Most of the crowd began to slip away here and there, back to the shops. There were no stones thrown and no insults either. There were times when the tree was a fitting punishment. Bindaar’s shenanigans didn’t amount to one of those times. Judging by the looks on the faces in the crowd, it seemed to Bindaar, at least most agreed. Ahm had no patience for dwarves anymore, and there was no distinction about the severity of some crimes over others. Every transgression was treated the same. There were no real fair trials either. Dwarves were oftentimes locked up due to false accusers. It kept most dwarves doing their best to remain on the straight and narrow. Bindaar wished he was more like most dwarves.
By nightfall, Bindaar’s head had fallen far enough that his chin rested on his chest. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and dragged across dry lips already cracked from the day’s blazing sun. If only he could have a few drops of water, something to sprinkle on the burn. His gut ached from hunger, and his head was beginning to throb. A soft, low moaning slipped by those cracked lips. He was barely aware of the sound and hadn’t the energy to try stopping it.
By this time the original crowd was all gone save Laarvel and Aarvin. They had to stay and guard their prisoner. Bindaar knew this, but, based on the gentle way they had dealt with him since Ahm had passed his judgment, he hoped they would have stayed anyway. It seemed likely. Both of them had fallen to quiet mumbling. He couldn’t hear most of what they said, but the things that stood out sounded dangerously like damning words against their king.
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 7