“The wealth is my people’s,” the king replied crisply. “Which is why I was so vexed when my brother ran off with some of it.”
“Oh?” Amanda raised one eyebrow. She’d been quieter lately, almost nostalgic. It would have been rude to pry, but Gerald was curious. However, what the king was about to say sounded important, so Gerald took out some parchment.
“As you know, golems typically require a heart of some kind to function. The easiest method is to use a crystal capable of either generating its own magic or one that can contain and then gradually release magic as required. Such crystals can be found in this mine and many others throughout the Broken Mountains. They range in size from small specimens, fit only to provide light or warmth, to specimens bigger than a man that can be used to power golems of truly impressive size. Before he left for Diamondgate, my brother was able to infiltrate our storehouses and steal several cartloads of crystals. He might be a wayward prince, but he is still a prince. By the time word of his actions had reached me, he had already convinced the guards to let him past.”
“How did he move so many crystals?” Katie asked.
The king tugged lightly on his beard. “It sounds ridiculous, but he used some of the crystals to power golems to help him transport the rest of the crystals… so he could build more golems somewhere else.”
The train continued to advance, and Gerald gasped as they began to pick up speed. They passed one of the stations the king had mentioned, but the train pressed on. On the other side of the station was another set of tracks with a different kind of train, one piled high with ore.
“One of the difficulties of mining,” King Barin said. “Is providing proper ventilation. There are places where deadly vapours well up from the earth, and the air swiftly grows stale and turns poisonous. The city itself is more easily ventilated, but the mines, especially those further down, are much harder to properly air, not least because some of what we mine is highly volatile in its natural state. In such cases, the miners rely on masks to supply them with fresh air. Observe.”
The train slowed almost to a stop as they reached another station. Miners emerged from a nearby tunnel and shut the door behind them. They wore masks over their faces and carried strange devices on their backs with long tubes that connected to their masks. Despite the bulky equipment, they seemed to be in good cheer, and they were all smiling as they took off their masks and exchanged congratulations for a job well done.
“Compression,” Timmy murmured. “You use magic to compress the air, and then use some combination of artifice and magic – I’m guessing runes and seals – to regulate its flow to the miner.”
The king was visibly impressed. He smiled. “You seem familiar with the method.”
“I’ve encountered a similar technique used in diving although it’s fairly rare due to how troublesome prolonged contact with water can be to many runes and seals, not to mention that creating an air-tight seal over the face that is durable enough to withstand extended use underwater is far from easy.” Timmy chuckled. “I’m also a necromancer. Zombies don’t need to breathe, which makes them ideal for exploring underwater or delving into abandoned mines where poisonous gas is a problem.”
“A fair point.” King Barin waved at the miners before the train began to accelerate again. “You seem to be a man of varied experiences.” He turned his attention to Avraniel. “By the way, have you thought of studding out your labyrinth hound? I would be surprised if no one has made any offers yet. If they haven’t, then I certainly will.” The king grinned. “He is a fine lad, your hound. He’s still got some growing to do, but he’s already quite large. He’s got excellent bone structure too, and he seems intelligent and obedient. We could definitely use some fresh blood.”
Avraniel’s eyes narrowed ominously, and Gerald inched toward Katie as the temperature began to rise. Her shadows wouldn’t hold off a full attack, but they should keep them from becoming collateral damage. “What do you mean?”
The king continued, seemingly unbothered by the stifling heat that had fallen over the mining cart. “In the old days, we possessed many labyrinth hound kennels, but almost all of the hounds perished in the initial battles against the goblins. They fought well, but there were simply too many goblins. We still have some, but not in this city. Alas, their numbers are so few that inbreeding has become a serious risk. A new bloodline would be a great boon to us.” He nodded appreciatively at Chomp. “I am no expert, but his quality is obvious. He is well proportioned, large, healthy, and intelligent. You would, of course, be well compensated, not only with money but also with some of the pups. I can’t help but wonder where you got him.”
“I found him in a labyrinth,” Avraniel replied. “He was going to eat me, but I convinced him it would be a bad idea.” The heat faded, and she reached over to run her hand over Chomp’s back. “Stud, eh? I think he’d enjoy that and some puppies would be good.” She nodded firmly. “Once we’ve dealt with the goblins we’ll work something out.” She laughed and grinned at Spot. “Imagine that… little Chomps wandering around. Maybe they’ll call you Uncle Spot.”
Little Chomps… Chomp hatchlings… Uncle Spot? Spot trilled in happiness. I’ll be an uncle!
“Sort of.” Avraniel sniggered. “And don’t call them hatchlings, Spot. They’re puppies. Dogs don’t hatch from eggs.”
They don’t?
“I’ll explain when you’re older.”
Spot huffed when everybody laughed. Nobody wanted to explain the precise mechanics behind mammalian reproduction to Spot. Knowing Avraniel, she’d throw Spot at Timmy one day and get the necromancer to do it. Either that or she’d throw him at Gerald. He shuddered. He really, really hoped he didn’t need to have that conversation with Spot. He was a bureaucrat not… not a dragon sex educator.
The train stopped at the next station, and they all alighted. The king led them into a large cavern followed by several tunnels. A loud sound like blades being driven into rock filled the air, and Gerald fought the urge to cover his ears. The king was unperturbed, and he wasn’t bothered by the way the ground shook either.
“What is that?” Gerald had to shout to be heard.
“Another one of my brothers inventions.”
They finally saw the source of the noise and the shaking when they rounded the next corner. It was a gigantic drill that was being pushed forward by a handful of huge golems. It was able to bore through the rock with terrifying ease, crushing it and then spewing it into containers where it could be checked for anything useful. Gerald studied the massive device intently. At first glance, he’d thought it was for mining, and it could certainly be used for that. However, it was really a tunnel-digging device. With something like this, the tunnels he’d planned to ask the dwarves to dig out could be finished in a fraction of the time he’d expected. The king’s brother truly was a genius, which made his betrayal of the Council all the more galling. The things they could accomplish if they worked together…
“As you can see,” the king said. “My brother is truly a genius. With this device, we can dig tunnels in less than a quarter of the time it used to take us and with far less risk since it can be operated by golems that require only a handful of dwarves to supervise them.” The king gave a low rumble of anger. “It is a pity, then, that he so readily takes offence to anything dwarf related.”
“What do you mean?” Timmy asked. “And why do I get the feeling this is going to be annoying to deal with?”
“We dwarves have a reputation for being a tad touchy.” The king scowled, and Gerald winced. It was true. Dwarves were known for their great pride in both their race and their achievements. Insulting the work of a dwarf or the history of the dwarves were the surest ways to get a dwarf to draw steel – and good steel, at that. “But my brother has always been worse about it than most.”
“Oh?”
“When we were young, we once visited the elves. Words were exchanged – as they so often are with those pompous, tree-hugging fools – b
ut my brother went from throwing insults to pointing a modified repeating crossbow at the elves in the span of about thirty seconds.” King Barin covered his face with one hand. “There is a saying amongst us dwarves: never point a weapon at an elf if they have a bow within reach, not unless you can kill them before they use it. Before he could even aim his crossbow, my brother was pinned to a wall with arrows through his clothes. Do you know what set him off? One of the elves said dwarves weren’t as good at archery as elves.” The king snarled and punched the wall with enough force to crack it. “I’m as proud a dwarf as you’ll ever find, but I’m not an idiot. Everyone knows elves are the best at archery. It’s not an insult. It’s a fact.” He looked at Amanda. “When the Council objected to his increasingly expensive development costs, he argued they were simply biased against dwarves. He accused them of being out to stifle dwarfish innovation. It didn’t matter that the Council had already raised his budget to triple the original amount. All that mattered was that they wouldn’t let him build his golems without producing more concrete results that matched the criteria they had set for him. They wanted golems to help in the war, and self-replicating golems that disobeyed orders did not fit the bill.”
“I hardly think the Council has a problem with dwarfish innovation,” Amanda said. “Considering our long history with your people and our equally long history of adopting – and paying quite handsomely for – your more useful innovations.”
“Aye. Like any good brother, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite his previous outbursts. But when I learned of what he had done… he was given a most generous budget to work with, which the Council soon tripled, and he spent all of it in a little less than half of the allotted time. The Council was right to act. In these treacherous times, money is important, and no project can be allowed to consume unlimited quantities of it. Yet he perceived his censure – and the subsequent issue of an arrest warrant for theft of additional funds – as a slight against him and dwarves in general.” The king growled. “I fear that is what drove him to Diamondgate. It is – was – one of our most important cities. He likely believed that no help would come, so he decided to use his golems to wage his own war. He knows the layout of the city well. If he has somehow been able to get inside, he could start using the resources stockpiled within to begin production of his self-replicating golems. With enough time…”
“He might even have enough of them to threaten the goblins.” Timmy shook his head. “But that’s assuming he’s only dealing with goblins. If some of their backers – the eldritch entities – are there, he is essentially a dead man walking. Golems are tough, but eldritch entities don’t play by the rules. Unless you’ve had some experience with them, it’s easy to be overwhelmed before you even realise what’s happening.”
“Aye, you have the right of it.” The king sighed wearily. “I know he is a troublesome dwarf. You would be well within your rights to forsake him, given what he has done, but he is my brother. I must ask you to save him if you can. If you do, I will make him swear an oath upon his honour and the honour of all dwarves past, present, and future to make reparations for his actions. He may not like making such an oath, but he will keep it.”
The tour continued, and Gerald felt some of his unease slipping away. The views were spectacular, and Spot had to be pulled away more than once when a train full of ore rumbled past. There was also so much to learn. He doubted he’d ever work in a mine – it was far too dangerous for his liking – but learning how they did everything was fascinating. The mines were truly a place of wonder. Here and there, gemstones glittered amidst the dirt and rock. Elsewhere, rich veins of metal ran through the earth, gleaming every now and then as hard-working miners cut away the rock that hid them. And everywhere, the steady rhythm of tools filled the air as hundreds of dwarves laboured to prise free the riches of the mountain.
As the tour came to an end, Gerald tensed as Timmy and the king exchanged a few whispered words. It wouldn’t be long before they were ready to move. Hopefully, it would be like the tour had been – interesting but not life threatening. Of course, with Timmy in charge, it was most likely to be both. Gerald could only pray to the gods of bureaucracy that he’d be allowed to stay all the way at the back where it was safe while the zombies did all the work. Then again, knowing his luck, the goblins would ambush the rear of their army. Perhaps the middle would be best then. No matter which direction the goblins attacked from, they’d have to get through quite a few people to get to him. His eye twitched. But what if the goblins had tunnels they could attack from? The middle of the army might end up right on top of one. He shivered. He’d just have to stay close to Katie or Old Man. They should be able to handle things. He’d also have to make sure he had some of the ninja rats with him. They’d helped to keep him alive so far, so they should be able to get him through at least one more battle.
Katie must have noticed his alarm because she patted him on the back. “Relax, Gerald. It’ll be fine. My master has a plan.”
“I hope so.” Gerald summoned a paper bag to breathe into as another half a dozen horrible scenarios filled his mind. “Because if the goblins managed to take Diamondgate so quickly, they must have something up their sleeve.”
“Trust me.” Katie grinned. “It’s going to be great. They won’t know what hit them. Well, they will, it just won’t matter much if they do.”
Chapter Ten
Timmy had always believed in the importance of experience. There were lessons that could only be learned through experience and not through the comfort and safety of a classroom. His master might have been a drunken, evil fool, but he had been right about that much even if it pained Timmy to admit it. Indeed, without the seemingly endless litany of horrible experiences he’d been subjected to, it was doubtful Timmy would have developed the incredibly wide skillset he currently had. Necessity, as people so often said, was the mother of invention. Leaving his highly inebriated master to be eaten by a zombie python-goat hadn’t been quite as fulfilling as killing the man himself, but it had come close. Plus, it had been hilarious. Of course, he’d done the smart thing afterward and burned the zombie – with his dead master still in it – before dissolving the ashes in powerful acid and then scattering the resulting liquid into the ocean. There was absolutely no way that anyone could ever bring his master back.
Katie, his capable and adorable apprentice, was an expert scholar with an aptitude for research and development. She was also not someone who left anything to chance if she could avoid it. This was reflected in her tactics and strategies. Unlike most people her age, she had a tendency to over plan, and although seeing a truly complex plan come to fruition could be incredibly satisfying, such plans could also be very risky. The more moving parts a plan had, the easier it was for one of those parts to malfunction. And if one part malfunctioned, then the entire plan could go awry. There were no guarantees in life, least of all in a necromancer’s life, but he planned on living long enough to enjoy what would surely be a hard-earned retirement.
Moreover, he planned on Katie also living long enough to enjoy her eventual hard-earned retirement, which meant he needed to correct any flaws or bad habits she had before they could become entrenched and get her into trouble. Bad habits were hard to break once they’d formed, a fact he’d used against many of his opponents. Once someone knew your habits there was a chance they could beat you, especially if those habits weren’t good.
“The key to any good plan,” Timmy explained as he and Katie rode alongside the king and his forces on a pair of zombie horses. “Is avoiding unnecessary complexity.”
The king nodded. “A fine sentiment, but you really need to explain your plan. I understand your desire for some… theatricality, but we are getting close to Diamondgate.”
“Fair enough.” Timmy gazed through the eyes of some of the zombies he had scouting the area ahead. They should be close enough for him to reveal his plan. “We’re a couple of hours from the city at our current pace, right?”
“Yes.” The king rode on battle-hardened mountain goat, as did some of his other forces. The majority, however, were on foot. Dwarves could not march at the same speed as humans or elves, but they could march while carrying far heavier loads and negotiating far tougher terrain. “We should be running into the first of their scouts soon. The goblins might not be as studious as we are about keeping scouts in place, but they’re not completely stupid. By the time we get there, they’ll be safely hidden inside the mountain. We’ll have to breach the city ourselves and take it corridor by damn corridor.” He nodded at the army of zombies marching alongside them. “Your zombies will definitely come in handy there.”
“We could do that,” Timmy said. He poked Katie in the side. Her eyes were unfocused, so she had probably been observing the area through the eyes of one of their zombies. It was good that she was paying attention to her surroundings, but she needed to hear what he was about to say. She knew the essentials of the plan, but he wanted to explain it in detail to both her and king at the same time. And the king was right. He did enjoy a bit of theatricality every now and then even if he was forever lecturing Katie to avoid it. “Tell me, King Barin, what is the greatest weakness of Diamondgate?”
“Hmm…” The king drummed his gauntleted fingers on his armoured leg. “Other than taking the city through surprise or treachery – which may well be how the goblins triumphed – I believed a siege would be the only way to break it. The mountain provides the city with walls that no bombardment can pierce, and the magical defences woven into the rock prevent earth magic from being used to tear the mountain open. Unlike Cavernholme, only a single bridge leads into Diamondgate, and its gates, though gaudy, are proof against anything short of the fire of an adult inferno dragon. Its interior is designed to allow its defenders to retreat in stages, slaying as many of their attackers as possible. The halls and corridors are likewise constructed with defence in mind, so you would need truly overwhelming numbers to win such a battle. However, the city has always struggled to grow its own food. The soil they have simply isn’t good despite our best efforts. If you were to cut the city off from the outside world, it would eventually be forced to surrender.”
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