by E. E. Knight
Auron looked at the massive slabbed hindquarters at the front of the barge, absurdly tiny tails, more like flaps, swishing back and forth at flies gathered at their tailvents. “I didn’t know anything was bigger than dragons,” Auron said.
“I don’t know that they’re longer, but they are heavier. Of course, they aren’t meant to fly. Just eat a lot, chunt a lot, and have little ones like them. What a way to come into the world. Like getting dropped out of a tree.”
The barge eventually got under way, and the wraxapods stepped into the current. They moved ponderously, slowly it seemed to Auron until he looked at the riverbank. He marked the progress of a tree with astonishment. The barge was actually traveling at a speed Djer could get with his cart only if he cantered his horses.
They traveled by night, as well, changing only the dwarves in the boat at the front. Auron saw a team return, covered with saliva from the wraxapods, river mud from the sounding poles coating their arms. As Djer lay wrapped in a blanket on his driving bench, and Auron lay curled in the rear of the wagon, they spoke through Djer’s window.
“Dwarves are not what I expected,” Auron said.
“What did you expect?” Djer’s voice said from outside.
“Fierce warriors in armor, hunting dragons and searching for gold.”
“That describes a few. I suppose all the ones that dragons encounter. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not what I expected from a dragon. So curious and not at all fierce.”
Auron didn’t know how to feel about that, so he went back to his bits of dwarf lore. “You were created by the Earth spirit, and made determined hunters of my kind, so we have little choice.”
“Who told you this?” Djer said, sounding more awake.
“You’re woven into the dragon legend that way.”
“Ahhh, I see. Spirits, eh? Dwarves don’t hold with spirits. We believe only what we can see, or hear, or touch. We’re a literal-minded people. We have legends, and some chants that speak of a creation. Would you like to hear my favorite?”
“Yes, please,” Auron said.
“Can I tell it in Dwarvish? You’ve improved enough with the tongue so I think you might follow it.”
“Yes, try me.”
“One says that Dwar, his sons, and their wives were riding in a ship. A great storm threw them off course, and they became lost in a mist. Dwar had a vision of a land promised to them, if they could just free it of a curse of ice and snow, and told his steersman where to take the ship. His sons despaired, and their wives said he was raving, for they headed north where there was little to eat, snow so bright it blinded in the day, and winds so cold they froze the blood at night.”
Auron understood his words well enough. The drake relaxed and tried to make the Dwarvish words bring forth the pictures in his mind, rather than translating into Parl or Drakine.
“They fetched up against a continent of ice. Ice mountains, ice fields. They went into an ice cave, but they began to freeze. They burned everything, even the ice-locked ship. Dwar’s tinderbox was empty, so he went to a mountainside and began to dig through the ice. All the others grew weary and faltered, but Dwar did not stop.
He ignored fatigue, hunger, thirst, because he knew they had to find fuel or die. He found a golden tree in the ice, the Sun-Tree. Once there had been many, dropping jewels and nuggets to the earth like apples and pears each season. But it was life and death for his people, so he took his ax and broke off a limb, then another, then another, and started a fire. The tree was indeed magic, and when its wood was burned, it called to the Sun, and She came and warmed the land and melted all the ice. They were in a beautiful vale. Dwar commanded his kin not to touch the tree, but to take only the gold and jewels that would grow like fruit on the two remaining limbs. Dwar’s heart gave out from the strain of his digging in the ice, and as he died, he bequeathed the mountains and valleys to his people, but the tree to just his sons.
“Dwar’s sons noticed that the trunk and roots of the tree were made of gold. They did not want to wait for tiny nuggets to drop, when they could get so much gold just by chopping down the tree. They cut it down and dug up some of the roots and got enough from the tree to all become kings, but the easy-gotten wealth brought only unhappiness. There were intrigues and plots, double-dealings and waste in the family. Money that came quick was spent quick, and their great-grandchildren knew poverty. But they heard stories and learned the lessons from the spendthrift sons; they knew there were other Golden Trees out there if they looked and worked, for its roots ran through the mountains everywhere. I’ve shortened it, but the chant ends thus:
A Golden Tree awaits the son
Of Dwarkind, each and every one
So dig your mines, harden your hands
Mind your trades, work your lands
Dwar’s bounty waits just out of sight
For the faithful in labors right.
“We have many other stories and proverbs, parables and aphorisms. Some of the ones about warfare and revenge have been expanded upon until they are a way of life, and you get groups of dwarves like the Wheel of Fire. We in the Chartered Company like to think of our own firm as a Golden Tree, of a sort. I just hope the Partners take better care of it than Dwar’s sons did.”
Auron thought of Djer’s words until he fell asleep, and then at dawn they came to the Delvings at Waterfall Mountain.
Auron got a prime view from Djer’s cart. Though the barge pulled for the landing on the south bank, where the “iron road” Djer spoke of would haul the cargoes destined to go upriver past the falls along the quivers of rails, he still saw the mountain when the barge turned for the docks. A waterfall poured down on either side of it: a great rock slope that divided the wall of water cascading from above, the last of the six falls of the Falnges. Auron saw galleries and balconies, dozens of them, cut into the side of the rock, some hardly more than an arm’s length from the falling water to either side. A tower stood atop the mountain—or perhaps the top of the mountain was shaped into a tower—with sculpted walls that narrowed to a bell shape, red-and-gold pennants fluttering from the peak.
Auron had seen some towns of men, but this topped even the mind-pictures of distant cities he had received from his parents.
“How will we get there?” Auron said. “Can a boat make it through that boiling water?”
Djer laughed. “There’s a landing at the upper part of the mountain, but it’s a brave captain who tries for it, with the current running the way it does. We’ll get there by going underground. Just a moment—I’ve got to sign over my pack train to the warehousers.”
Auron caused a stir at the gates as he padded up to the underground entrance at Djer’s side. The guards at the gates, clad in golden mail under red capes, red leather boots set solidly on the doorstep, and layers of chain and woven cord shielding their eyes, crossed their pikes as the unusual pair approached. The gates were covered by curtains of some kind of thick material, emblazoned with the many-faceted diamond design of the Diadem.
“Tradesdwarf, you know that’s a dragon,” one of the door wardens said. Auron now knew Dwarvish well enough to comprehend the talk.
“I didn’t think it was a dog. I’ve sent a messenger to the Partners. I’m Djer, on Sekyw’s staff, just returned from the northlands. There will be a pass for me, I expect.”
One of the wardens pulled aside the curtain and rapped on the door of iron. He spoke through a sliding slot to someone within.
“You’re to wait. Sekyw is coming for you,” the warden said, sticking forward his silver-sparkled beard as if it were a weapon to keep them from the door.
“Hmmph,” Djer said, and walked over to a stool set under a canopy.
They were offered no food or drink, and sat and watched other Company dwarves pass in and out of the gates. Some stopped and gaped at Auron, but most passed the pair with nothing more than a glance from mask-shuttered eyes.
Until one dwarf, an exceptionally stout one with a gold-dusted bear
d that not only extended down from his chin but out from the sides, as well—so that it seemed to Auron that he held a hairy shield under his nose—came from the iron door with a nod toward Djer. The tradesdwarf stood up and took his hat in his hands, wringing it.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Djer,” Sekyw said, glancing at two sheets of paper, one with many lines of closely written columns and the other nearly empty save for a few bare lines. “I hold in my hands two items: a report of your summer’s trade in the northlands that is most unsatisfactory, and some wild proposition involving a dragon. We’re going to discuss both before seeing a Partner, so which shall it be first?”
“The dragon and I are weary with travel. Might we take some refreshment in a warm hall?”
“First I want to hear why you had such a poor season up north,” Sekyw said, inspecting the paper, then its blank other side, turning the sheet back and forth as if expecting something else to have appeared there while they talked.
“Some villages refused to even trade with me. They said that they would only buy human goods. I picked up a little money doing some blacksmithing and ironmongery—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard stories of dwarvish prejudice before. A good tradesdwarf wins through nevertheless. I had a mind to revoke your charter, even after I read this. What are you trying to pull off here, Djer? Hunt up some oversize lizard and call it a dragon?”
Auron liked Djer, and couldn’t stand to see him upbraided any more. “Lizards don’t talk,” he said, in his best Dwarvish.
“I wasn’t speaking—,” Sekyw said, then caught himself. “I beg your pardon, uh, young drake.”
“His name is Auron. Auron, this is my superior, Sekyw. Auron seeks passage eastward. I thought we might help him, and he us.”
“I’ve never seen a dragon up close, but I’ve been told their scales gleam like polished metal.”
“He’s a gray. That’s what allows us to use him in this capacity—he has no appetite for gold.”
“A dragon that doesn’t eat gold? Preposterous.”
“Djer speaks the truth,” Auron said. “I’m not sure I like you. I think I’ll find my own way east. Thank you, Djer.”
“Auron, wait!” Djer implored, but Auron winked at him with one eye. He squeezed his chest muscles and spat a mouthful of fire next to Djer’s stool. “Some warmth on the cool morning, since your superior offers none.”
The guards at the door startled, but Sekyw just rolled an appraising eye at Auron. “Perhaps you are worth going to the Partners for,” Sekyw said. “Open the gate!”
The dwarves led him into the mountain, but these were no caves. They were tunnels of marvelous workmanship, well aired and drained, making use of skylight and running water to add light and music to the interior. Tiny trickles of fresh water fell in curtains along the passage, and sheets of cut crystal reflected splashes of light. The entrance hallway was taller than it was high. Dwarves passed through it, often bearing lamps and papers, along red carpets that lined the main entry hall. In the deeper depths, a beard or two glowed faintly as its owner passed from door to door.
“The rest of it is sound and well-tunneled, but the entrance hall was designed to impress visitors,” Djer said. “Have you ever seen the like? Ever imagined that such could exist?”
“No,” Auron said, and understood a little better Djer’s “honor of serving the Company” talk.
They walked over arches bridging pools filled with gold and white fish, and gardens of rock, crystal, and colorful fungus. From some tunnels, Auron smelled cooking meat or baking bread. Others smelled like draft animals, as there were horses deep within the catacombs to help the dwarves in their labor. Whenever there wasn’t the sound of trickling water, they could hear the sound of hammers ringing faintly up ventilation shafts; the whole construct reminded Auron of the busy honeycombs he had raided.
Finally they stepped into an alcove and went up a turning stair, then to a wider stair filling the end of an interior hall, larger than Auron’s egg cavern.
“The Gathering Hall,” Djer explained. It’s dark now, but at celebrations, the lamps are lit, and the marble is polished so it reflects light like a still pool does the sun. I saw it thus when I joined the Company at my greeting ceremony.”
“That was a good group,” Sekyw said. “Many of them no longer drive carts; they’ve opened up trade routes and manage them. I wish your achievements were worth bragging about, young dwarf.”
“If you’re referring to Brorn of Gallahall and his cousin Mriorn, they’ve been in civilized country. I’ve been among barbarians these years, in the by.”
Sekyw frowned. “Serious dwarves never make excuses.”
“I wasn’t making excuses; I was drawing a comparison.”
They came to a long hall, mosaic portraits of gray-bearded, glowering dwarves lining the walls.
“The original ten Partners,” Sekyw said, slowing his pace so the other two could look. “They started the Diadem as porters, carrying loads from the eastern landing at the top of the falls to the calmer waters here. On their backs to start with—they had no money for draft animals. No iron road, nothing but a trail then. Hard days: they had to face blighters, bears, forest wolves, robbers, even . . . errr, dragons. Now there are sixty Partners, though some run halls in other cities, or in the east. Little dragon, the Chartered Company is greater than many kings in this world. Kings grow feeble and die, sometimes their kingdoms die with them, but the Company only grows stronger with each generation.”
There respectful silence reigned in the upper halls; the scroll-carrying dwarves wore slippers instead of boots.
“How many Partners still live?” Auron asked.
“Only two. Old Vekay and his brother, Zedkay. They’re both over six hundred, which is ancient for our people. They occupy sinecures now; we wheel them out for ceremonies. The younger Partners have the real power. Speaking of which, I’m taking you two to see Emde, who manages the Eastern Route from here.”
“I had hoped for Byndon,” Djer said.
“Byndon’s out. Vekay and Zedkay didn’t like it, but they’re only two, after all. Emde’s the real up-and-comer nowadays, a good dwarf to have on your side and a bad one to cross.”
Sekyw led them to an antechamber, and Auron smelled outside air. A number of dwarves bearing leather folios waited on stools ringing the velvet-lined room. Every pair of bored eyes in the room turned to Auron, who stretched himself on the floor. The ability to rest with neck and tail extended, after his cramped journey in the cart and use of his muscles in the Delvings, gave him contentment that brought a prrum to his throat. Auron smelled tobacco, leather, and paper, odors he was beginning to associate with dwarves of commerce. They seemed to travel in their own world of peculiar contests and jealousies, but he preferred them to the ax-wielding sort.
“By my beard, is that thing purring?” a dwarf asked.
“Forgive my friend,” Djer said. “He’s been long a-traveling.”
“It looks dangerous. Shouldn’t it be collared?” another—a graybeard—said with the cantankerousness of a dwarf still bearing briefs at his age.
Auron brought his head up. “I wore a collar once, and I’ll never have one on again while there’s breath in my body,” he said, in his rough Dwarvish. “I’d advise you not to, but feel free to try—”
“Enough said, young dragon,” Sekyw broke in, glaring at the graybeard. “We believe you. Elbee, keep a bargainer’s tongue—he’s just another prospective employee. The dragon is offering his services under contract.”
Sekyw rang on a bell-rope and spoke in a page’s ear. After the leather-padded door shut, the senior dwarf stood with hands clasped behind his back. The door opened again after a moment.
“Twenty-seven ticks,” Sekyw said, so quietly that only Auron heard him. “Not bad.”
“Hats off, and let me do the talking,” Sekyw said more loudly, and Djer and Auron passed into the inner room. It was wood paneled, furnished with imposing—and l
ow—chairs, tables, and desks. A dwarf in a most ornate vest with sparkling crystal buttons stood at the back of the room, which opened up onto a sunny balcony. Fine polished glass of some kind filled one wide eye socket. The dwarf squinted with the other eye.
Auron heard the sound of the waterfalls outside, and from what he could see of the view, they were high up the mountain. In their travels through the tunnels, they must have come right through behind the southern waterfall and entered the mountain proper.
His companions bowed their heads. Whether this was ritual or a way to cut the glare from the balcony Auron couldn’t say.
“We’ll finish later, Aytea,” the dwarf said. Another richly dressed dwarf etching on a sheet of polished bronze stood, furrowed his brows at Auron, and left by a different door concealed in the paneling.
“By the banner, it is a dragon,” the Partner said, coming around his desk to get a better view of Auron. He moved in a stooped-over fashion, as if bearing a burden on his back. Jewels were woven into his long, gold-braid-wrapped beard.
Sekyw pulled at his beard, spreading it wide across his chest. “Most honorable Emde, thank you for your attention. This dragon has a rather unique bargain he’s offered me. Or rather us. The Chartered Company, that is.”
Auron felt Djer stir next to him, and smelled nervous sweat on Sekyw.
The Partner leaned over even more and brought his monocled eye level with Auron. “Is that so, future skyking?” he said in Parl.
The dwarf’s pupil looked like that of a hungry wolf’s behind that plate of tinted glass.
“I know some of your tongue,” Auron said. “But if you’d rather speak in Parl, that is easier.”
Sekyw cut in: “The drake seeks a road east; he says he searches for a distant family member or somesuch. We’ve offered to take him along, as treasure guard. Though he breathes fire and bears the scars of battle, he has no appetite for precious metal. He could keep all—thief, brigand, or dishonest dwarf—from pilfering our expense wagon. The only cost to us would be his food.”