By all appearances, it late in the evening. The big common room was almost empty, and most of the dwarves who were still there had passed out on the long tables, still clutching mugs and steins wet with drink. The sight made Ven lick his lip ridge, but again, he decided against it. Can't go dense, remember? If I can't go dense, then I don't get my instant hangover cure. Can't show weakness. Not again.
He was on his third lap, enjoying the quiet and stillness that only really comes at the hour when the all the world but he was at peace, when something that had been nagging at him finally wriggled its way to the forefront of his consciousness. Something X’on had said, something… he’d said something about the deep-downer attack that had gotten them into this mess….
Did he say he saw them attack me first?
But Ven had been behind the half-giant, trying to keep up without breaking into a run. Hadn't he?
Maybe he turned at the noise. Did he not say that he turned at the noise? Ven couldn't recall, and the more he tried to think about it, the worse his head felt, a pulsing ache that undulated from the back of his skull whenever he tried to concentrate. Whatever, he decided. Maybe X’on had misspoken, or misremembered. The point was, they were down here.
He noticed two dwarves slumped together at the far side of the room who hadn’t conked out against each other. Instead, they were leaned in close together, examining something. Curious, Ven ambled over, giving his head a quick shake to clear out the cobwebs. Thankfully, the sudden headache was already fading, replaced with a growing inquisitiveness.
The pair had a dismantled Seam Ripper laid out before them. The mechanical bits and bobs had been placed carefully on what Ven imagined was the cleanest fragment of cloth they could find. They were sprinkling small pinches of the Ripper’s incendiary powder over a candle flame, watching the resultant spark and smoke. The dwarves themselves were oddly garbed; their boiled leather had been bleached a urine-colored off-white, and their beards were frazzled and stuck out in jagged, unkempt points. One of them was wearing eye goggles very similar to the ones Ven favored. Their usual auburn smell was edged with a crackling, burned black. They looked up, expressions sharp, as Ven peered down.
“Help ye?” the one with his eyeballs exposed asked/, gruff and all business. Goggles kept his eyes on the candle flame.
“Not that it’s my business,” Ven said, pointing at Goggles, “but your friend here’s got the right idea. You get enough powder over that flame, things will get hot. You should consider protection.”
Goggles elbowed his partner in the ribs. “Tol’ ye,” he muttered. Eyeballs grunted.
“So what are you gents up to this evening?”
Eyeballs coughed and tried to make a shushing sound, but Goggles said gamely, “Brokk an’ me’self ‘ve been thinkin’…these Seam Rippers, right, they do a right job a’ makin’ a nice ‘ole to start a new mine, or ‘elp clear debris around a new find, like. But we was thinkin’, mebbe we could make a stronger explosion, like?”
“But we’d ‘ave to control it, wouldn’t we,” the one called Brokk said, his shoulders sagging. “That’s the issue at ‘and here, Eitri. We can’t jus’ have explosions all willy-nilly, we’d lose the seam entirely.”
Ven sat back. Or rather, he fell back, into a seat across from the two dwarves, flabbergasted.
“Guys, I’m sorry, but you’re up in the middle of the night discussing mine excavation? What about the war?”
“War’s been happenin’ for a long time, mate,” Goggles--Eitri--said. “An’ it’s not like Brokk or I’re gonna stop it overnight. We ain’t fighters. We’re great thinkers, he and I.”
“Aye,” Brokk chimed in.
“Meanwhile, there’s mountains all over this land ‘aven’t been touched by dwarven hands. And if we create somethin’ t’ aid dwarvenkind, if we can make our future a brighter place… we’ve served our purpose. We’ll ‘ave made our families proud.” Eitri’s eyes, made owlish and opaque by the goggles, stared up at Ven.
“We each of us serve in our own way,” he finished.
Ven rubbed a talon along his beak in thought. The dwarves of Grok’s Hollow had also shown a crippling unawareness of adapting their mechanization for combat. He was surprised to learn that here, on the front lines of what was supposed to be a decades old civil conflict, the dwarves he understood--the ones that ventured out into open country, that traded with folk, that left the bluffs of Jernot Mey to broaden their horizons--that even these dwarves skirmished with ax and blade and strength of arm. Brute savagery was fought with brute savagery, when the tools of industry, the very tools they had invented, lay before them, waiting to be forged into the weapons of victory.
“Guys,” he said. He pointed at one of the Mine Lighters spread along the walls around them. “Grab me one of those. And if you can, I could use some more ignition powder.” Ven smiled. “I’m going to show you something awesome.”
*
Ven was so immersed in his work that he completely lost track of time; it was only when he looked up and saw X’on stretching his overlong limbs in front of his face and stifling a yawn that he realized the three of them must have labored through the night. He flipped the lenses of his new goggles up over his eyebrow ridge and offered a toothy, satisfied grin as his companion approached the table.
“Check it out,” he said. “I think this’ll put us back on track.” He spread his hands with a flourish over the makeshift workbench.
“And good morning to you, too,” X'on said cautiously, looking down at Ven's handiwork.
Laid out before them was a boundless array of jumbled mechanics: Mine-lighters with safety switches removed and additional powder sacks soldered on; Springshots equipped with rapid-reload gears and a shaft built to complement three different projectiles; glaives and axes outfitted with firing mechanisms; Heat Lamps that would now throw fire; and more, so much more. Eitri and Brokk stood to either side of Ven, beaming up at X’on’s bemused expression. Eitri’s goggles hung loosely around his neck, tangled in his beard; soot coated his face except around the eyes, giving him the appearance of a reverse raccoon.
After a few heartbeats of silence, Ven said, “Yeah, it’s pretty great. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I couldn’t have done this by myself. A lot of the credit goes to Eitri and Brokk here. I just showed them the basics, and they ran with it. Totally improved on some of my ideas, too!” He threw an arm around each of the dwarves, attempting a masculine hug but really only accomplishing a headlock. He let the pair go after a brief squeeze.
“So yeah, if Abokei can pull a squad together, I say we’re about ready to go another round with those sticky little mudbug bastards. Then we take off with a full complement of the leftover artillery, since ours was confiscated. I mean, right?”
“Ven,” X’on said. “What you and these two… gentlemen… have accomplished here tonight. It's incredible.” He paused, took a breath. “Why don’t you let your companions grab some breakfast, and maybe some rest? I can’t imagine they can keep pace with a being of your unique sleep schedule.”
“Mate, I’m too wired fer sleep,” Eitri said, but Brokk grabbed him by the elbow. “Even still, we’s better off gettin’ some grub, then,” Brokk said. “We’ll leave you two bigjobs on, right.”
“Hey, be careful,” Ven called after them as they started to leave. “The guy they had on duty in the commissary when I went last had a stick up his arse about something.”
“Might be because you called ‘er a guy,” Eitri replied.
“Wait, what?” Ven said. Then he had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I guess the, uh, the beard threw me off. But I mean, your cook is a woman? Isn’t that a little, I dunno, sexist?”
“What, you mean like ‘avin’ a regimented rotatin' duty schedule, and expectin’ the women to honor it when it’s their time? Sexist like that, eh?”
Ven’s embarrassment deepened. “Right. My mistake. Enjoy your meal, fellas.” He raised a talon in what he hoped was a conciliatory
gesture as they left.
“You’re being weird,” Ven sang in Lath'shian, when the dwarves were out of earshot.
“And you are being naïve,” X’on replied in a hushed, angry tone. “Naïve, and more than a little foolish.”
“Foolish?!?” Ven shot back, his tone matching that of his accuser. “How am I the foolish one? Dwarves have some of the most sophisticated technology on the face of the planet, but they’re still hitting each other with sticks and rocks! This war has been going on for over a century, and neither side has gained any ground!”
“Ven, there is a balance,” X’on said, his tone ice cold but nonetheless delicate. “Neither the dwarves you know, nor their neanderthalic brethren, have advanced their warcraft in any of those years. Doesn’t it strike you that there might be a reason for that? Or are you truly content with butchering children again?”
“Okay, thing one, what the hell are you talking about?” Ven growled, getting hot. “‘Nearander’-whatever, I’m sick of people around here using words I don’t understand. Thing two, the deep downers are a threat, and they are escalating. They’re taking prisoners, hostages, whatever, from topside. That’s escalation. What I’ve done here is give the right side, the side we know, the side we trust, an edge. And thing three, I am not murdering children, you callous arse. Those mudbugs are a military force, and that force was going to kill us. To prove a point, or open another front, I don’t care, but they were going to use us. Martyr us. So this? All of this?” He gestured toward the pile of modified weapons he’d been so proud of only moments ago. “It's payback.”
X’on sighed, his breathing slow and deep. “And revenge is always such a pure and noble motivation.”
Ven huffed out a frustrated breath of his own. “When did you become so high and mighty? Can’t you see I’m trying to accomplish some good here?” He jabbed a finger in X’on's chest (he was aiming for the half-giant’s face, but he just couldn’t reach.) “And hey, it wasn’t me who summarily decided the best way to get out of a dungeon was to convince giants to start trampling the Lords and Ladies. Where was this sense of inflated morality then? Should one of those nearanderthrallics have taken your eye? Or your Book?”
X’on rose to his full height, his smooth pate brushing the lowest of the stalactites that hung above them. His chest heaved; his fingers flexed, balling into fists and then releasing. He seemed to grow taller, then, as if he was filling the cave that surrounded them, blanketing Ven in his shadow. Then, with a sudden effort, he took a seat on the bench across from Ven. He placed his hands on the table, interlacing his fingers.
“I…am sorry, Ven,” he said, his voice lower and deeper than the trenches around them. His shoulders were still heaving along with his breathing. It was clear he was making an effort to calm down. Ven had never seen him so upset. It wasn't anger, not exactly. But it wasn't pleasant. “I should not have belittled your efforts here, nor questioned the motives behind them. I hired you for your aid and protection, and I suppose that aid and protection is, in your own style, what you are offering. This weaponry will benefit us even as it benefits the dwarves who assisted in its construction. That is, if they allow us our share before they use it themselves.”
“Yeah, about that,” Ven said, rubbing the back of his neck with a talon, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t just help make the weapons. I volunteered to lead an attack on a mudbug outpost.” He raised his talons, apologetic. “I thought you’d be for it! I thought after we’d been attacked, again, after you'd been put in chains, again, that you’d be just as happy to reciprocate this time too! I didn’t know you’d grow a conscience.”
X’on knuckled his eyes in agitation. “And when is this raid to take place?”
“Eitri is going to forge me some armor, actually. A breastplate, probably some gauntlets. Wants to put some ceremony into it. No charge, as a thank you for the artillery boost. Probably less than a week, these guys work fast.”
“A week we could be spending on the trail of a hoard beyond anything these beings could hope to offer,” X’on said.
“I know,” Ven said. He felt like he’d been winning the argument up until X'on said that. Even now, he thought he was in the right. But he felt hollow. Somehow lacking. Like I’ve made grave mistake without even realizing it. He pushed the thought away. “I gave them my word, X’on. I’m sorry, I am, but I feel this is something I have to do.”
“'Have to'”, X'on parroted, his hands still covering his eyes.
Ven stiffened. “Yeah. I told them I would, and I keep my word. You can sit this one out, no one here will think any less of you.”
X’on scent, as always, was absent; colorless and empty as a promise. He moved his hands to the tabletop, fingers laced. “Tell me one thing, my friend,” he said. “Tell me that this is your choice.”
Ven swallowed. “It is.”
“It is?” X’on pushed.
“My choice,” Ven said. “It is my choice.”
“Once more.”
“This is my choice.”
“Fine. I accept this,” X'on said. He didn't look upset; he didn't look anything. “I’m afraid that while I will be refraining from participation in this tete-a-tete, I respect your choice in this matter. I'm sure we will see the fruits of your decision soon.”
Ven kept a stoic look on his face, but his guts had turned to snakes, writhing in his belly. Something was different, now. Their partnership had turned a corner. Ven wasn’t exactly sure where that corner would lead.
Chapter 15
Ven’s armor took just under four days, from measurement to final fitting; Eitri was even better than his word. From what Ven could see, X’on spent those days playing with the dwarven children, helping the local branch of the historical society with trivia and ephemera of the region, and hunting above with the Ascending Party to find food the big oaf could eat without discomfort. Ven himself used the time to train a specially conscripted branch of soldiers, headed by Abokei, in the use of the new hardware and munitions. He also taught technomancers his secrets to modifying and adapting old dwarvish machinery into their unfamiliar military uses.
“Okay,” he said that first gathering, looking out over a sea of expectant, enthusiastic faces. There were about twenty or so dwarves there, spaced out as well as they could be in the area they'd cleared out for training purposes. They were all short and bearded and covered in metal; other than Abokei, who was watching him with an air of expectation, he had no idea if he'd been handed a bunch of green recruits or seasoned veterans. Oh well. Make the best of it. “My name is Ven, and I just want to say how much I appreciate you taking the time out of your duty roster to--”
“Blow something up!” an exceptionally short dwarf in copper called out from the middle.
“Yeah!” cheered another two from near the back.
“I don't think... ” Ven began, but stopped. He caught Abokei's eye. Change tactics, he realized. Talk with authority. Like a dwarf. “Explosions are earned,” he began again. “You haven't earned yours. Have you.” It wasn't a question.
The dwarves went quiet, each waiting for someone else to speak. Finally, the very short one said, “Yes…?”
Ven pointed to the speaker. “You. Brazen one. What is your name.”
The dwarf gave him a fierce look. “ Isoldabine,” she said. “Daughter and chief apprentice of Eitri.”
Goggles has a kid? “I know your father, Isoldabine,” Ven said. “He is a good man. He serves in his own way.” Isoldabine gave a proud nod at that. “Come up here. Please. I need an assistant.”
Isoldabine, daughter of Eitri, marched to the front of the group, and stood facing Ven, back and shoulders straight. She barely came up to his waist, and that included the helmet she wore.
“Here,” Ven said, “hold this. And do not pull the trigger.” He handed her one of the modified springshots he'd shown off to her father, and turned back to the group. “Explosions are earned. We will start earning them today. I'd like to introduce all of you to on
e of my very favorite weapons: the fully automatic crossbow.” The group stared in awe as Isoldabine turned it over slowly in her hands. “This weapon has saved my life more times than you can imagine. Now, to start with, you take a standard springshot stock....”
*
Ven's contact with X’on over those few days was restrained at best. It was friendly enough, but with almost none of the camaraderie they had known before. Any time Ven tried to initiate a conversation, X'on would find a reason to excuse himself after some cursory pleasantries. If Ven was coming into the commissary for a meal, X'on was just finishing his, or already gone. Ven began to feel alone, even among a cavern full of dwarves who demanded his time and company. He was surprised to find that he was even starting to miss the half-giant’s dull, droning lectures.
Not only that, but ever since he and X'on's last altercation, Ven hadn’t been able to shake the worst headache of his life. Granted, he hadn’t slept in close to a week. Even then, however, it didn’t strike him as normal. He’d even noticed a trickle of blood oozing from his left ear canal during his last training shift, which really worried him.
The dwarves were another matter entirely. The “Day Shift”, as Ven had taken to calling Abokei, Isoldabine and the others, were more than eager to learn combat techniques that went beyond “hit the muddy-looking fellow with the pointy end a lot.” And the technomancers, whom Ven worked with at night, were quick studies, and had taken to improving on Ven's original modifications much as Eitri and Brokk had that first evening. He found himself amazed and delighted by the dwarves' alacrity and comfort with their new weaponry. Everyone he worked with were so intelligent, curious, and forward thinking that he couldn't understand how some industrious technomancer hadn't instituted similar improvements ages ago.
But what really startled him was the number of women among his trainees. He'd never met a female dwarf before, in all his travels. At least, he didn't think he had. It turned out the commissary attendant wasn't a fluke, and that all dwarves, regardless of gender, wore beards and full mail armor. There were far fewer women overall in the camp, roughly one for every five males. But they were never sidelined, or relegated to non-military tasks. He'd known there had to be females of course; dwarves didn't hatch full-formed from boulders (a bit of knowledge that had earned a younger Ven a knot on the head from Jakat's tutor for asking such stupid questions). But he'd always assumed that the females had been hidden away, either for protection due to their scarcity or because maybe there was a queen or something, like with bees (the knot from that question had been enough to silence young Ven's further queries, he remembered with an unconscious wince).
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