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In The Depths Of Winter

Page 7

by Bradley Mitzelfelt


  In the silence she could hear footsteps near her sister’s bed. When she peeked an eye open to look, all she could see were a few large shapes in the darkness. Certainly large men, hovering over the sleeping form of her little sister. They seemed entirely focused on Persephone, avoiding Daedre altogether.

  “What about the other one?” she heard one of them ask.

  “Leave her. This one is the only one that will fetch a price.”

  She couldn’t tell which one was talking when, but one of them moved closer to where Persephone was sleeping, leaned over, and promptly took a foot to the chin for his efforts. Daedre sprang into action, leaping for the surprised, wounded hulk, and sliding her blade effortlessly across his throat, spraying blood across the room to spatter against the window, staining red what light came in.

  The glint of drawn metal gave her warning as she leaped backwards and onto her bed, crouching. Persephone had rolled off her bed and disappeared on the other side of it. Daedre paid her no mind as the last attacker advanced.

  She dashed forward, surprising the attacker into a missed strike, and slid between his legs, slicing her blade at his hamstrings before jabbing her blade through the back of his head as he fell with a thud. With both attackers down, she looked around for Persephone, but the girl was still hiding, likely under the bed. Smart. Stay there for now.

  “What is going on in there? I told you to be silent,” a woman’s voice whispered from out in the hall.

  The voice was recognizable. Aside from Persephone’s, it was the last that Daedre had heard clearly.

  “Your men are dead, Myra,” she said as she stalked silently towards the door. She was careful to distribute her weight in a manner that would make no sound, keeping her feet on the cracks between floor boards.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the sounds of feet hurriedly padding away. Myra couldn’t be allowed to escape, even if it was risky to follow. Dashing out of the room, Daedre ran swiftly, heedless of the noise, chasing after the fleeing woman. Myra made it to the stairs, bounding down them quickly, but Daedre was faster, as she leaped over the railing and landed gracefully on her feet, facing the woman.

  “How did you do that?” Myra asked in surprise as she started backing up the stairs.

  “It’s easy to do graceful things when you aren’t fully human,” she said as she twirled her blade in her hand until it was held blade down. “You humans are clumsy. Beautiful, sometimes, but clumsy. Only with the grace of elves can you move as I do.”

  “A half-elf…”

  “Hardly. I am both full elf and full human.”

  As Myra stared, dumbfounded by the response and forgetting that she was trying to escape, Daedre attacked. She plunged the blade straight into the woman’s heart, eliciting a look of shock and desperate whimpers of pain before blood began to trickle free of her mouth. Hands grasped limply at the blade within her chest, trying to pull it free, but Daedre held it firmly in place, staring into Myra’s eyes as she died.

  “Is she dead?”

  Daedre looked up to the top of the stairs where Persephone was standing, barefoot and clutching one of her books to her chest as if her life depended on it.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Why did they want to take me and not you?”

  “You’re younger. You’ll last longer.”

  “Last longer for what?”

  Daedre pulled her blade free, wiped it on the dead woman’s top, and put it back into its sheath. She climbed the stairs, put her arm around her sister’s shoulders, and steered her back towards the room. These were things she’d really rather Persephone not ever have to learn about.

  “People out here are just as filthy as Gregor, and sometimes worse,” she said as they walked back into their room. She closed the door before propping a chair against it. “They wanted to sell you into slavery. Likely as a sex slave.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re young and attractive. Some people will pay a high price for you.”

  Persephone shivered and pulled herself away from Daedre. She walked to the window and opened it to let the slowly growing stench of death out.

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked.

  “We’re going to jump out the window and go find somewhere else to stay. If we get caught here we’ll be strung up for certain.”

  Daedre was already getting all of her things together when Persephone walked over to do the same. They each packed their bags quietly before moving to the window. Daedre went first, catching Persephone when she jumped so that the younger girl didn’t hurt herself in the process. The street was essentially deserted, though she could see a lantern approaching in the distance. Probably the night watch.

  She took her sister’s hand and led her across the street and down an alley. Nautil was laid out with the port as the center, and all major roads leading to it. As they cut across the alley, they hit another major road. She led her sister back towards the outskirts of the city. Given the luck they’d had at a nicer looking Inn, one of the seedier one’s might actually be better.

  The Drunken Mare wasn’t much to look at. Its sign was barely hanging on, and so faded that it was hard to make out the words. Hard, but not impossible for her eyes. She pushed Persephone ahead of her and inside of the place. As expected, it was quiet.

  “Awful late for a couple of lassies like yourself to be out,” the man behind the bar said.

  “Someone attacked us and we couldn’t make it back to where we were staying,” Daedre said, clutching at her sisters arm and trembling her lower lip.

  “Well, there are plenty of rooms here if you need one. I know the place does not look like much, but it will keep you safe.”

  “We’ll take whatever you have available.”

  “Hold on.”

  The man disappeared into a room behind the bar, and then reappeared a moment later. He set a key down on the musty oak table, still lathered in grease from the day’s suffering. Daedre ushered Persephone to the bar and tentatively reached for the key. Before she could grab it, the man had snatched her hand and leaned forward across the bar.

  “Now you two little lassies listen to me. I can tell when people are faking their predicament. I have been running this place long enough to smell trouble when it comes walking through my door. If you two try anything while you are here, the Guard will have your rears strung up in their cells faster than you can undo your dress ties. Understand?”

  Daedre had gotten very serious over the whole ordeal of the man grabbing her hand. Only Persephone’s hand atop her other hand kept her from drawing a blade. The younger girl was watching her closely. Daedre took a moment to glance at her before she looked back to the barkeep.

  “You’ll have no trouble from us as long as you run a safe Inn. The last one tried to grab my sister and sell her.”

  “Not going to happen here. We are not the fanciest of Inns, but we do not partake in illegitimate business here. It’ll be a gold piece for the night. If you want the room longer we can make arrangements tomorrow.”

  This time Persephone withdrew the gold, while still holding onto her sister’s hand, and set it on the bar. She pushed it across with a single finger, trying her best not to touch the greasy bar herself. When the exchange was made, Daedre’s hand was released and she snatched the key away.

  “First door on the left at the top of the stairs. Have a good night.”

  Up the stairs they went, each step causing them to groan and creak. Daedre was silently thankful for that. It would be harder to sneak up the stairs unnoticed. One less thing for her to worry about. She twisted the key in the lock when they reached the correct door, and pushed it open, but didn’t immediately go in. She waited.

  “Why aren’t we going in?” Persephone asked.

  Daedre lifted a hand to ask for silence, and listened, watching the room in darkness before she took a lantern from the hall and walked into the room. She checked every nook and cranny, and made sure the window was locked befo
re she ushered Persephone in and closed the door. The bolt worked fine, but she grabbed a chair from the room and propped it beneath the handle as well. She wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Do you think that will keep people out?” Persephone asked. “Is it enough?”

  “It’ll do enough that I’ll be able to wake before they get in, but I don’t think we’ll have any trouble here. Get some sleep. We’re going to have to try and find a way to earn some gold tomorrow.”

  “Can I sleep with you?”

  Persephone kept eyeing the second bed, and was continuously inching closer to where Daedre was standing. If she said no, it wasn’t going to end well.

  “Fine.”

  Daedre removed her boots and blades. She stuck two knives beneath her pillow and climbed into the bed. Persephone joined her after she slimmed down to just her undergarments. She curled up against her big sister, hiding her head beneath the sheets. Daedre stared at the ceiling knowing that she wasn’t going to get much sleep that night as she was far too wound up. Well, sleep well, Persephone. At least one of us should be alert tomorrow. Let’s hope that’s enough.

  Chapter Six

  When Dearic woke the day after he’d collected his ore, he was aware that something was wrong. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. A quick check of his immediate surroundings didn’t yield any results. He frowned and sat upright on the bed, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. The lantern was dimmed, but there was still enough light to see that he was alone.

  Standing, he walked to the door and put his ear to it. There was the faint sound of what could easily have been picks on stone, but that wasn’t abnormal. When would dwarves mining ever be abnormal? Maybe I’m sick or something. Nothing seems wrong. He moved away from the door and proceeded to get dressed.

  “Probably nothing.”

  Having no idea what time it was, or how long he’d been asleep, he stuck his rapier into the new sheath he’d had made, and headed for the door. When he pulled it open, he was suddenly assaulted with sound. What he’d heard was definitely not mining. It was the sound of battle.

  The door slammed shut behind him as he drew his blade and charged down the hall in the direction of the noise. Several dwarves scurried past him heading in the opposite direction, leaving trails of blood behind them as they struggled along. What is going on? He moved on until he neared the front entrance to the Hall. Here was a mass of dwarves so thick that he couldn’t see what was going on at the door, other than that it was open.

  A hand grabbed his arm and spun him about. Here was the Hallmaster, Dwemorin himself, and dressed head to toe in fine armor that glimmered in the cavernous light, shining off of the many angular pieces of plate.

  “Stay back. You’ll just be in the way,” he said.

  “But I can help!” Dearic said. “Let me get up there and use my magic to help!”

  “No. You will stay back from this. That’s an order.”

  Dearic ground his teeth together. It was a real fight up there, not just sparring like he did with Shakrin all the time. Truth was, he was more than itching to get back out into the world again and see what was going on. For one, he wanted to know what had happened to his father, the King of Brivan. What had become of the war with the Devan? Was it still raging? And what of those strange beings they’d seen in the valley?

  It was strange. For quite a while all he’d wanted to do was wallow in his misery at having failed everyone. After his talk with Vahneen, though, he felt like he needed to get back to work. And now here he was being told by the Hallmaster that he wasn’t allowed to do anything. They certainly were conflicting in their arguments.

  “Fine,” he eventually said as he turned his gaze up the tunnel. “At least tell me what’s going on.”

  “Goblins found the entrance. We opened the gate to send a patrol out and they ambushed the guards before the patrol could leave.”

  “How did they find it? Goblins are smarter than orcs, sure, but they aren’t exactly known for finding dwarven concealed doors.”

  “Nor are they very forthcoming with information while they’re being killed.”

  That point was quickly conceded. As much as Dearic wanted answers, this was one of those times where he wasn’t going to get them, simply because the answers to his questions weren’t known. What was he to do, though? He couldn’t simply stand there and watch the dwarves fight a horde of goblins. Not only would that be boring, it was a serious waste of time. He knew that he could help, he just had to find a way to do it.

  With everything bottled up as tight as it was, there was no way he was getting to the front, and there was a very slim chance of the goblins making it inside. He’d have more luck being useful in the mines than he would in the battle, it would seem.

  “Is everyone being called to arms?” he asked.

  “Of course not. The entire design of our entrance is such that only a handful of us are needed to defend it,” Dwemorin said. “Force them all into a small hole and you can just cut them down with ease. We rotate out the lines, and give them fresh faces to fight against as the day goes on.”

  “What about the forges? Are the smiths still working?”

  “There’s always at least one smith working, regardless of what’s going on. How else are we to make the goods we need to trade? We don’t stop for anything.”

  That was his ticket, then. He could go use the forge, under the guidance of a smith, and make himself a set of armor.

  “I’ll be in the forge, then.”

  “Good. Stay there. You’ll be out of the way.”

  Dearic didn’t say anything. Though he was certain that he could be more than useful in the fighting, and he was certain Dwemorin knew that, he knew he wasn’t wanted. It wasn’t his home, even though he’d been staying there. It wasn’t about him being human, it was about them and their honor and pride. As much as he wanted to help, he knew he wasn’t wanted and didn’t feel like pressing it.

  Climbing the ramp upward again, he ascended to the level of the forges. Heat rose from the depths of the mountain through chutes of rock that would melt the skin off your bones if you got too close to it. The dwarves didn’t need fire or lava or anything of that nature in order to make things, the heat geysers were enough.

  And it was warm. Sweat started to drip off of him in buckets as soon as he left the ramp. How can they even stand this heat long enough to make anything? I feel like I’m going to burst into flames. He wiped his arm against his forehead as he looked around, trying to see who was working. There were two dwarves that he could see, both of them cooking metal over the geysers. Neither of them took notice of him.

  “I too’ da liber’y of smel’in yer ore.”

  A glance behind him revealed a dwarf with long, white hair and a complexion that was hard to read for all of the scars and burns on his face and hands. What was most interesting about him was the manner in which he spoke, however.

  “You sound like Fanan,” Dearic said.

  “Is jus’ me teef,” the dwarf said, opening his mouth to reveal many missing teeth, before he scooted around Dearic. “Yer ore is o’er der.” A gnarled hand pointed off to Dearic’s right. “Hel’ yerself ta da tools.”

  Dearic stood there for a little bit, just watching this older Dwarf go about his business. Thought I was close to discovering why Fanan speaks the way she does. Guess I can’t be that lucky. There must have been more going on in the Ironshield family than he thought there was. The mystery was only getting deeper, and the only logical conclusion he had was that her mother was from somewhere strange.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Walking to the pile of ore, he knelt down to examine it. Sure enough, there didn’t seem to be a single imperfection blended into the ingots. Pure Dwarven steel. Ingots like the ones before him were rarely ever seen. With Xilu gone, trade with the dwarves was near nonexistent. Of course Brivan had its own steel, but Dwarven steel was stronger and lighter. A battle
of Brivan steel against Dwarven steel would always end with the Dwarven steel winning, even if it was a dagger against a claymore. And the dagger wouldn’t even lose a tinge of sharpness in the fight.

  The nice thing about having the ore already smelted was that he didn’t have to go through that process himself. Which was good because he didn’t actually know how to do it. He knew how to mold metal, but not how to remove the impurities.

  From the rack of tools he pulled down a set of gloves. The material had surprising give to it. So much so that his hands ended up fitting into the gloves rather nicely. Whatever it was that they were made of, it seemed a very useful and efficient material, though he had no idea what it actually was. The tongs were made of metal. Strange metal the likes of which he’d never seen, but definitely metal.

  For starters, he took measurements of himself, with the help of one of the dwarves who saw the mess he was making of trying to measure himself. With the dwarf’s help he managed to actually get good measurements, and a template since the dwarf knew more about making armor than he did. It was at this point that he started to feel like an idiot among geniuses. Guess that’s what I get for thinking I’m intelligent.

  With the tools, he heated and hammered the ore, beating it into shape. Over and over again he hammered the metal, refining its shape with each strike. Every so often one of the dwarves would come over and show him a different technique, or how to shape a particular piece of metal in a manner that was more efficient. He was grateful for this because his technique was raw and unrefined.

  Sweat poured off of him as he worked. The Forge was extremely warm and he was doing very tiring work. His arms ached, his back was sore, and he felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere. The dwarves never seemed to show any sign of letting up. It made him wonder how they could keep going the way they did. These were forge masters, so he supposed that had a lot to do with it. Years of experience would harden one to the rigors of working in such exhausting conditions.

  It took hours and hours, but he eventually managed to finish the chest plate. Sitting on the stone floor, he took some time to relax before he tried it on. The dwarves came over to inspect it in turn. He heard no compliments, but he didn’t hear any disdain either. Apparently he was at least passable.

 

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