High Iron Page 14

  “I would think,” Maghran said, “that those dunters will not be inclined to treat our cousins well. If they ever were so inclined. After what has happened to their rails, and this transaction the elves made with them.”

  “It will leave a sour taste indeed in their mouths,” Herrar said. “But I believe our kin will still be worth enough to them that they will not be harmed.”

  “Perhaps, although the dunters will now be wary of trades,” Maghran said. “Herrar, how did they manage to capture you—four dwarves? This has never happened.”

  “Wizardry,” Herrar answered. “They had assistance. It has never happened before because Red Gorge has never allied with Caranniam before. There was a mage with the dunters. We were walking, and then it was as if we had become submerged in the earth. We could not move our legs, and they took us.”

  “And transported you?”

  “It was a large group of dunters. And this mage of theirs kept us down.”

  “Where did they take you? Into Caranniam?”

  “No, only Red Gorge.”

  Maghran scowled as if he had eaten something foul.

  “Held by dunters,” he said.

  “We were treated well enough. They knew our value, and so did Caranniam.”

  “Where exactly was it?”

  “In the manor of a warlord there. In their city.”

  “You could find it again?”

  “I can, yes.”

  “And all the others are still there?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Aladar,” Maghran now asked the elf, “why did you not take her back to White Mount directly? Why did you hold her?”

  “Again, sir, we were not willing to make that journey across the territory of Red Gorge.”

  “ ‘ Territory,’ ” Maghran snorted. “They barely control anything more than a morning’s walk from Red Gorge City. You could have skirted east of it unmolested.”

  “But neither does anyone else control that area,” the elf said. “And remember, we cannot be sure of what sort of reception we would get in White Mount, or near White Mount.”

  “Even with their leader with you?” Maghran demanded.

  “Even with Herrar,” Aladar answered. “We are no more eager to show ourselves there than you would be to march into Meerglade. But this decision is past, and here we are now. We ransomed her, and we have kept her safe with us, and now you may escort her where you will.”

  And the elves began to slip back into the woods, while Herrar stood with us.

  “Wait,” Maghran said. “We want to turn this into a trade.”

  “A trade for what? We give her freely to you. There is no obligation to us. We ask no favor.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps we are asking a favor of you,” the dwarf answered. “You know this man.” He nodded to the baron.

  “We do. Baron Laurent. Late of poor luck.”

  “Yes. We do not need him, and he slows us down. But we would like him kept by—” I think he was about to say “kept by friends,” but he caught himself:

  “We would like him kept away from his people for some more days. We do not want him informing the army of Caranniam of anything he might have learned.”

  “The army of Caranniam?” Aladar asked. “They are long gone. You saw. Nothing will turn them around now.”

  “Well, that is what we hope,” Maghran said. “But we favor caution. Would you take this man?”

  A few of the elves tilted their heads just slightly, at this. They were silent. One would get the impression that they were communicating with each other, somehow, as they did this, but I don’t believe they were capable of doing so. After a moment, Aladar answered:

  “We will take this man with us.” He now inspected the baron more closely.

  “My friends Maghran, and Master Shearer,” he said, “it does not seem that you have been feeding this man particularly well.”

  “You might borrow the pole from the kobolds to haul him with, if he is too weak to walk,” Maghran answered.

  “Perhaps his horse would be better suited,” Aladar said.

  “Ah yes, that animal. I had forgotten. But we will want to keep it, for our comrade Shearer, here.”

  I don’t think he would have honored me as a “comrade” if the horse were not involved.

  “Very well, keep the baron’s mount,” the elf said. He stepped up to the baron and took him by the elbow. The baron had been standing, through all this, but had been slumped, and was haggard after his days with us. But now, as the elf touched him, he rallied somewhat. He straightened, and seemed to gain some strength. Perhaps he just considered the elves better company than we had been; fair enough.

  “We will hold this man until this current war is over,” Aladar said. And then he spoke directly to the baron:

  “You understand that you have some incentive to end this war, then, Baron Laurent.”

  The baron nodded.

  “One more thing,” Maghran said. “We will want his clothes, again.”

  “Again?” Aladar asked.

  “It turns out that they fit our Shearer quite well. As you would expect for a high-born man,” Maghran said. Then he turned to me:

  “You must take these, Master Shearer. And then you must help us.”

  “Maghran, Emmervale is under siege.”

  “Yes, but three of our brothers are held captive by these beasts. Does Emmervale have any captives held by that dunter army?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “I assumed not, or you would have mentioned it,” he said. “Imagine what those three must be enduring. Imagine what their families are enduring.”

  “We need to get home.”

  “Red Gorge will not add that much time,” he said.

  “It’s considerably north and west of here, Maghran. What do you need us for, anyway? Three more added to your four will not be enough to storm Red Gorge. And if you are trying to rescue those others through stealth, we won’t help that cause either.”

  “You well might,” he said. “I believe it will be useful to have a noble of Caranniam with us.”

  “In order to do what?” I asked him.

  “Perhaps exert influence in Red Gorge.”

  “Not again,” I said. “You want me to march into Red Gorge, into the hall of a warlord, and try to pass myself off as this man?”

  “Yes. In order to help us rescue my kinsmen from White Mount. I would be indebted to you, Shearer. All the dwarves of Stenhall and White Mount would be.”

  “That would be quite a debt to call upon,” Hrond said.

  But I declined:

  “I will not do that again, Maghran. Risking it out in the open, when I was on horseback, was one thing. I will not enter a manor in that dunter hive and try to fool them.”

  “You could still go in there on horse.”

  “But it would be much more difficult to flee out of the heart of that city than it was to run, if I’d needed to, from the far edge of the dunter camp.”

  “You wouldn’t need to flee. Who would recognize you? I am sure all the able-bodied men from Caranniam who might have been stationed in Red Gorge will be marching on Varenlend, now that their attack is under way.”

  “Yes, well. One unable-bodied man from Caranniam could still cause a lot of trouble for me.” I shook my head. “I will accompany you to the city, Maghran. But we will find a wiser plan than that.”

  Maghran stood silent, at this. I think a man might have shaken his head, were he as disappointed as Maghran probably was, but the dwarf was merely still.

  After a moment he said:

  “Can I prevail upon you to at least take the clothes? Just in the event they are useful. If nothing else you can probably fetch a price for that fine cloth, back in Emmervale.”

  I knew him well enough to understand this was a joke.

  “Very well,” I answered him.

  “And you will accompany us to Red Gorge, to free our cousins there?” He was asking this of Jed and Britta.<
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  “We will,” Britta answered. Jed nodded, once.

  “Maghran,” Herrar interjected. “Are you certain we need assistance? Begging your pardon.”

  Her last sentence was addressed to us; it seemed a reluctant courtesy. Herrar, a powerful dwarf, had paid us little attention in the preceding talk.

  “They are skillful, and helpful,” Maghran answered her.

  “But Maghran,” I said. “After these other three of your people are free, we must return. I will want to return with a larger force, from your cities and from our town.”

  “If we free these three of ours—and I will not leave without them—I’ll help you myself, Master Shearer. I am not sure about my people.”

  “I would hope you could talk them into it. Starting with your brother.”

  “If I start with him and succeed, that would also be the end of the debate, and we would march with you. I will try to have that conversation with him, after we have succeeded,” he said. I thought that was as close as I would get to an agreement, at the moment.

  Jed and Britta readily agreed to continue with me and the dwarves to Red Gorge.

  “You’re not obligated,” I said. “They would understand if you returned to Emmervale. It’s me they expect to perform heroic deeds and the rest of it.”

  “I want to go,” Britta said. “I want to see Red Gorge. What do you think it’s like? I picture it as a slaughter yard, a run of mud; but they have industry. I want to see it. And of course they sent their army to attack us; this may be as good a chance as we will get to pay them back somewhat.

  “And you know,” she continued, “it’s probably very fortunate for us that the dwarves are now taking a real interest in Red Gorge. Not just in dabbling in their blasting on the rail line, but traveling all the way to the dunter home. It may well inspire them to do some blasting there, too.”

  “I’m glad to keep going, as well,” Jed said. “But our people will be very worried about us. My family, and Anders and your mother. And of course your parents too, Britta. I wish we could send word to them.”

  “We could have done so when Ghranam and that other dwarf departed, had we known,” I said. “We’ll just have to be content that they are not receiving any bad news about us, at least. For the time being.” I shook my head. “I am not looking forward to skulking about in Red Gorge. It’s unfortunate in the extreme that those dwarves are there. I’d be much more interested in a quick trip back home than an epic rescue.”

  “We can hope it is epic and also brief,” Britta said.

  “I wonder what’s going on in Emmervale right now,” Jed said.

  “So do I,” I said. “I’m sure Thona is doing well keeping things in line. In any event the three of us would not tip any scale, whatever’s going on, if we were there.”

  “Let’s hope there is no scale to tip,” Britta said. “It’s entirely possible the dunter army is bickering and paralyzed, now.”

  “Or perhaps marching back to Red Gorge as we speak,” Jed said. “Perhaps we’ll meet them.”

  So again we extended our mission. The elves had loaded Herrar with ample packs of food, fortunately, for her to make the journey back with the other dwarves. Even divided among three more of us, we would not need to worry about hunger for a number of days.

  I was also relieved that at this time of year, back home, the sheep were not too demanding. They had lambed several months earlier, in the spring, and that was of course also when we had sheared them. But we did need to cut and dry hay for the winter, and that would fall mostly to my two sisters. My mother and father mostly handled our vineyard, and were busy there, so they would have little time to help. We were able to hire shepherds, and some other help around the farm, but none of us was ever free from hard labor. In addition to putting away hay for the winter, and also wheat and other grains we could obtain, there would be predators to worry about; ansarks had come down into the valley over the winter and were picking off sheep. They had also taken one of the mastiffs which we had out with the flocks. Getting rid of the ansarks was going to have been a project for a number of our families together, with many muskets and crossbows, but we had to put it off because of the invasion from Red Gorge.

  We rested the remainder of that day, and the next morning left the modest cover of the trees for the journey to Red Gorge. Herrar, who had been away from her home by far the longest of any of us, was the first prepared to begin the walk. She stood gazing north as we finished breakfast; perhaps patiently, perhaps impatiently—it was difficult to tell.

  Herrar and Maghran walked at the front of our line, followed by the other two dwarves and then Jed, Britta, and me. I led the horse, which we had loaded with our food.

  “I will ride you again, my friend, so don’t get too used to these light bags,” I told it.

  The land was largely level, with gentle slopes here and there, and covered with tall grass. Trees grew occasionally, usually beside one of the small streams that ran through.

  Any signs of the dwellers who had populated this land long ago, before the emptying, were gone; either rotted to dust, swept away by wind, or burned in the fire years. We walked into the early afternoon without seeing sign of men, dunters, or anything else, living or dead.

  But six hours into the journey we did see a ruined fortress half a mile to our west. It was a few towers mostly intact, surrounded by mounds which were tumbled-down walls.

  “I wonder how long it has been since a spider keeping watch in those towers had anyone to observe,” Jed said. No one answered him.

  During the walk I half expected to see smoke and soot smearing the sky, from the far-off dunter town, but of course we were too many miles away for that.

  We stopped before sunset. Once again we found a stand of trees near water. This time it was a small pool fed by a spring. I led the horse to it and we all dropped packs.

  “Do you think we can risk a fire?” I asked.

  “I believe so,” Maghran answered. “We are far enough from Red Gorge, still, and far from the dunter expedition. And I’m sure the Caranniam van is long gone by now. And finally, as much as I grow fatigued with the elves, I think we are close enough to their territory that it is probably safe around here.”

  The dwarves started the fire and we sat near it and warmed our elven food. Darkness fell and we let the fire burn down to embers.

  During our walk we had all talked easily, for much of the day, but it was mostly me speaking with Jed and Britta while the dwarves conversed among themselves. Here, around the same fire, all were quiet. I began to consider it awkward.

  “Maghran,” I said. “Do you have any stories for a fire?”

  He was silent and motionless for a moment, but then rumbled:

  “Well. It is yet early, you are right. So then. I suppose I can share this with you. I have a tale about our work, our digging. All of us hear this story as soon as we are old enough to listen. Perhaps your fathers and mothers picked it up while they lived with us, years ago. The story of Twill.”

  “In all those years I don’t believe we spent much time listening to dwarf tales, Maghran.”

  “I suppose not. So, then. Back in our city, whenever we are below the ground—”

  “You are nearly always below, my friend.”

  “I mean in our ore tunnels. When we are below our halls, in our work tunnels, down there with our picks and shovels and blasters, many of us will leave a coin or two in a crack in the wall. We do this to appease the cobbers, you know.”

  “Cobbers?”

  “The knockers, the strikers. Tunnel imps down below who share the caverns with us.”

  “Spirits?” I asked.

  “Come,” Maghran scoffed. “Flesh and blood like yourselves. Knockers—keep your eyes open for them, up the hills beyond your pastures, and you’ll see them. Tiny chaps, half the size of kobolds, if that. For us, underground, they sometimes knock near veins of ore, or jewels, to guide us. We seldom see them, but we hear them.”

  “Why
do they help?”

  “Why not? They’re amiable sorts, and assist when they can. They have been underground neighbors to dwarves since the beginning of time. So we leave them some gold now and again. Gifts for them. They nearly always just leave the coins there, but they like to know they can have them if they wish.

  “Well, there was a dwarf a few generations back, Twill was his name. He was stingy, greedy. Even for a dwarf—and that is saying something, isn’t it?”

  He smiled at us briefly.

  “Twill was reluctant to leave any of his gold out for anyone else, even someone who might help him. Or even someone who might have been in a position to harm him, as these knockers were. He did leave something, but he took the coins and shaved off the edges first. Of course the coins had been made with reeding, and an outer inscription, to prevent that, but Twill figured he could cut these few gold pieces and the knockers wouldn’t know. Twill was always cutting corners, cutting whatever he could. So he shaved them, tucked away the shavings with the rest of his sad little fortune, and put the adulterated coins in cracks.

  “The day after this trick of his, when he was down there for his day’s digging, a cobber appeared to him. He was pale—as they all are, of course—and held a small lamp. He was dressed much as Twill was, as is their custom, albeit with rougher clothing.

  “ ‘Twill,’ it said. ‘You are the hardest-working dwarf down in these mines, and you have earned the right to possess great wealth. Follow me and I will show it to you.’

  “This sounded perfectly reasonable to Twill, of course, since he was sure he was indeed the smartest-working and most deserving dwarf down there. He followed the cobber as it turned and started away.

  “The cobber walked forward a few paces but then left the passage in which Twill had been working and slipped into a fissure. Twill had not seen this path before. The cobber apparently knew it well, and after just a few twists he led the dwarf into a chamber that shimmered. The gold ore along its sides was so rich that one could see a trail of flecks of yellow, like the tail of a shooting star.”

  “That’s not usually the case?” Jed asked.