by Alon Shalev
After swallowing his bite, the general invited the ranger to join them. “The pheasant is particularly good,” he remarked.
After the ranger had filled his plate, Tarlach leaned forward. “I want you to replace the young ranger. Take him out of the tracking group.” He purposely stopped to gauge the ranger’s reaction and was impressed when the man’s tanned face remained impassive.
“I have a special task for the boy. I want him to reveal himself and join the group as a spy. He can tell them that he’s running away from life as a ranger.”
“Why would he be heading north?” Bortand asked, his mouth full. “Excuse me,” he said as he swallowed. “We need a reason for him to be going in that direction.”
Tarlach pondered this.
“How about because he’s heading to a village beyond the mountains where our people live?” the ranger suggested. “He doesn’t need to reveal a name. We closely guard where our people live, as you know. It’ll be an expected response. And I think it makes more sense if he says he is running from the Emperor’s service.”
Tarlach eyed the ranger carefully. Was there a basis for that statement? He wouldn’t be able to pry anything from the experienced ranger, either way. This mission had suddenly become more interesting. The general smiled slowly.
“I have another idea,” he said. “I know how to make it look genuine.”
TEN
“So,” Seanchai said when his coughing fit was under control. “How do you smoke this thing?”
He held the pipe at arm’s length like something that might bite at the slightest provocation. The others were gathered around the campfire and trying to stop laughing, except for Ophera, who tended Ballendir’s sister.
“The first thing yeh need to do,” Ballendir explained, “is to treat it nice, like a good companion. Yeh just attacked it like it was a wolfheid. Light it slowly; breathe small, sharp breaths; and then take a smooth draw once there’s an even burn. This weed is supposed to help yeh relax, not choke yeh.”
Another round of laughter followed, and Seanchai realized that, surrounded by his friends, he felt more at ease than he had since, well – since he could remember. Ballendir seemed quite a character. He wondered if all dwarves were like him, as he puffed apprehensively.
“You don’t have to smoke that,” Ilana said. “It’s just a male thing, and I’m sure it can’t be good for you.”
“Not so, lass,” Ballendir protested. “Female dwarves smoke and share equally in every other part of our lives. Mah clan’s leader’s a female,” he said as he turned to Seanchai, “and don’t ever underestimate a dwarfe in battle.”
Ballendir inhaled at length. “And we no longer use plants that are addictive and eat yeh body from the inside. Horrible memories I have of mah dear grandparents’ generation and the hellsbane they smoked. But our herbalists found weeds that can be smoked without evil effects and even have medicinal properties. This one helps yeh relax and is usually smoked in the evenings, or by very angry dwarves.”
He laughed at his own joke, though the others just smiled and Ophera, who had now joined them, rolled her eyes.
“Tell me about your herbalists?” Seanchai requested after a moment.
“We used to get help from the elves when we ventured above ground more often, but once we buried ourselves in the caves, we needed to become self-sufficient. We only went above ground to hunt and forage, and maintain our natural eyesight. Now we mainly use plants that grow underground or in little light. Thankfully, the rich mineral deposits in the rocks enrich the properties of these herbs.”
“Do you use a lot of mushrooms?”
“Aye, we do,” Ballendir answered. “Do yeh have an interest in herbs?”
Seanchai began to tell about his mother, but Ilana interjected and smoothly changed the subject so Seanchai wouldn’t have to think about the family he had left behind. Seanchai smiled at her gratefully and Ballendir, oblivious to what had happened, obliged her request to tell them why the dwarves had gone underground.
“Aye, I was just about to get to that,” Ballendir said, putting his pipe down and resting his hands on his belly.
The old dwarfe snipped at Ballendir in Dwarfish.
“Ophera wants yeh to know that mah opinion on what I’m about to tell yeh isn’t our general clan view, or that of most of the dwarf nation.” He nodded to the old dwarfe with exaggerated respect.
“How so?” Ilana asked.
“Well, I think it’s wrong we isolated ourselves. I think it was a mistake to go underground and ignore the plight of those above ground. The First Decree was the first mistake.”
Ophera inhaled noisily and continued to stare into the fire.
“Start from the beginning,” Rhoddan requested. “Tell us how it happened.”
Ballendir took a deep breath and a sip of ale. He furrowed his brow as he began. “Yeh all know of the Great Alliance, do yeh not?”
“I don’t,” Maugwen spoke for the first time. “A what?”
Ballendir smiled at her. “An alliance is when an agreement is struck between individuals or groups. The Great Alliance was among all the races and allowed for many generations of peace and prosperity.
“We dwarves lived mainly in the mountains, but some moved to the city to conduct business and stayed because they enjoyed the culture and the way of life. There were also dwarves on the High Council and they, of course, required other dwarves in their court.”
“Dwarves were leaders, not humans?” Maugwen asked, surprised.
“The leadership rotated among the races,” Seanchai answered. “It went from man to elf to dwarf and then back again.”
“Elves too?” Maugwen said without thinking. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not you,” Shayth said, snapping a twig. “We were brought up to think that we’re the superior race.”
Ballendir nodded. “The High Council sent out expeditions beyond our boundaries. The dwarves represented a small part of these expeditions, because we found plenty of bounty in the bowels of Odessiya. It was men who desired to discover new races and new lands. And it was their downfall.
“The expeditions discovered wealth in the lands beyond and built their industry on the backs of slaves. Often these slaves were dwarves for we’re the finest miners They say over thirty thousand dwarves were taken to these other lands and put to work.
“When it was discovered, a terrible war ensued. But the humans had done more in secret than just gather wealth. They either conscripted or bribed pictorians and wild men to join them, so when civil war erupted, they invaded with massive armies.”
He paused to gulp his ale, a pained expression on his face. Ophera stared vacantly into the fire.
“Yeh must remember that ten thousand years of peace and prosperity had passed. We had become lax in training our people to fight and while the gems in the axe handles were shiny, their blades were dull.
“Many dwarves answered the call to war to fight for those enslaved in the faraway lands. We marched to join the battles on the Great Plains, to honor the accords of the Alliance.”
Ballendir took another swig from his cup before continuing harshly. “And our people were massacred. We aren’t bred for fighting on open plains, and we learned a devastating lesson. Our leaders took us deep underground and there we reclaimed the dwarf way of battle and protecting ourselves.
“Yeh want to reforge the Alliance?” He stared at Seanchai. “Yeh better have a powerful argument if yeh hope to persuade the dwarf nation to come above-ground again.”
ELEVEN
Ahad skulked through the streets of the capital, his cloak wrapped around him and his hood over his head. Even the son of the great General Tarlach should not be on the streets this late at night.
He kept to the sidewalks, darting through the dim range of the flame-flickering street lamps. It was chilly, and the promise of winter had all sensible folk indoors. He was glad he was not going to school tomorrow.
His class would be on
a field trip to Carparian Lake to study its rich and diverse plant and animal life, but he had been denied permission to join them. His mother refused to tell him why he could not go, and he had begun to suspect that she might not know herself.
What he did know is that for at least the last week, someone was following him. Being the son of an important general, his first thought was that maybe someone might try to kidnap him, to extort money or secrets from his father. But when he had gone to army security, the officer he spoke with had condescendingly told him that he was paranoid.
He had left angry and embarrassed. At fifteen, he was badly equipped to deal with such people. If his father was around, he would have them snapping to attention, but his father rarely came back to the capital these days.
Ahad would have liked to spend more time elsewhere in Galbrieth, where the mountains and caves offered fascinating specimens of plants and interesting animal species. But there was no school in the region for one of his class, and he was an excellent student. For his own future, Ahad and his mother stayed in the capital.
His friends at school had heard whispers of something afoot in Galbrieth. His father had lost a great battle but was now chasing the enemy and cutting them down.
But tonight, Ahad walked the dark streets because he had received a cryptic message from one of his father’s closest friends. It was only seven words: Turnsen Square. Midday. The butcher’s leanest cut.
When Ahad was eleven years old, his father had told him a secret he was never to share with anyone. His father was part of a secret society of officers who would always look out for each other and their families.
The message was a code. “The leanest cut” meant he was being called for something urgent. The butcher on Turnsen Square was actually a tavern near Market Square, and “midday” meant one hour past midnight.
Several times a year, his father would walk him there, often during the night, to keep his memory fresh. Otherwise, they never spoke about it unless his father was going away. Then he would extol his son to study hard and take care of his mother, gather him in his arms and hug him. Pulling him close, his father would always whisper, “Remember: the leanest cut.”
Ahad hadn’t given this exercise much thought in quite awhile. At first, being trusted with such secret information made him feel terribly important, but as the years passed, he began to think of it as one of his father’s eccentricities. He loved and admired his father, a great hero of Odessiya, but Ahad was a scholar, and his path would not lead to the battlefield.
Ahad stopped at a corner and doubled over, pretending to cough uncontrollably while glancing behind him. Whoever was tracking him expected him to be sound asleep in his bed, but they may have seen him leave. Once sure he was alone, he ducked into the tavern and walked to the designated table in the far corner.
A uniformed man sat there with his cap pulled low over his face. Ahad’s heart sped up as he approached the man, swallowed, and bent over the table.
“What do you recommend from the menu tonight?” he asked.
“The beef,” the man murmured. “It has the leanest cut.”
Had anything else been suggested, Ahad would have fled. He sighed in relief as he sat down. This was exciting and terrifying, all at once. A serving woman approached, and the man immediately ordered ale for his friend. He clearly had no intention of letting Ahad speak to anyone else. After the ale arrived, the man leaned forward.
“I come bearing a message from your father,” he said, his voice low.
“How is he?” Ahad asked politely.
The man frowned. “This isn’t a social call,” he hissed. “Just listen and ask questions that are relevant.”
Ahad was thankful it was dark and the man could not see his cheeks flush from the rebuke. Not trusting himself to say anything more, he just nodded.
“What I’m about to tell you is for your ears alone. Understand?”
Ahad nodded again.
“Just you, understand?”
“I understand,” Ahad snapped.
“Things don’t fare well for your father. He instructs you to prepare a small bag with garments you can layer for different weather, your traveling cloak, and a few supplies that can withstand time and the elements. Wear your good boots. Only bring necessities, for you might have to carry them a long way. Do you understand?”
Ahad again nodded and the man continued. “Keep the bag hidden. Let no one know about it, ever. Keep yourself in shape. You are a student and your father is proud of you, but do not neglect your body. You may be called to travel a great distance.
“A man may come and invite you on a trip.” The man leaned even further forward. “He must tell you that the trip is to see the Alagorian storks migrate.”
“The Alagorian storks are extinct,” Ahad replied, his academic mind taking over.
“I’m not interested in your studies, boy,” the man glanced around the nearly empty, smoky room. “Ask him in what direction the storks fly. He should answer south.”
“A safety mechanism?”
“Yes,” the man answered. “Good. If any of us are compromised, we will give a different direction.”
“So if I’m told a different direction?” Ahad felt a chill inside.
“Go with him, but know you must escape when an opportunity arises. Best wait until you are out of the city and preferably have a horse. Wait for the night. Offer to share the guard duty, and then flee.”
“Where to?”
“At that point, it probably won’t matter.”
Ahad lifted his tankard and took a great gulp. The soldier continued.
“Your father thinks that if someone wanted to get to you, they would suggest you join them on a field trip, but beware of any type of ruse. You train with the army, no?”
“All students are required to–”
“Then it could be a cadet exercise or something related. That is why we’re being so specific. Now repeat everything back to me.”
Satisfied that Ahad understood, the man began to rise. Ahad put his hand out.
“I have a question,” the boy said, struggling to settle his voice.
The man sat back down and sighed impatiently. “What?”
“You said one bag and not to tell anyone. What about my mother?”
“You are correct,” the man said. “One bag.”
TWELVE
Ballendir and Seanchai sat in companionable silence as the embers began to smolder. They had moved out of the light of the campfire to guard and talk without disturbing Rhoddan’s thundering snores. Ballendir perched on a rock, meaty legs dangling, smoking his pipe. His eyes darted to trace any sound of nocturnal life in the forest.
Seanchai had just finished guard duty and was resting against a tree trunk. They had been traveling with the dwarves for two days, and Seanchai enjoyed Ballendir’s company. He had peppered the dwarf with questions and found Ballendir very willing to share the history and customs of his people.
But tonight, Seanchai felt uneasy, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. He thought perhaps it was because they were about to enter the Bordan mountain range, where he would have to address the dwarf clan that he now believed lived there.
“Why don’t yeh sleep, lad?” Ballendir asked. “What troubles yeh?”
“I’m nervous about meeting your people,” Seanchai replied. “I’ve never served in an ambassadorial role before. I’m not sure that I understand the politics of any race.”
Ballendir nodded through his pipe smoke. “Aye. And dwarves know how to play politics. Yeh’ll find it very challenging.”
“I’m glad that I have you with me, my friend.”
The dwarf laughed. “I’m not sure how much of an asset I am.”
“Why not?”
“I told yeh. In mah clan, I’m seen as a bit of a . . .” he scratched his beard, “a bit of a free thinker.”
“A free thinker?”
“Well, more likely, a troublemaker.” They both laughed.
“You still haven’t told me why you are out here,” Seanchai hedged.
“Aye, that is correct.”
“In fact, you haven’t told me much about what to expect when we enter the mountains, either.”
“That is also correct. Never think that just because the forest is quiet that yeh are alone. The trees have ears and excellent hearing.”
They both stared at each other, realizing the forest had gone terribly quiet. Seanchai’s unease grew, and he loosened the straps that secured his swords in their sheaths. He thought he was being paranoid until he saw Ballendir’s face.
“Wake the others, laddie,” the dwarf whispered, slipping down from the rock and hiding his pipe underneath it. He crouched behind the rock, axe in hand.
The faint sound of running footsteps quickened Seanchai’s silent gait. He first woke Shayth, then Rhoddan. He kicked earth over the fire as he passed it. Just as he grasped Ilana’s shoulder to jostle her awake, he heard the cries of a chase. The pursuit was getting closer, and Seanchai positioned himself near Ballendir between his friends and the forest.
Shouts and snapping branches got louder. A human ran into their camp, passing Seanchai and Ballendir in his haste. He stopped, panting heavily and almost toppling over from his forward momentum. He glanced around at the wagon and those who were quickly rising from their blankets.
“What the . . . chasing me,” he gasped. “They’re–”
He didn’t get any further. Two huge pictorians charged into the clearing. They, too, stopped in surprise. One roared with pain as Sellia shot him in the forehead. As he staggered backwards, Seanchai slit his neck from behind with both swords.
Ballendir cried out and charged the second, who turned at the sound. Seanchai thought the giant actually failed to see the dwarf, who was a good three feet shorter than him. Ballendir brought him to one knee with an axe behind the kneecap.
Wounded, the pictorian was still quick enough to block a second blow. Sellia quickly put an arrow through his throat, and as he collapsed, Ballendir turned to her.