by Ben Hale
“I wonder if she would say the same about you.”
Urthor released a bellowing laugh. “Perhaps. Ah, here we are.”
He came to a stop before a collection of daggers and knives. Like the swords, the daggers varied significantly, with some bearing intricate designs while others appeared more functional. Jack spotted several that looked promising, but the dwarf reached for a dagger with a dark-tinged blade. Although it was evidently of much higher craftsmanship, it bore a striking resemblance to Jack’s own weapon.
“This may serve your purpose.”
Jack grasped the hilt and spun it in his fingers, pleased by the exceptional balance. It was lighter than its predecessor yet felt stronger. Also dark, the hilt contained inlaid silver and a swirl of sapphires on the pommel.
“Ninety-two percent mithral core with a steel exterior, fire tempered and reinforced.”
“Is that why it’s dark?”
“When steel is coated onto tempered mithral it tends to darken, which is why most smiths blend the metals to keep the lighter tint.” He gestured to the dagger. “This is actually stronger, but it doesn’t look as expensive.”
Jack smirked at the reference to the legendary dwarven greed, and recalled how many shiny blades had hung in the shops and smiths in the city. Although the dwarves would never stoop to selling shoddy work, they would sell their work for more than it was worth.
“Your people spoke the truth,” he said, admiring the dagger.
“Perhaps,” the dwarf said with a smile.
Urthor retrieved the scabbard for the blade and they exited the storeroom. Taking Jack’s old sheath to a workbench, he added lodestones to the new dagger’s sheath so it could hang inverted on Jack’s back. When it was finished he handed the weapon to him.
“Your craftsmanship is without peer, dwarf,” Jack said.
Jack removed his cloak and shirt and detached the strap beneath. Removing his old sheath, he placed the new one on his bare back. Then he adjusted the weapon until it rested along his spine and put his shirt back on. The hilt protruded at the low part of his back, hidden yet accessible behind a thick patch of leather that kept him from accidently slicing his flesh. He drew the new dagger in a fluid motion and admired it before replacing it in the sheath.
“It will do.”
The dwarf snorted. “Talk like that and I’ll increase the price.”
Jack’s turned to face him. “How much is it?”
“More than you can afford.”
Irritated, Jack drew the blade and held it up. “Then why show it to me?”
“Instead of coin I require a different payment.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I will not charge you if you accept another blade.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “You won’t charge me for one, but you’ll give me two?”
In answer the dwarf strode to a small chest set against the back wall. Opening it with a key, he reached inside and withdrew a knife. It too was dark, the blade wide at the base and tapered slightly toward the end. Jack accepted the offered weapon and examined it.
“Eighty-seven percent mithral core with a steel exterior, forged on low heat and tempered in elven water.”
“What’s the charm?” Jack asked as he felt the faint shiver in his skin.
“It takes a keen sense to detect enchantments,” the dwarf said, inclining his head in respect. “Many of my weapons carry at least one enhancement, but this one is unusual, for it carries a high level implosion hex.”
“Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“Magic that few dwarves are willing to cast,” he said. “And for good reason. Once activated it will crush anything in the area to dust. The hex cannot be stopped, nor activated from a distance.”
“It’s a suicide knife.”
“If that is what you want to call it,” the dwarf said.
“I was looking for a weapon that would kill him, not me.”
The dwarf held the knife aloft. “Eighteen years ago a man came to request this weapon be made. It sounded odd so I refused. Then he took my granddaughter and sent me a lock of her hair. If I refused again he would send me her hand. Without any other choice, I agreed.”
“Do you often have clients force you into service?”
“Never,” he said flatly. “But this man conveyed a disturbing quality that I could not deny. Upon my agreement he returned my granddaughter. He didn’t need to say it, but I knew if I failed he would take her again—and I wouldn’t get a warning. Reluctantly I set to work.”
“Did he say why he came to you?”
“Same reason you did,” he said wryly.
“There is always a price for those at the top of their craft,” Jack said, and recalled how Skorn had manipulated him.
“As you say,” the dwarf agreed. “I reluctantly began to forge the blade, but over the next year I heard whispers of his work. The tales were few yet spread quickly among our people. I began to realize that to give him the knife would be a mistake.”
“How did you know who he was?”
Urthor grinned and gestured to Jack’s old dagger still resting on the table. “He showed me his sword when he first appeared, and I marked him as I did you. I may not have known his name, but I recognized his occupation.”
A trickle of foreboding trickled down Jack’s spine. “What did you hear of him?”
“The tales spoke of brutality and cruelty, and I became reluctant to give the dagger to such a person. I claimed I was not yet finished, and as time passed he grew impatient. When I realized he would not be dissuaded I crafted a duplicate knife that would mimic the implosion hex, but lack any power.”
“How clever of you,” Jack said. “But you didn’t say who he was.”
The dwarf’s eyes bored into him. “You described your foe as a living ancient—one who served as your Guildmaster. The man who wanted that knife . . . was the Guildmaster for your guild.”
Jack began to chuckle. “You want me to fight him with the very knife he forced you to create?”
“It’s only fitting,” Urthor replied, his grey eyes twinkling in a way that made him look a century younger. “Will you deliver it for me?”
Jack accepted the knife from him and slid it into the small sheath. “I’ll give him your regards.”
“Excellent,” the dwarf said, his eyes sparkling.
“Does this mean I get discounts on future weapons?”
Urthor’s smile evaporated and he folded his arms. “I may be old, but I’m not a fool.”
Jack laughed and strode for the door. “You have my gratitude, good dwarf.”
The dwarf’s expression had turned as hard as the steel he forged. “Just make certain you kill him.”
Jack paused on the threshold. “I intend to.” Then he slipped out the door.
Chapter 20: Descent to the Deep
They departed Torridin the following morning amidst the loud complaints of Thalidon and Roarthin, who had partaken liberally of ale the previous night. As they threaded their way through the city the two dwarves shielded their eyes from the glare of the fire dragons and phoenixes.
“Do they have to be bright so early?” Roarthin growled.
“It’s late,” Lorelia retorted. “And it took three of us to wake you.”
“Stop shouting,” Thalidon groaned.
“Be a dwarf,” Ursana snapped, shocking them all. “And stop complaining like human children.”
As the dwarves rumbled into silence Jack exchanged a look with Beauty. After Gallow’s attack on her, Ursana had matured in remarkable order. The spark of innocence was gone from her eyes and had replaced with a sharpened focus.
The group reached the southern side of the city and came to an unassuming portcullis ensconced in the cavern wall. In spite of its innocuous appearance, no less than a full company of dwarves stood guard around squat battlements in front of the portal.
Apparently prepared for them, the captain
signaled a soldier. The dwarf stepped to a great wheel and spun it, causing the portcullis to grind its way off the floor. Machinery clanked and groaned as it lifted the thick barrier. When it was high enough for them to pass under, Thalidon stepped forward.
“I hope you survive, Thalidon,” the captain said.
The dwarf turned. “A keg says I return within a fortnight.”
“If you don’t return by then, I get a keg of your family’s private stock—and you have to re-grow your beard!”
Thalidon laughed. “You have yourself a wager.”
“If you perish, how do I collect my winnings?”
“You don’t!”
The captain grinned and stabbed a finger toward the gaping tunnel. “The road is clearly lit all the way to Elsurund. I wouldn’t deviate from the path or you will never see daylight again.”
“Are they allies?” Beauty asked.
“Presently,” the captain said. “But that can change in an instant.”
“I expect that keg to be here when I return,” Thalidon said with a grin.
The captain laughed and the group of thieves entered the tunnel, the portcullis shutting behind them. As it struck the floor the impact echoed like a death knell, causing Lorelia to shiver.
“I hate being underground,” she muttered.
Roarthin laughed at her discomfort and set off. “We should hurry if we want to reach Elsurund before the assassin.”
Casting a final look back, Jack fell into step beside Lorelia and they descended the curving tunnel. Much like the mines, the corridor contained an assortment of runes in the walls and ceiling, providing enough illumination to make it feel larger than it was.
Jack had never journeyed to the dark elf city and he was not alone. Of the group, only Thalidon and Lorelia had been to Elsurund. At Ursana’s request, Lorelia launched into a description of the history behind the dark elf city. Jack listened with one ear, curious and bored at the same time.
“Are the dark elves evil, as the tales say?” Ursana asked.
“Hardly,” Thalidon said with a derisive snort. “Their environment is harsher than ours, and many dangers lurk in the depths of Lumineia.”
“What sort of dangers?” she asked.
“For one thing, all four types of reavers stalk the Deep,” Lorelia said. “And trust me when I say that you never want to encounter a mind reaver. They latch onto your mind and will hunt you forever.”
“They’re not as bad as black reavers,” Roarthin said with a grunt. “If those devils get a taste of your blood, they temporarily gain every power you possess—magical or physical.”
“There are many tales of dark elves pillaging the surface,” Gordon said.
“True,” Thalidon said, “but most of the rumors are unfounded. Like any other race they occasionally ascend to trade. Mankind’s irrational fear of them has sparked far more conflicts than their natures.”
“Then why guard the entrance to their tunnel?” Jack asked, gesturing to where a hundred dwarves watched the portal.
“Because mankind is not the only race that fears them,” Lorelia said with a smile.
The tunnel dipped and curved, taking the portcullis out of sight. The road became steeper before entering a large cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites grew from ceiling and floor, merging into scattered pillars. The minerals within glowed purple and green, bathing the chamber in light.
Water gurgled in the distance, the sound fading and amplifying as they passed through a series of similar caverns. Shortly after, an underground river appeared and wound beside them before disappearing from view.
As the dwarf captain had said the road was clearly marked, with dwarf and dark elf symbols placed next to each other at periodic intervals. Dwarven cut, the road itself was smooth, with frequent patches of cleared stone for camps. They paused in one for a noonday meal and filled their water skins from a spring at the side of the camp.
Shortly after, the road left the caverns and entered a fissure. Narrow and curving, it was barely a hundred feet across. Every sound echoed into the darkened abyss. They followed the road as it clung to the side of the fissure, winding deep into the earth. Hours later they reached a bridge that crossed into a tunnel on the opposite side.
That night they camped on a wide plateau overlooking an underground lake. Disturbed by their fire, deep hawks dropped from their perches and flapped about, their chattering echoing off the walls. Jack sat on the edge with his legs dangling over the long drop, watching them.
“There is nothing like them on the surface,” Lorelia said, sinking into a seat beside him.
With four wings and long, hooked beaks, the birds resembled hawks, but their eyes were large and luminescent green. They dropped into the water, taking advantage of the additional light to gorge themselves on the multitude of fish in the lake.
“Care for a swim?”
“I wouldn’t,” she said wryly. “The hawks are not the only predators here.”
“What do you—”
The water exploded and a beast surged into view, its great jaws opening over a trio of birds. The hawks shrieked and sought to escape but the teeth snapped shut. Releasing a haunting growl of triumph, the beast dropped from view. As the splash faded into ripples Jack laughed.
“This place is incredible.”
She grinned. “The dark elves hunt the gorthon for its teeth, skin, and meat, but the beasts are known to hunt them in turn.”
“Just how many dangers exist down here?”
“Life is tenuous in the Deep.” She gestured to the path behind them. “The elves and dwarves have both placed protective wards on the well-traveled paths, ensuring that trade caravans can pass in peace.”
“Do the elves interact with them?”
“On occasion,” Lorelia said. “But our cousins do not seem to be inclined to interact with us. We lack the skills of the dwarves to build underground roads, so we depend on the dark elves to maintain the connection.”
“You said you had been to Elsurund before?”
“Once,” she replied. “Part of our training as mages was to travel to their guild and study with them.” Her eyes flicked to him as if expecting him to comment on her secret. When he didn’t, she continued. “They actually taught me how to maintain an illusion without exhausting myself.”
“What about your family? I can’t recall you ever talking about them.”
It was the first time he’d directly asked her about her past, and he half expected her not to respond. The seconds slipped by and he stole a glance in her direction. The conflict she felt was written on her features, but then she sighed.
“My father died when I was young, but my mother was a professor at the guild. She was beloved by many, but all she felt for me was shame. My older sister felt the same and was quite vocal on the topic. The guise charm was the first spell they taught me, and they were insistent I used it at all times.”
“The appearance of perfection is a dangerous pursuit,” Jack said.
She laughed sourly. “My mother would have argued that it’s the only pursuit that matters.”
“Sounds like she was twisting the book of Ero.”
“She was a devout follower,” she replied.
“Of who?” Ursana said, sitting beside Lorelia. She picked up a stone and tossed it into the water, smiling when it splashed.
Caught, Lorelia said, “Like many of my people, my mother worshiped at the Church of Light.”
“Mine as well,” Ursana said. “Right up until they convinced my father to sign our family farm over to them as a donation. He became convinced it would ensure peace in the afterlife.”
“Your father really did that?” Lorelia asked.
Ursana dropped another stone into the lake, watching it bounce off the rocks at the bottom and splash into the water. “Within a day the church had sold the farm to a minor lord and pocketed the coin. We were on the street with nothing and the church abandoned us. That’s when my father began to punish my mother, bla
ming her for everything.”
Ursana told the story with a dismissive tone, but Jack noticed the tightness to her frame. “What happened to her?”
“She felt betrayed and never recovered. She took ill a year later and died on the streets of Keese. I ended up stealing to survive and wound up with an invitation to join the Thieves Guild. I figured I had nothing to lose so I took the chance.”
“Your life has been hard,” Lorelia said, her eyes flicking to Jack. “But your tale is not unlike most of those in the guild. We are thieves because Lumineia treated us with cruelty and cast us out, dismissing us for naught.”
“You as well?” Ursana asked, turning to look at her. “You are beautiful and strong. How did you end up as a thief?”
Jack hid a smile as Lorelia struggled to answer. “Elves can live for hundreds of years,” she said softly, “and I am well into my second century. What you see now was not always so.”
“And your mother? How often do you see her?”
Lorelia’s expression turned pained. “She took her own life when a secret about our family came to light. I haven’t spoken to my sister since.”
Jack met her gaze and realized the secret she was referring to was hers. Ursana attempted to consol Lorelia but questions approached the truth. Before Ursana could ask more, Jack took pity on her.
“I didn’t know it, but my mother was part of the guild.”
Ursana turned to face him, her eyes full of wonder. “So she trained you?”
“No,” he said with a sour laugh. “She actually taught me that thieves had no honor, and made me swear I would never become one.”
The words slipped out before he could catch them, and Lorelia’s expression turned smug at the revelation. Irritated that he’d revealed more than he cared to, Jack grunted and rose to his feet, moving to the fire. Sinking into a seat beside Thalidon, he stared at the dying flames.
Ursana and Lorelia continued to talk, but Gordon rolled out a bedroll and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. Jack followed suit, and the others were quick to do the same. Weary from the journey they were asleep in seconds. Alone on watch, Roarthin grunted in annoyance and muttered curses about thieves.