High Iron Read online

  I had assumed that the wall was an outer bulwark, with a more polished home within, but I then noticed sections of low roof extending all the way to the edges. This was one giant fortification. It struck me as just a much stronger version of the endless shacks that all the other dunters lived in.

  The dwarves were still in there, presumably. They might have been right behind any part I was looking at. I supposed it was most likely they were in a cellar beneath the earthwork.

  Rough steps led up the slope to the front gate of the manor. The gate consisted of double iron doors on thick hinges. Each door had a small, barred window.

  Again there were a few dim lights inside. I had seen enough. I turned.

  I was retracing my route back to our hiding shed, carefully, with every intention of going straight back, when I heard a steam blast some distance to my left. Then came clanks of metal on metal. I stopped, held my spot in a splendid reeking ditch, and listened. I thought, or imagined, that I heard croaking voices off in the same direction.

  Perhaps I was close to their rail yard. If so, I might learn something about their industry that would be useful. I could not help thinking that Herrar and the other White Mount dwarves possessed, not so far away from here, a ready supply of blasting charges, niter-glycerol, and whatever else we might need to blast dunter machinery into shards. We might convince them to return to blow up a good part of this miserable city. I moved down the street until I came to an alley perpendicular, and then I headed toward the sounds.

  I crawled through more ditches and passed another tedious expanse of shacks. I had hoped the alley would be a straight shot east, but I came to several forks and chose what I thought was the best route. I kept hearing the noises and some activity ahead.

  I am not sure how I found the courage, or the foolishness, to keep moving through that city of enemies. I was alone, unarmed, many days away from home, and at least an hour’s walk from any friendly face. I think the ramshackle state of Red Gorge helped; had I been in a more orderly enemy city, such as Varenlend or Caranniam, I would have felt like a cornered mouse the whole time, I suspect. But this was such a jumble of hovels and scurrying kobolds, and so empty of dunters (apparently), that I felt comfortable enough wending my way through shadows.

  I kept walking eastward. Some of the structures I passed were every bit as sagging as the shed where we had been hiding, and must have been just as abandoned.

  At one point the ditch ran up to a berm of earth, and atop it, finally, were the train tracks I had been searching for. These were not upturned rails, no giant symbols of Lord Silvermoor; the steel from the elves had not been laid all the way into the city. The gray line stretched away in the distance toward the noise. I looked around for a landmark, saw a rare two-story building to my right, and started down the tracks.

  I had gone not fifty yards when I heard a chuff and screech behind me. I dropped down the berm and stepped into an open area behind a row of shanties. I took cover behind a thicket of scrub.

  A throbbing dunter locomotive approached from my left. It was enveloped in an orange glow from its fire and from lanterns hanging off spars. It rolled ponderously but sounded powerful enough; or perhaps I should say that it made an impressive racket considering how slowly it propelled itself.

  It was not much more than a giant cylinder on four wheels, with a steaming chimney at the front and a car of coal trailing behind. As it came into view I saw a dunter perched at the front, on a platform atop the cylinder. This platform had an armor wall chest-high. There was a another such turret with a similar dunter guard in back, behind the cylinder where other crew—kobolds, most likely—would feed the fire. Each of the dunter guards held a long musket. They looked grim and long-toothed enough, and certainly wide-awake in this night, but they were smaller and overall less impressive than those I had seen up close weeks ago when they had shot at Jed and me. Perhaps all the meatier dunters had gone off in the expeditionary army, or were working at the end of the tracks, and those left here were the third line.

  They had also welded on, or bolted on, two more platforms extending out from the sides of the engine. These were also armored. No dunters stood in these at the moment.

  The thing screamed its steam-strokes and rolled past. It was a sooted iron monster. From behind the scrub I smelled oil and imagined I could feel the heat from the fire. The lanterns hanging off spars rocked back and forth as it crawled ahead. A string of red pennants stretched from the chimney back to the rear of the cylinder. Trailing along behind was the coal car. There might have been a few guards aboard that, too, for I saw what looked like two more musket barrels poking up from behind its walls.

  I allowed the locomotive to roll past me, by some yards, and then I crept forward to follow it. The dunter in front had turned his glazed eyes my direction as it surged past, but he had evidently not been searching the shadows very hard. I assumed neither of the two guards would. I could imagine they thought themselves completely secure here in Red Gorge City. And they were, of course; but I was glad to at least bring Emmervale eyes, if nothing else, into their sprawl. I wanted to see what they might be going to meet up with, on this hardened locomotive of theirs.

  I followed the orange blur through the city, perhaps another quarter mile. I kept low, sticking to the bottom of the berm. The steam and churning wheels of the machine were loud, but occasionally I heard dunters aboard shouting to each other, and yap speech from kobolds.

  Then I saw fires along the sides of the tracks, further down. I veered a bit further away, then, keeping in shadows, and saw that the locomotive had almost reached a rail yard. I got close enough to see that there were several side tracks on which stood dozens of cargo cars. Small fires burned among these, and I saw dunters huddled around them.

  In front of one fire I saw a cannon which must have been intended for Stenhall and Emmervale. I went nearer and saw more of them—four, six, ten, twenty. The first one I had seen, in terms of size, was respectable, and some of the others were much larger yet. They were fat, wide-mouthed guns that seemed waiting impatiently to be put to work, straining their wooden mounts. They looked large enough to—well, to blow down a dwarven gate.

  Past them I saw stacks of wooden barrels and piles of crates. They rose into the air twice a man’s height. This was a depot of material and arms for the expeditionary army—the stockpile that was supposed to have been sent out by train on their new rails. Everything had been frozen in place, now, by the trick of the elves. But the dunters had not moved any of the supplies; it was all still ready to roll. I supposed they would do it with oxen and carts, now. A slow job, but the material would get out there just the same.

  I had seen enough, now, and turned. The dunters had labored long to accumulate the supplies in that yard. As I walked I could think only about how high into the sky we might blow it all if the dwarves were willing to assist. We could walk to White Mount and back in a week with enough blasting sticks to level that depot and hobble Red Gorge for years.

  I retraced my way along the tracks and then down the roads. I shuddered through a few moments of dread when I realized I had paid much more attention to finding my way into the city than remembering the way back out. I also kept second-guessing myself because I made very good time. I realized that in cautiously picking my way along I had moved very slowly, and now I was able to cover ground more rapidly.

  I made it down the tracks, then through the alleys, and back to the main road. The city was still quiet. I wondered if most of the activity of those dunters who remained was centered around that rail depot.

  Eventually I was back onto the country road, which now seemed welcome despite its dark and smells. I made it to the shack well before dawn. Britta and Hrond were standing watch and welcomed me in.

  “You are a fine stalker,” Hrond said. “I noticed you just a moment ago.”

  Britta touched my arm to guide me in, out of the doorway.

  “Was it as Herrar said?” she asked.

  “Exa
ctly. I can’t believe how easy it was to move about. I believe I was seen only by their vermin.”

  The others awoke, although it was still early. I told them what I had seen: The manor, the earthworks, the logs, the boulders, the dunter skulls. I stopped there, since I knew the dwarves were thinking only of their imprisoned cousins and not the stranded war supplies. They sat perfectly still as they listened. In the darkness I could barely make out their faces: Britta’s fair hair and skin, Herrar’s weathered features, and the eyes of Hrond, Inman, and Maghran above their high beards.

  When I was done speaking, Herrar said:

  “I believe I have the plan, from your description of that manor.”

  “I’m sure,” Maghran agreed.

  “What would that be?” I asked.

  “Well, Master Shearer,” Maghran said, and leaned back. “We’ll have all day to discuss this. So let me ask: What do you think our plan might be?”

  “Well, I do hope to sleep, and not discuss this all day long. But I do not see any obvious approach. The manor itself might be lightly defended, but any assault on it would draw attention from the whole city, I believe. I was able to move around, but I was quiet; I was not trying to shoot my way into a jail.”

  “Such an approach would certainly draw attention,” he said.

  “My first thought was that you share some of your arovis with these dunters, just as you did with the kobolds for that baron.”

  “I’m afraid three dwarves held by dunters implies a much higher price than one fool held by the dog men,” Maghran answered. “I did not bring a pack full of jewels. And furthermore, this is not exactly neutral ground, here, conducive to haggling.”

  “Of course. You had also spoken about me using Baron Laurent’s robes to try to talk my way in there, and then back out, something I would rather not attempt.”

  “So be it. I’m not sure even the real baron could talk three prisoners out of there.”

  “Perhaps you’re thinking of infiltrating,” I said. “Prying up a bit of roof, or managing to breach the front gate quietly.”

  “That could be promising,” Maghran said.

  “Indeed,” Herrar said. “And the hill this fortress sits on, it is not natural? You’re certain?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s an old dirt rampart. Obviously dunter work. And uniform. Square, or rectangular perhaps, and level.”

  “It did not look to you like a rock hill that has been built upon?” she asked.

  “No. The surrounding area is quite flat.”

  “Then we could dig in,” Herrar said.

  “Clearly,” Maghran answered. “It will be half an hour to get in, at most. We’ll go tonight and we’ll all be off by the morning.”

  “You’ll just walk up with shovels and start excavating?” I asked. They did have two shovels; Herrar carried the spade, and Maghran had kept the one he used when we buried the explosives by the bridge.

  “Essentially. You mentioned some barred windows. Were they placed all the way around the walls?”

  “I saw only two of the walls. I believe they wrapped around both, though, yes.”

  “Well. We’ll check the sides you didn’t see, but even if they are there, we will stay low and dark.”

  “Will you need us?” I asked. “Britta and me? We won’t be any help to you, digging. And you won’t need a fake baron, either.”

  “I don’t think there will be much for you to do, no,” Herrar answered. “But you should come along. The route out of the town will be shorter heading northward, once we’re free of that fortress.”

  “It will be? How can you know?”

  “They did not cover up my eyes, on the way down here, until we were on the outskirts of the city, to the north. And judging from the amount of time it took you to walk, we’ll be just as close to the north side of the city as this side. We’ll want to escape straightaway to the north, is my point.”

  “Rather than return here and then head around the city to the east or west.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How well do you know the roads up there?” I asked her. “This far south of White Mount? I think Jed should take the horse and ride around the city to meet us.”

  “Ride far around it, you mean.”

  “That’s right. We can do it if we have a place to meet.”

  “The roads, you say. But there is only one, heading north. Barely a road to speak of. It leaves this pit of a city and leads toward White Mount. Some miles north of here it crosses another road, or the shadow of one; and an old, ruined town sits there. Your friend could find that. It’s small, but there is nothing else in the area.”

  “I’ll tell him. It’s deserted?”

  “Yes. Since the fires. It was once called Midwall.”

  One question nagged me:

  “Herrar, you were not able to dig out of the cell while you were in there. Are you certain you will be able to dig into it now?”

  She nodded.

  “They kept our hands chained. That’s why we could not tunnel out. We were on a stone floor, but we could have pulled it up easily. It was the chains that stopped us.”

  For the first time, now, I understood the privation of Herrar’s captivity. She had not been merely locked away, but chained.

  “I hadn’t realized. That’s terribly cruel,” I said.

  She shrugged.

  “We would have broken out, otherwise, and they knew it.” She seemed to hold no grudge against the dunters for this detail of their captivity; once the decision was made to hold dwarves—she seemed to acknowledge—the restraints were a given.

  The dwarves were satisfied with the report, and their plan, but I went ahead and told them of the locomotive and rail yard. I related my views of the cannons, the other stacks of materials, and the few dunters guarding it all.

  Maghran raised his eyebrows.

  “We might have preferred you not take that risk in surveying the city, Aiman. Had you been lost, your knowledge of our kin would have been lost with you.”

  “It was quiet,” I said. “I was cautious. I saw nothing that came close to a threat.”

  They did not answer.

  “And,” I added, “I am here now. I made it.”

  “Well,” he said. “At any rate. This new machine of theirs sounds like an improvement over the last.”

  “I would say so,” I agreed. “It’s slow, but strong. They must trust it, or must have trusted it, to haul all of that out to Stenhall.”

  Hrond and Inman actually jolted a bit at that. They may not really have been thinking, until that moment, about all this dirt and stench of Red Gorge transported to their front gates.

  “Must they,” said Maghran. “But they won’t be hauling anything anywhere anytime soon.”

  “Not with that locomotive over the elven tracks, no. But they’ll try to get those supplies out there. I would assume they are making a plan to do so right now.”

  “It could be.”

  “We can’t let that happen. And in any case, it’s a gift to us. I mean the fact that they have stockpiled it all. We could go in and blast it. A few sticks of yours, next to their powder barrels, would probably level a quarter of this city.”

  “We don’t have any such materials,” Maghran said.

  “You know we sent what we had back with Ghranam,” Hrond added.

  “But you could get it from White Mount. We could be back here in a few days. And we could destroy their new locomotive also.”

  “Once again you have very grand designs on the home of the dunters,” Maghran said. “And once again I’m afraid I have to say that we should not get ahead of ourselves. We still have dwarves to free. And I don’t believe we will very easily be able put a stop to all of the progress, if you want to call it that, which the dunters have engineered. But again I, personally, understand your inclinations, Aiman Shearer.”

  He said no more. Herrar had nothing to add, and did not look at me.

  The sun had now risen, but w
ith nothing else to do in that shed, I slept. I woke at midday, and Herrar again shared the elf food with us all.

  “I’ll need to go tell Jed,” I said to Britta.

  “And here we are again talking about the horse,” she said. “How attached are we to it?”

  “I know,” I nodded. “It might be simpler just to release the thing. But Jed can ride around the city and meet up with us to the north. That will be safer for him. And that way, at least one of us will be at a good distance from here, and mounted. If anything goes wrong with the rescue, he’ll be able to get to Emmervale eventually and relay what happened.”

  “If that strikes him as the safer option,” she said, “he’ll probably want me to do it. Or you.”

  “I’m sure. But we don’t both need to walk down there to see him, right now. That’s too much of a risk. So he’ll be arguing with only one of us. And I think it should be me who sees him; and that means he’ll be the one to ride, since I’m the great friend to dwarves around here. I don’t think he’d choose a dwarf rescue over a long, easy ride.”

  “You are ready to dig into that manor?” she asked.

  “I hope it goes as easily as they say. Then we get out, and we can get back to our own affairs. At last. I wish these dwarves were more receptive to attacking this city.”

  “I agree,” she said. “What will we realistically be able to do, when we are done here? We don’t have the power to defeat the dunter army right outside Emmervale, much less take the fight to them here. Not alone.”

  “We could do it if we had allies, but I don’t know who that would be. The elves would be glad to be rid of the dunters, but they wouldn’t cooperate with us. And if they had ever felt it was worthwhile to attack Red Gorge, they would have done it already without waiting for our suggestion.”

  “They probably feel they have already attacked Red Gorge, with their sabotaged rails,” she said. “And Varenlend will have no interest in helping us, even now that their alliance with Caranniam is over.”