by Ben Hale
She sighed. “It is when you think you can beat him. He hunts and kills men, and he’s better at it than you are.”
She departed, leaving him to stare at the knives where Ursana’s body had lain.
Chapter 18: Torridin
Within an hour of Gallow’s attack the group of thieves exited the outpost. The dwarves had withstood the cultists without losses, but the same could not be said of Skorn’s followers. Eight bodies lay strewn about the threshold. Their bodies twisted and lifeless, their smiles almost gleeful even in death.
The thieves left Cliffwatch behind and took a northern path toward the dwarven mine. Subdued by Gallow’s appearance, they walked in silence, and many looks were cast into the shadows. Two days later they reached the mine and noticeably relaxed. Breaching a dwarven outpost was one thing, but the dwarves guarded their underground tunnels with brutal zeal. Thalidon and Roarthin managed to get them in, and they strode past the guards into the mine.
Large glowing runes adorned the walls, providing light and decoration in the tunnel as they descended from the surface. They descended for several minutes before they reached the mine itself, and then came to a halt on the small balcony that overlooked it.
Plunging straight down, the hole bored thousands of feet into the stone. Mine carts corkscrewed their way down descending rails and returned filled with chunks of raw ore. The full carts turned into a side corridor and disappeared from view. Cold air wafted from the dark depths carrying the scent of earth, water, and a touch of smoke.
A dwarven miner leaned out of an office inset in the wall. Dirt covered his clothes and darkened his beard. He stabbed a finger toward the carts.
“If you don’t mind the dirt, you can take a cart to the mithral mine twenty miles west of here.”
Jack smirked and leapt the balcony to land on the rails below. “Let’s go.” He caught an open cart moving down the track and climbed in with a huge smile on his face.
“Honestly, he’s like a kid,” Beauty said in exasperation.
“He’s not wrong,” Ursana said, smiling for the first time since Gallow’s attack. She took the stairs to join him. Gordon sighed and followed, joining them in the cart. He did not meet Jack’s gaze.
The other four descended and climbed into carts ambling along behind them. Jack remained on his feet as the tunnel narrowed and the lights dimmed. Barely lit, the tunnel continued to tighten until there was just enough room for two overloaded carts to pass along twin tracks. Roarthin growled from behind them and raised his voice.
“You may want to brace yourselves.”
“Why?” Beauty asked.
“The carts are designed for ore,” he said.
He took his own advice and sat, grasping the bar attached to the side of the cart. Abruptly the cart began to accelerate as the tunnel dropped, and the others were quick to sit and grab hold.
“Aren’t you going to sit?” Ursana asked.
“I’d rather enjoy this,” Jack said.
“Arrogant fool,” Gordon muttered.
Jack caught the edges of the cart and grinned. “And you used to be fun.”
Gordon’s features hardened but Ursana laughed. “He’s right again.”
The cart dipped, speeding up as they passed into the gloom of the cramped tunnel. Jack began to laugh when they accelerated, the cart grinding through a long curve. His hair whipped backward as the air slammed into him.
The walls and ceiling had been cut smooth to ensure nothing impacted the cart, and runes appeared at regular intervals. The symbols glowed as they passed, blurring into a staccato burst of light as they reached top speed.
Jack released a cry of exultation, tightening his grip to keep from being knocked from the cart. Standing as he was he could see the upcoming turns, and leaned to the side as the cart banked for the curves. Unprepared for the shift, the others were knocked into the walls of the cart. Gordon growled from a particularly hard impact.
“How can you enjoy this after what happened?”
“How can you not?” Jack had to shout over the wind. “Why sit in fear when you can stand?”
Gordon didn’t respond for the rest of the journey, and when the cart finally slowed he rose to join Jack. Together, they rode the last of the turns to the end. With a sigh of regret Jack stepped out of the cart.
The small cavern contained a crossroads of several tracks disappearing into tunnels in several directions. Orange and white light glowed across the runes cast into the walls, illuminating the space enough that Jack had to shield his eyes. When he’d recovered from the glare he spotted a dwarf. The dwarf was busy inspecting a cartload of mithral ore but frowned at their appearance.
“Where ye be off to?”
“Torridin,” Roarthin said.
The dwarf used his hammer to point to an empty cart sitting on a track. Then he huffed at the interruption and bent to his work. Jack stepped to the indicated cart before noticing Lorelia’s queasy expression. He grinned and sidled up to her.
“Aren’t you in the mood for boiled pig’s feet and cow liver?”
“Stop,” she warned. “Unless you want to see me vomit.”
“Be nice,” Beauty said, drawing Jack’s eyes to her.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I can smell the meat cooking now, the distinct scent of pig skin burning against the bone—”
A surge of liquid splashed across his side, soaking him to the skin. Shock and then anger filled his veins and he spun to face Lorelia. Her features were bright with humor as she lowered her water skin.
“Serves you right,” she said, eliciting a round of laughter.
“Did you plan that?”
“It was Beauty’s idea,” Thalidon said with a broad grin.
Jack turned and found her smiling smugly. “We can’t let you have all the fun.”
He laughed in chagrin and then stabbed a finger at her. “Don’t start a war you can’t win.”
“I never do.”
Jack laughed again and the lingering tension from Gallow’s attack dissipated. Together, they climbed aboard the indicated carts and were off again. This time Jack wasn’t the only one to stand. Even Roarthin took a turn at the center, and issued a deep belly laugh as his red hair billowed about his head.
The journey to Torridin took two days, and by the time they arrived they were all weary from the constant jostling within the iron box. In spite of how much he’d enjoyed it, Jack breathed a sigh of relief when they disembarked in the underground city.
Built into a gigantic cavern, the dwarven capital of Torridin lay beneath the fortress that guarded the northern border of their kingdom. Thousand-foot pillars connected the floor to the ceiling of the cavern, their surfaces carved into massive statues of dwarven warriors.
Phoenixes and dragons adorned the walls, their shapes highlighted by real flames, making them lifelike enough to inspire a trickle of fear. Smoke rose from their nostrils and their eyes glowed with sinister intent.
Beneath the titans’ gaze lay homes, shops, and roads rolling across underground hills. Blacksmiths and craftsmen were abundant, with every corner containing a forge. Hammers tapped in a constant hum, punctuated by bursts of fire and shouts.
Tracks crisscrossed the city above the roads and buildings, some going multiple layers high. Supported by high arches and sweeping curves of stone, the rails allowed ore to be delivered directly to the smiths.
As they walked through the city Jack spotted a cart rolling to a halt above a shop. A dwarf dumped the contents into a chute. Rocks and stones clattered their way into a pile on the ground floor, and a grey-haired smith collected stones in a reservoir. His face glowed red as he opened the hearth and carefully inserted the melting bowl. He shouted for his assistant, and a young dwarf with a short black beard rushed to do his bidding.
The road had been cut and polished but left rough, allowing traction for the booted dwarves to ascend the frequent slopes. One dwarf hurried up the street and stepped onto a spiral staircase that climbed into a third floor f
orge. Fire burst from the interior and a dwarven curse followed the explosion.
As the primary exports of the race, weapons and armor were everywhere. Swords of every size and shape hung on the exterior of shops, their blades reflecting the firelight. Men, elves, and azure browsed the wares, gawking at the craftsmanship or haggling over the exorbitant prices.
A man dressed as a soldier from Talinor had brought his family. His young daughter stared at the child-sized knives in wonder. She reached out to touch one and the black-haired dwarf gave it to her.
“You’re too little, dear,” the man said, gingerly taking the knife and returning it.
The dwarf guffawed at the response. “We give our toddlers knives, and they learn right quick not to stab themselves.”
The man shook his head and pointed to a rider’s sword and scabbard. “My Lady wishes the gift to reflect her husband’s skill on a horse.”
The dwarf slid a tiny knife into a sheath and slipped it to the girl. Winking at her, he turned back to her father. The girl caught Jack’s eye and grinned before hiding the weapon in a fold of her dress.
“Do you really give your children blades?” Beauty asked.
Roarthin laughed and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a scar just above the elbow. “Thalidon gave me this when I was a babe.”
“You deserved it,” Thalidon retorted.
Roarthin flashed a rare smile. “I probably did,” he said. “And I certainly gave you enough scars.”
“How do we get to the dark elves?” Lorelia asked, interrupting them before they could delve deeper into their youth.
“Only a handful of tunnels descend to the Deep from here,” Thalidon said. “And all are guarded by Clan Foehammer. We’ll speak to their clan prince and meet you at the Blue Diamond. It’s an inn a mile that way.” He stabbed a finger south of their position.
“Feel free to browse about while you wait,” Roarthin said. “We’ll probably tap a keg.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Lorelia protested. “We need to hurry . . . are you even listening?” They were already gone, and she fell to muttering about dwarves.
“I think I’ll look for a new dagger,” Jack said.
Lorelia took a step toward him but Beauty spoke first. “I could use a new blade as well. We’ll meet you at the inn.”
“Don’t dally,” Gordon said. “There’s no telling where Gallow is now.”
“I doubt he’d risk coming into Torridin,” Lorelia said. “Not when we’ll be easy prey on our way to the Elsurund.”
“That’s not comforting,” Ursana said flatly.
Jack grinned and turned away, gesturing Beauty to join him. As the group talked, they slipped away and turned a corner. Then they slowed their pace. When it was clear they were out of earshot she pulled him into an alley between two forges.
“Have you ever considered if one of our group is a spy?”
He snorted in disagreement. “Why? Because Gallow found us? It would have been easy enough to guess where we had gone.”
“Some were a little too eager to give the key to him.”
“You suggested I give it to him.”
She released an annoyed breath. “As did Thalidon, Gordon, and Lorelia.”
“Lorelia was the one who suggested we steal the keys in the first place, and Roarthin hates Skorn with more zeal than you do. And you saw Gordon. He’s not about to help the assassin.”
“Skorn uses manipulation as much as force to attain what he seeks,” she said.
“How do I know you aren’t the spy?” He flashed a sly smile. “Do I have to kiss the truth out of you?”
She folded her arms. “Can you take anything seriously?”
He shrugged. “You know them better than I. Do you think one is serving Skorn?”
She looked away, her expression doubtful. “Perhaps,” she said. “Just pay attention, will you?”
He agreed with a nod and she strode away. For the next hour he browsed the thousands of blades on display. To his irritation Beauty’s words lingered in his mind, and he found himself wondering if she were right. The more he thought about it, the more he realized they were all suspect.
Roarthin had been imprisoned by Skorn long enough to be turned, while Thalidon had proven he could be manipulated by Skorn. Gordon would do anything for Ursana, but what about her? She’d been the one under Gallow’s knives, but was that just a feint? Lorelia had replaced Skorn, but she was more used to wearing a mask than anyone. He briefly considered Beauty but could not imagine she would ever help him after what he’d done to her sister.
He dismissed the doubts with a jerk of his head. He knew his companions, and would even trust Roarthin’s hate for Skorn. Returning his attention to the dwarven city, he recalled that many dwarves called it the City of Steel. But who was the best smith in the city? The question drove him to ask the smiths, and it didn’t take him long to get a name.
Chapter 19: Urthor’s Request
“The steel swords are over there,” the smith said. Without looking up from the anvil, he used his hammer to gesture to a line of blades on the wall.
“I’m not looking for steel,” Jack said.
The dwarf struck the sword again, sending a shower of sparks on the floor. “My work isn’t cheap.”
“I’m aware.”
The dwarf finally looked up and regarded Jack. Built like a bull, the dwarf wore clothing blackened by soot. Burns and scars marked his legacy of battle with the forge. His pure white hair put his age at six centuries, one of the oldest dwarves Jack had met.
It had taken Jack deep into the evening to find him. In a kingdom renowned for great craftsmen, one name came up more frequently than anyone else, Urthor. The name had been easier to find than the shop, but Jack had found him ensconced in a small tunnel that split off from the main cavern of Torridin.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
Jack reached to his lower back and tugged his dagger into view. After holding it aloft, he placed it on the table between them. The dwarf hung his hammer on a hook attached to the anvil and set the sword down. Then he strode to the table and picked up the dagger. To Jack’s surprise he placed the blade beneath his nose and inhaled.
“Eighty-three percent steel, seventeen percent iron. A decent Talinorian blade.” He touched the edge and grunted in approval. “It’s been well cared for, but seen its share of combat.” He dug a blackened fingernail into one of the notches that marred the edge
“It’s kept me alive,” Jack said.
“A warrior’s truest friend is his weapon. Why replace it?” He twirled the dagger and tested its balance. “It’s got decades left on its life.”
“Some foes are more dangerous, and require a different weapon to defeat.”
Urthor tugged on his snow white beard, his grey eyes alight with curiosity. “What exactly do you expect to battle, my good thief?”
Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “You know my occupation?”
“Every blade tells a tale,” he said. “A dagger is chosen by one who prefers subterfuge, but is unafraid to engage in combat when the circumstances require. Your weapon carries the damage of soldier’s swords as well as smaller weapons, indicating you have fought guards, thieves, and bandits.”
Jack grinned at the accurate assumption. “Then how did you know I was a good thief?”
“You came by the door,” the dwarf said, his lips twitching. “I suspect you have the talent to bypass even my curses, and could have entered seeking to take as you will. Yet you chose to enter as an honest man would.”
“I only steal on assignment,” Jack said, pleased with the dwarf’s intelligence. “But I admit I was tempted. Your craftsmanship carries a reputation of respect among your people.”
Urthor snorted in disgust. “My people gossip more than Griffin wives.”
“Are the rumors false?”
“No,” Urthor said without arrogance. “But you haven’t told me what foe you intend to face.”
“A li
ving ancient who led the Thieves Guild until I defeated him.”
Whatever the dwarf had expected, Jack’s answer was not it. A frown appeared on his features and deepened until he grunted.
“You are thief and a stranger, yet I am inclined to believe you.”
“Do you have a weapon I can use?”
“This way,” Urthor said, and strode toward a strongdoor set at the back of the room. Swinging it open, he waved a hand to activate the light charms and stepped aside to allow Jack to enter. The light continued to brighten, revealing thousands of blades resting on racks mounted to the walls.
“I think you’ve earned retirement, my friend.”
The dwarf laughed. “Work is the only reason I’m still alive.”
Jack strode past row upon row of glittering weaponry. Swords of every type hung together, including many intended for humans and elves. The collection paled in comparison to the axes, which boasted double blades, single blades, and quad-blades, all made from a variety of metals. Some of the weapons were utilitarian, the metal sharp and lethal. Others were more artistic, with spikes and notches like dragon’s claws. A massive curving sword hung next to one bearing a hilt that resembled a snarling lion.
They passed on to larger weapons, and Jack’s eyes widened as he examined huge swords and spears designed for giant men. One in particular drew his gaze, and he stepped closer to examine the straight-spined greatsword.
“Is that a rock troll blade?”
“Aye,” Urthor said, glancing back.
“I thought they forged their own soulblades.”
“Their warriors do,” the dwarf said. “But their mages are not trained to the forge and do not usually craft a soulblade. One of them was exiled and asked me to make her a blade. She broke the first so I crafted a second.”
“She broke one of your blades?”
He grinned. “Do what she did and any blade will break.”
“She doesn’t sound like a normal rock troll.”
“Sirani is an exception on many counts,” Urthor said, and then grinned. “But at times it’s difficult to tell if she has lost her wits to age.”