by Eric Ugland
I was about to yell at the prinkies, thinking of drop-kicking a few of them over the wall just to see if I could do it. But then I heard shouts from the walls not yet surrounding the tunnel, followed by something pounding on the double doors held by the large gatehouse.
We had a visitor. By the sound of it, a big one.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Running towards the gatehouse, I reached into the magic bag and pulled out a big sword. I hauled ass up the stairs so I could stand on top of the stone wall and look down on whomever was coming to Coggeshall. I struck a manly pose, sword in the ground, chin up, chest out, somewhat singed hair streaming out behind me in the wind—
“Who is that ungainly tosspot?” I heard a gruff voice call out from below.
I looked down to see a big group of dwarves. With big bushy beards and long hair and braids. They filled the area between the tunnel and the gatehouse, and beyond into the tunnel. There were men and women and babies, dudes in full armor and at least three dudes just wearing robes. There were wagons being pulled by girth-y lizard-looking things and someone herding sheep.
“Uh, this is my place,” I said.
“Looking for Coggeshall,” the gruff dude said. He had a full suit of armor on, including a heavy helmet. A large war pick rested at his side, and a shield covered his back. Despite wearing a ton of metal, he moved like it was nothing. “Is this Coggeshall or Tosspotopia?”
“Coggeshall.”
“Lovely. Can we come in?”
“I’m not sure the gate works, but you can go around I guess.” I pointed to where Conall sat, slathering mortar onto a stone, right next to the still sizable gap between the mountain side and the constructed wall.
Conall used one of his little arms to wave.
The head-dwarf smiled.
“Right safe place you have here.”
“A work in progress.”
With the slight shake of his head that told me he had nowhere else to go, he turned to face his people. “This way,” he said, walking towards the gap.
Everyone followed.
I walked back down the stairs and pushed through all the various followers who’d come running with weapons to defend the tunnel.
The dwarves walked and rolled into the open area, coming to a restless sort of stop while looking around at the holding. As it was, not a whole lot to look at. The gatehouse was incomplete, and inoperable. The stone walls surrounding the tunnel weren’t actually surrounding anything. There were dirt ramparts all the way around, but no gates or doors stopping anyone or anything from coming inside. There was one really slapdash and embarrassing longhouse and one nice one, as well as two unfinished frames for more. There was a barn, which was pretty cool, and then the smithy and sawmill were both operational, as was the waterwheel. In fact, it would be safe to say that our resource piles were the most impressive things about Coggeshall, in that both were quite overflowing. The perfect granite blocks were in huge squares, eight feet by eight. Lumber came out of the sawmill quickly, as we had an embarrassment of trees.
I walked over to the head dwarf and noticed him speaking softly to a woman at his side. He stopped talking as I closed on him, and turned to face me.
He had a big nose, and his auburn beard was remarkably thick. Braids ran down either side of it, and his eyebrows were almost to the point they could be braided as well.
“So you are the one in charge,” he said.
“I am. Montana Coggeshall. Duke of Coggeshall. Is there, um, how did you find us?”
The dwarf was about to answer when I heard a joyous cry behind me, and I was brusquely pushed out of the way so a dwarf woman, the one whose contract I’d purchased from Osterstadt, could leap into the head-dwarf’s arms.
“Uncle,” she cried out.
He caught her, and swung her around. Within moments, the rest of the dwarves swarmed her in a massive and joyous reunion. More and more of the stout folk came to say hello, and pushed me out of the way, further and further, until I was standing all by myself at the outside of the group.
“Wait,” I shouted, “what’s going on here?”
A bunch of eyes turned on me.
“Is he worth following?” The head dwarf asked the woman who’d come with me from Osterstadt.
“That he is, uncle Harmut,” the woman said, bowing her head deferentially.
“I would speak with you, then,” the head dwarf said.
“In private? I mean—”
“Yes.”
I looked around at the various buildings of the town. We really had nothing approaching formal. Or private. But then I remembered a new construction.
“This way,” I said, walking towards the treasury. At least there I could be assured of privacy.
We walked in quiet, with his people following at a discrete distance. As soon as we disappeared into the mountain, I could hear the reunion resume.
The dwarf beside me, Harmut, looked at the stonework with an experienced eye. He even nodded at the door.
I didn’t bother to close the vault door — that seemed a bit, well, aggressive. Instead, I turned around and leaned against one of the empty shelves.
“Let’s talk,” I said.
“Stone work done by magic, I see,” he said.
“It is. Is that what we’re talking about?”
“No,” he said, “but I find it interesting you chose to take me here. You think all dwarves like to be underground? In mountains?”
“It hadn’t even entered my mind, but now I’m curious. Do you?”
“Tell me first why you chose this room to meet.”
“Because it’s the only finished private-ish spot I’ve got, okay?”
His eyes went wide, then crinkled as a big smile spread across his broad face. His mustache jiggled with delight.
“This be your vault?”
“At the moment.”
“Bit empty.”
“You’re telling me. Is there something wrong with using magic to cut through the stone?”
“Wrong? It is not wrong. It is just, perhaps, not as good. Imperfect. Your mage has not understood, fully, the desires of the stone. If you cut like this,” he rested his hand on the wall, “you are forcing the rock to your whims. And the rock has grown the way it has grown for a reason. The person who made this has done little to account for the grain of this rock, nor paid much attention to which rocks have been cut through. The door is impressive. Whoever made that, I would like to meet.”
“She’s probably sleeping right now.”
“A dwarf working your stone, ’tis a good sign.”
“Uh, she’s human.”
“A human did this?” He said, raising his bushy eyebrows. “This is closer to dwarven work.”
“I take it you know how to work stone?”
“Aye, that I do. My whole clan does.”
“So you do like it underground.”
“Most dwarves tend to. Only been above ground for the last few hundred years.”
“Oh?”
“At least as far as I know.”
“Is there a dwarf kingdom somewhere?”
“Plenty.”
“But you’re part of the Empire?”
“That is currently a difficult question for me to answer.”
“I’m a little, uh, lost on dwarven culture, and history. Also the history of Vuldranni. So, you know, please forgive me if I offend you, because I just don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He smiled again. “You are an interesting sort. For a duke.”
“Well, don’t hold that whole duke part against me.”
“I will try not to.”
“Are you ready to talk about why you’re here, or do you need a little more small talk?”
He shook his head. “I have been thinking about how to have this conversation, and I have yet to figure it out.”
“I suppose I could just leave you here alone for a spell if that’d help.”
“No, not sure it would.”
He barked out a brash guffaw of laughter.
“Figure that might be easier.” He took a deep breath and looked down at the ground. “I am here,” he said slowly, almost testing each word before saying it. Then the rest came rushing out: “to ask if you would take my clan in as your own.”
I had a feeling the conversation would be something along these lines, but I had not expected begging to be involved. Or taking a whole clan into Coggeshall.
“Before you say no—”
“I didn’t say anything,” I interrupted. “How about we take this one step at a time and talk a few details here. How many people are we talking about? What do you mean take as my own? Adopt you all?”
A smile. “You are new to this.”
“I am. Learning on the job.”
“My clan is 254 dwarves strong at the moment. And we would be swearing ourselves to you, coming to live as your sworn followers.”
“Is a sworn follower different than just a follower?”
“Yes. How did you become a duke?”
“It’s a long story. How are they different?
“Sworn followers are your vassals. They gain more bonuses because of you, and you gain more bonuses because of them. Their children are your followers. Their family are your followers. They cannot leave you as easily, and you are beholden to keeping them safe.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It is funny for you to say that.”
“Why?”
“Most nobles look at their sworn followers as livestock. As resources to be used and abused. They seem to think that keeping followers safe is more of a guideline and not so much a rule.”
“Are you a noble?”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
“It is a long story.”
“Does it involve you betraying someone? Maybe doing something horrible to someone else?”
“It involves someone betraying me. Someone destroying my family and splitting the clan apart. My brother killed my father and allied our clan with our sworn enemies. I ran, taking those who were loyal to me, and we searched for a new home.”
“And you’d like this to be your home?”
“I would. We are desperate. We have been traveling for more than a year at this point, all the time running from my brother and his masters.”
“Uh, who are they?”
“The masters?”
“Yeah, they sound unpleasant.”
“They are evil, yes. They have taken my brother and his soul, and they have corrupted him beyond all redemption.”
“This is quite something to take on,” I said. “And I don’t want this to sound cruel, but if I let you come in here, doesn’t that mean I’m opening my dukedom up to attack from your brother and his masters?”
“Aye, and his followers. The rest of my clan.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great deal for me.”
“Looking around at what you have built here, I can assure you that we can help. I have many craftsmen with us, and several warriors. Not enough to take on my brother, but enough to provide some guards. Guards which you seem to be lacking at the present time.”
“If we’re lacking guards, why bother staying here?”
“Because of you. Because of what my niece has told me about you. You will protect us. I know it. And so, I beg of you—” he dropped to a knee, “do not turn us away.”
“I mean, you had me at tosspot, dude. And we do need some help here. But you’re putting me in a rough spot. We don’t have sleeping accommodations for you guys and—”
“Is that all?”
“No, but that’s a big one on my list.”
“We have tents we can sleep in, tents we have been staying in for quite some time. We are not adverse to staying in them. And if you give us leave, I assure you we will have any buildings you desire up by the end of the week.”
“I’ve already had to admit once that I have no idea about the weeks here, so if you’re happy staying in a tent until you can get something built, then you’re welcome here. I’ll do my damndest to keep you and yours safe and fed. We aren’t doing anything like taxes for now, and there’s no shops. Everything is just, you know, property of the dukedom until we can get a real town up and running.”
“But of course. And all of my people are ready to swear to you.”
“I don't know if that’s really necessary.”
“It is. We must be sworn followers of you if we are to be citizens of the Empire. And if we are citizens of the Empire, any attack on us—”
“Is an attack on the Empire. I get it. I do still have one question.”
“I will answer any question you have.”
“If you’ve been on the run all this time, how did your niece tell you about us?”
Harmut smiled, and pulled a leather-bound book from a pouch tied to his belt.
“A paired book,” he said, holding the book out to me.
“What’s a paired book?” I asked.
“You have not heard of these?” He asked as an answer.
“I haven’t.”
“They are books that are joined together. Anything which happens to one book happens to the other. If you write in one, it is written in the other.” He flipped the book open, and I could see the written conversation between Uncle and Niece. I didn’t bother to read it, but it was really interesting to think about the implications of that type of technology.
“Are these expensive?” I asked.
“Depends on how good a friend you are with an enchanter.”
“Are they common?”
“Enough.”
“We’ll talk about them later,” I said. “Let’s go make your people my people.”
He smiled at that, and we walked out of the treasury.
Chapter Twenty-Three
We held a little ceremony where all the dwarves knelt before me, and, as one, swore their allegiance to the dukedom of Coggeshall and the family of Coggeshall. I got a notification that my holding’s population had increased, but it wasn’t enough to push me over the 25% mark. Which worried me. Had 250 more people gotten me close to the 25% threshold, or was it barely a drop in the bucket? Just what else was out there?
The clan, already calling themselves the Coggeshall Valley clan, was quite full of craftspeople, artisans, and worker types. True to what Harmut said, there were very few capabilities with wielding weapons, but our security forces managed to more than double. Nathalie jumped in quickly to assess their skills and readiness.
Nearly half the dwarves joined up with Lanfrank, seeming pleasantly surprised to see the battenti leading the charge on building homes.
Harmut tasked 80 dwarves to work on the front gate and the surrounding walls. They swarmed over it, but looked happy to follow Conall’s lead.
By the time dinner came about, the walls around the tunnel were complete, and a tower was rising up. There were three longhouses to sleep in as well as the stone foundation of a Hall with some offices.
I was duly impressed.
But once again, I was mostly left alone at dinner time. And, to be fair, there was some reasoning behind that. The dwarves were trying to get to know each other. There was plenty of reunions happening, and also the clan intermingling. The two dwarves who I’d hired in Osterstadt came from different kingdoms outside the Empire, and now the other dwarf was thinking of reaching out to his extended family to see if there was the chance they’d come out and help establish this new dwarven outpost.
Of course, as soon as the humans heard that, the quiet talk of dwarves taking over Coggeshall, and what they could possibly do to stop it followed shortly after. Naturally, I wanted to swoop into the conversation and suggest a good way would be inviting people they loved and trusted to join us, but that seemed to be desperate. And
creepy.
Instead, only slightly creepy, I sat in the darkness and ate by myself. Well, not totally by myself. I was, as always, surrounded by a horde of prinkies. I was starting to dislike them. I told them to pick up all the pine needles within a mile.
And they were off, running to turn my foolish whims into reality.
I hadn’t seen my bullette buddy, but I hadn’t received any indications of his death, so he was probably fine.
Scooping the last bit of food into my mouth, I brought my bowl back to the kitchen area and then walked my over-muscled butt to a tree near the ramparts. I spread out my bedroll and got a little fire going. Then, I laid down, fed bits of wood into the fire, and watched the miniature fireworks show as sparks flew into the sky.
Somewhere along the way, I drifted into something approximating sleep, so I’m not sure how long it was before the drinking started, nor how long until I was woken up by Carolene.
She sat on a log pulled up to my fire, and poked me with her foot.
It took me a moment to figure out where I was and what was going on, but I managed to get to a seated position and look around. Over near the longhouses, there was a tremendous bonfire happening, the flames practically licking the stars. Music came from a small stage near the fire, and there was some sort of dancing going on.
“Huh,” I said, ever so eloquent. “Party?”
She nodded, a big smile on her face. She handed me a mug.
I looked into it, and saw a frothy liquid. A sniff told me it was likely mead.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You should have some. Celebration time.”
“I suppose I should,” I replied. “Why did your brother do it?”
It was an awkward segue, but I didn’t particularly want to drink any mead, and I figured this would be the best way to make sure she stopped paying attention to me for a minute. Ask her the really hard questions she’d been avoiding.
She looked back over her shoulder, I think searching for her brother in the crowd.
I took a moment to dump most of the mead out at the roots of the tree.
“It is a question I ask myself most mornings,” she finally said, giving up the search for her brother and turning her attention back to me.