by Markus Heitz
Rodario wormed his way across and stopped where he could see a shimmer of light, pressing his face to the slight gap to see what was happening. He had missed the beginning of their conversation.
“And how much would that be, Deifrich?” the woman called Kea was asking, as she leaned against one of the roof posts.
The man pointed round the warehouse, which was bare except for a few loose grains of corn and some dirt. “One hundred sacks? Look around you, Kea. There’s hardly any grain in the whole town.”
She gave a false smile—gain Rodario felt he knew her from somewhere. “Only because you have bought it all up, Deifrich. To force the price up.”
“Me?” he said indignantly. Even a fool would have seen through the exaggeration.
Kea looked up, taking out her dagger and holding it point upwards. “Suppose I were to go up there, what do you think I would find?”
“Not much,” Deifrich lied with a grin, not attempting to look particularly convincing. “Let’s say ten Weyurn coins. For each sack.”
Kea gave an ugly laugh. “You despicable cut-throat,” she said with a threatening undertone, lifting her index finger. “I’ll give you one coin.”
Deifrich wiped his chin with his sleeve. “No, Kea. I know you have enough. So you will pay.” To be on the safe side he put his hand on the handle of the short sword that he carried at his back on a belt.
Perhaps this was an agreed signal. Rodario heard footsteps. Two men approached Deifrich from left and right wearing leather armor and carrying long swords. They had the air of mercenaries or at least former soldiers. Kea did not even look at them.
“All right. Let’s say nine coins per sack,” said Deifrich haughtily. “I can get you the grain by daybreak.” He held his hand out. “But only if I get the gold now. And I won’t mention the other things you buy from me.”
Kea put down her finger. “You have become greedy,” she said quietly. “You are abusing my trust.”
Deifrich shrugged his shoulders. “I am a trader. Where there is a business opportunity I take advantage of it. Nobody gives me anything for free.”
“I understand you all too well. You would never get anything from me, either, without paying for it.” She gave a cautious movement, so as not to give the soldiers cause to step in, fetching a small bag out from under her mantle. She opened the cord tie, put her hand in, fished around and pulled out a coin to give to Deifrich. “One of fifty gold pieces. I do not have any more on me.”
He took the bag, then the proffered coin. “So you will receive five… let’s say six sacks,” he said, biting on the gold to test its worth. A splintering noise was audible. Deifrich yelled out in surprise, spat and collapsed to the ground. He lay convulsed, throwing himself from one side to the other, then finally remained still.
One of his hired soldiers bent over him. “Nothing to be done,” he said calmly and regarded the imitation coin. It had a thin center of lead, surrounded by glass and covered in gold leaf. A clear liquid dripped out of the remains. At first glance it was no different from any real coin. “What sort of poison is that?”
She lifted the bag. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered, pointing her dagger at the soldier. “The same poison is on the blade of this knife. Be off with you and keep quiet about what you’ve seen. You’ve been paid by Deifrich and didn’t have to work for it. Be content with that.”
The men looked at each other. Rodario thought they might try to jump Kea and take the rest of the gold.
The woman’s cold-blooded attitude warned them off taking any such rash action. Hesitatingly and being careful not to turn their backs on her they inched out of the warehouse.
She laughed quietly and gave a second whistle. Five men hurried up to her. “Get up there and see how much corn the bastard was hiding. Get the sacks onto the barge as quickly as you can. And then let’s get out of Mifurdania.” She prodded the dead body with her foot. “Find something heavy to weigh him down with, then chuck him in the water.”
Her people nodded and swarmed out while Kea disappeared to the left out of Rodario’s line of sight. The noise of boots on the steps announced the arrival upstairs of at least two of the men.
Now things were getting uncomfortable for Rodario.
He was just crawling in deeper between the sacks when there was a crackling and a rattling in the dark above him with a winch being set to work. The floor he was lying on descended rapidly. Somehow he’d got himself onto the loading base, while the mechanism was activated, taking himself and ten sacks down to the ground floor.
Though he tried to hide between the sacks it was a lost cause. At the other end of the building he saw four long boxes. Kea was standing in front of one of them. She had opened the lid and was looking at some blocks of iron. To Rodario’s eyes it looked like a mass of casting molds.
“Hey, watch it. There’s a tramp,” yelled one of the men up at the hoist.
“I’m on my way, don’t worry. Just needed a place to sleep.” Rodario coughed and crawled over toward the door. He didn’t want to give up his disguise. Perhaps he would need the element of surprise more urgently.
Kea closed the boxes and stood herself calmly in his path, keeping the dead body of the tradesman from his view. “Not so fast, old man,” she addressed him, not harshly.
Rodario read it as a good sign that she wasn’t brandishing her dagger and that no one was manhandling him. His masquerade seemed to be holding up. “Oh mistress, forgive me. Don’t call the Watch, please don’t,” he begged, dribbling and slobbering to make himself even more unsavory. He didn’t want her to expend any time on him. “They hate me.”
She measured him with a glance. “You know Deifrich?”
Rodario gave it some thought. “No. Does he belong to the Watch?”
One of Kea’s people came over and grabbed him by the arm. “Kea, you know what has to be done! He’s seen us now.”
“I see a lot of people in Mifurdania,” said Rodario in an old man’s falsetto. He laid his hand on the man’s arm. “It’s not a crime, young man,” he announced argumentatively.
“No.” Kea fingered the handle of her dagger. “Seeing us, old fellow, is certainly not a crime. But it is bad luck.” She drew her weapon and stabbed quick as lightning.
Rodario had been expecting the blow, so moved quickly to the side, grabbing the other man and using him as a shield. He hadn’t counted on the old tramp being so strong. He it was that received the stab in his ribs. The dagger did not go through to the internal organs—it did not need to. The poison brought the man down. “Surprised, huh?” Rodario walloped Kea on the nose and she fell back with a scream. He ran off to the nearby door, pursued by shouts from the men and curses from the woman.
Even if it had been a long time since he had been in Mifurdania, he still knew his way about. He shook off his two pursuers in the confusion of the port. But then he made a bee-line for the warehouse again, after first making a wide circle to throw them off the scent. He wanted to see what had been happening following his bold escape. He watched from behind a fishing boat on the other side of the quay.
Swiftly the men loaded the sacks onto the barge, even Kea helping with the task. They must have needed the corn so badly they could not leave it behind despite the incidents with the tradesman and the mercenaries.
One hundred sacks was a lot of corn. You could feed a small army with that. But where could an army be encamped in a land like Weyurn that was mostly water? And what would be the point? Soldiers who had deserted and were trying their hand at piracy and making sure of provisions before setting off? Where did they get so much gold? What was Furgas up to with them?
Questions on top of questions and nobody to give him any answers, of course.
Once the boxes with the iron molds were loaded the barge pushed off, not using any lights. Rodario decided to carry on following them. Water; the goddess Elria’s element, was not going to deter him.
He found a little dinghy tied up at the quayside. Borrowing it, he hop
ped in and found to his delight it obeyed even his landlubber efforts. Luckily the barge was not moving fast, so it was easy to keep up.
It was heading for the center of the huge body of water that now made up Weyurn. The waves glittered in the light of the stars as if enchanted. Rodario kept his distance and tried to hoist the sail on the small mast. It was difficult but he managed it. Not having a seaman’s training, he was not doing very well about holding to a course.
The barge disappeared behind the cliffs of an island and it took him some time to get his borrowed boat to go in the same direction.
Before rounding the rocks he heard a splashing, hissing, gurgling noise, as if a red-hot shooting-star had fallen from heaven into the waters. The surface of the lake was very rough; small waves rolled over the bow of the boat, threatening to swamp the dinghy.
Rodario rounded the cliffs. He did not have long to wait.
“For heaven’s sake! What in the name of all the bad actors in Girdlegard… where the hell is it?” Rodario stood up, his hands on his hips and stared at the lake before him. Stared at the empty lake.
There was nothing to see and nothing to pursue. The barge had disappeared from one moment to the next.
“How can that be, Palandiell?” he said, trying to keep his balance in the rocking boat. The moonlight showed him that there was nothing but the islands, and they lay over a mile away to his left. “Has Elria drawn them down to the depths because of their dreadful deeds?”
A new shuddering movement disturbed the surface and a mighty wave rolled toward him in the form of a foaming black wall, blotting out the moon and stars.
“O merciful Elria! What have I done to enrage you?” he murmured, motionless with terror, clinging to the mast of his small boat before the craft was seized by several tons of water and he was dragged under.
Girdlegard,
Red Mountain Range,
Kingdom of the Firstlings,
Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle
In these times, when the children of the Smith had to be more watchful than ever as they stood guard at the entrances to Girdlegard, it was harder for wanderers and merchants alike to overcome the suspicion that met them at any of the five gates. That was if anyone dared to turn up at the gates at all. It was not always going to be the evil that wished to come in.
And so it was in the Red Range.
The nine imposing towers and the two mighty ramparts of West Ironhald presented an almost insuperable obstacle even for peaceful visitors. In the area between the defending walls in the chasm that led to the Ironhald gateway and thus to the kingdom of the firstlings, around two hundred people were encamped, waiting for the dwarves to admit them.
For the most part they were traders, but there were also refugees from regions that had been devastated five cycles beforehand by the so-called avatars and their army. Their homelands were still not habitable.
Queen Xamtys had instructed the guards to let the groups progress forward one section at a time every two orbits. In the whole ten orbits they were waiting, the guards had them under observation and could examine the people, their baggage and wagons and animals, in minute detail, watching out for unusual behavior. Only the ones who conducted themselves well and passed the final interrogation examination at West Ironhald were allowed to enter. They were let into the halls and allowed over the pass.
The guards became increasingly restless. Sometimes there would be the faintest trace of orc in the air, as if maybe a small band of them were in hiding away off in the distance, waiting for the chance to storm the fortress. Maybe one of their spies was inspecting the fortifications.
Amongst the applicants who had got as far as the first gate was a strapping, rough-hewn tradesman who made a great thing of secrecy about his cargo. On his big four-spanned cart he had square blocks, it seemed, that were covered in leather and canvas to shield them from prying eyes and to protect them from the weather.
The wagon jolted its way toward the sentry post, and the man, dressed in light leather from head to foot, halted his oxen. He came over to Bendelbar Ironglow of the clan of the Glowing Irons, superintendent of the guards, and bowed. “My greetings. My name is Kartev and I’ve come all the way from Ajula to speak to your ruler.”
“Why would Queen Xamtys want you to?” responded Bendelbar, a sturdy dwarf sporting long blond hair, a colorful plaited beard and a military abruptness of manner that combined unfriendliness with surprise. Some self-important merchant. That was all they needed.
Kartev walked back, loosened a few of the ropes securing the tarpaulin, then lifted the cover, behind which cage bars were visible. Then he motioned to the dwarf to come over. “See for yourself.”
Bendelbar approached and took a look. Inside there were three small figures, chained by the ankles and in a miserable state. They were beardless, one and all, and looked, apart from that strange feature, exactly like Girdlegard dwarves. The guard knew at once who it was he had here. The news from the Black Mountains had traveled swiftly: the diamond thieves. “By Vraccas!”
“I call them Ancient Children. I thought your people would be interested. They must be related to you, don’t you think?”
“And why did you take them prisoner?”
“I didn’t capture them, I bought them. I bought them off a judge in Ajula. He had them arrested for robbery,” he explained hastily, so that no one would start to reproach him. “They were very expensive,” he added.
Bendelbar watched the wrinkled naked faces; the sight was new to him. He saw that two of the captives were women, but there wasn’t a single hair on their cheeks. “Let me guess. They were looking for diamonds?”
Kartev looked surprised. “Yes. You’re absolutely right.” His eyes narrowed. “So they’ve already tried it here, too?” He stood up straight. “Pleased to be able to help you. I’ll hand them over to you. Just need my expenses met.” He dropped the heavy canvas again and the strange dwarflings were back in the dark. “Take me and my captives to your queen, so we can sort out a price.”
Bendelbar wrapped one beard strand round his index finger thoughtfully. He finally agreed. He couldn’t let slip this opportunity to cross-examine the thieves. History would show him no mercy if through his fault a chance to avert disaster were to be missed. He gave the order to open the gate for the man and his laden cart.
Escorted by ten guards they started on their long way, taking several breaks, through the long passageways and halls of the eastern part of the Red Mountains, until the troop finally stopped in a cavern used by the firstlings as a quarry.
“Wait here,” ordered Bendelbar. “I’ll have Xamtys sent for.” He called one of the guards over and gave the instruction. The dwarf-guard trotted off. Bendelbar thought he could sniff orc-ness in the air again, but that was impossible. Not in here. He dismissed it as imagination.
“So, what’s new in Girdlegard?” Kartev was feeling chatty. He undid the buckles to pull the tarpaulins and the leather covers off the cages. “I haven’t been back here for ages. Are the orcs still hanging out in Toboribor?”
Bendelbar got the other soldiers to help. The crates containing these strange dwarves, known in Girdlegard only as undergroundlings, were revealed bit by bit. The trader had two dozen of them. They were huddled together in the middle of their prisons and were staring at their distant relations mistrustfully and in silence.
“In Toboribor? Nothing happening there anymore.” Bendelbar shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the captives. “After the Star of Judgment struck, all the evil went away.”
“That’s not what I hear,” replied Kartev, jumping up to the front of the wagon, where there were five barrels. He opened the left-hand one, took out a few hardened loaves and chucked them into the cages. The undergroundlings grabbed the bread greedily. “There are said to be strange creatures about the place, murdering and pillaging.”
Now Bendelbar did turn his attention to the man. “Rumors spread quickly in the Outer Lands.”
The
tradesman smiled at the dwarf. “Don’t forget I’m a merchant. Merchants are quick to panic when their wares might be in danger.” With a powerful leap that Bendelbar wouldn’t have thought him capable of, the trader landed at his feet. “Do these creatures exist or not?”
“They do exist,” he sighed. “But we’re close to catching them.” He placed his hand on the handle of the ax he carried stuck in his belt. “You can set your mind at ease…”
There was a loud crash behind them.
The base of the cage had broken and a dozen of the undergroundlings dropped through onto the stone floor. Initially Bendelbar thought the cart must have given way under the weight, having suffered damage on the long journey, but when he saw the undergroundlings were making off, left and right, unrestrained, he realized they had unchained themselves.
“Stop them,” yelled Kartev, catching the arm of a guard who was about to fell one with a spear-thrust. “Don’t hurt them! They’re my property, got it? I want them back safe and sound. There’ll be hell to pay if you kill one.”
Bendelbar pushed him to one side. “After them!” he commanded, reaching for his long horn.
Then a whole side fell out on the second cage; loose bolts clattered and rolled away. The dwarf was caught on the head and shoulders by the iron bars of the cage as the remaining dozen undergroundlings made a bid for freedom, rushing the guards. Grabbing the sentries’ weapons and armor they raced to the exits.
Bendelbar could not move. The heavy iron grating kept him pinned to the ground; he couldn’t even move his arms, let alone sound the alarm with a blast on his horn.
“I’ll get help,” said Kartev, taking the dwarf’s ax. “Just in case they attack me on the way,” he explained. “You’ll get it back. Which way do I go?”
“My bugle,” groaned Bendelbar. “Blow the alarm.” But however hard the tradesman tried to sound the horn he couldn’t produce anything more convincing than a damp fart. “They’ll be after our diamond,” grunted the dwarf, nodding to the left-hand passageway. “Run and warn the queen!”