High Iron Page 17

  “That’s right. Their hands will be full with Caranniam’s attack.”

  “It’s unfortunate the Duchess isn’t really duchess of anything.”

  “And now you are truly reaching,” I said. “I’ll go tell Jed what’s going on.”

  I told the dwarves my errand and walked out of the shed into daylight. I could not wait until twilight, since we would all be moving north into the city that evening as soon as we could. Again I kept low to the ground, as I moved through the farm lands, and eventually crossed the same low ridge behind which we had waited on the first day. After that it was not long until I came upon the first stand of trees beyond, and Jed stepped out.

  “You’re alive,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “You left me waiting quite some time for news, my friend.”

  “I apologize. We have been busy. Or, honestly, I have been busy, and then have held others in rapt attention as I spin my tales.”

  “Well done, then.”

  “Yes. We know where these other three are, and our dwarves have a plan to rescue them.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dig them out.”

  “As we might expect,” he said. “Will it work?”

  “I think it will. The city seems mostly deserted, and we know how quickly these dwarves dig. But listen: after the other three are free, we are heading due north when we escape. So we want you to take this horse and skirt around the city, and meet up with us to the north.”

  “I’ll just get rid of the horse now and accompany you, Aiman.”

  I shook my head. “That’s what we guessed you would say. But you may as well proceed without the risk, Jed. Britta and I won’t have much to do during the rescue, and you wouldn’t either. And there’s no need to have a larger group in there and run the chance of drawing more eyes.”

  “Hmm.” He looked down at his boots and drew a circle in the dirt with his toe. “Well, I think I could find something useful to do, if I went with you. But I see your point that a smaller party will be better, in there. Although you’re going to be such a crowd with those new dwarves, one more body wouldn’t make much of a difference. But very well, I’ll head around. I’ll have to cross their rail line, east of here.”

  “Yes. But I doubt they are devoting much energy to watching it, given the state it’s in.”

  “How will I meet you, once we’re all north of the city?”

  “The dwarves said that on the other side, a bit to the northeast, there is a road, and along it some distance is a ruined town. Wait for us there. You should easily get there first.”

  “That’s all they said? I’ll be able to find it?”

  “Herrar says it’s obvious. There is only one road north, and it crosses an old east-west track at the ruins.”

  He shook his head.

  “I would much rather just go with you and Britta, Aiman.”

  “We don’t need someone your height trying to sneak through that city, Jed. Just head east, and around, and we’ll see you in two or three days.”

  “Very well.”

  “And,” I added, reluctantly, “if anything happens to us, you’ll have to return to Emmervale and tell them. And tell them everything we’ve learned.”

  “Now you have me worried again, you idiot,” he said. “Yes, I’m sure everyone in Emmervale will be perfectly content if the Marshal’s grandson and handsome Britta are lost, but good old Jed makes it back.” Again he shook his head. “Be careful. I’m still not sure we should be all the way out here, after so much distance and so many days, helping these dwarves in the first place.”

  “These dwarves can be an enormous help to us, Jed.”

  “If they choose to. And who knows what they’ll choose to do. We could carry their three companions out of here on a litter and that doesn’t mean they’ll repay us. Be careful.”

  I assured him I would be. It turned out, however, that I was not nearly careful enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  I turned and started to walk back to the shed, to rejoin Britta and the dwarves. I had progressed well out of sight of Jed, so he could not have been watching me; he would have been lying down to pass the remainder of the afternoon before he left, or perhaps he had ridden off already. In any case I was alone, and once again trying to keep low in the tall grass. For this entire journey I had been thankful for the tall grass of summer, to help conceal my movements—but I neglected to consider that it might in turn be hiding others.

  Kobolds sprang up around me and pounced. There were six, and they had me surrounded. They must have seen me walk out from the shed, earlier, and had either waited for my return or been pleasantly surprised by it.

  The two in front of me smiled horribly and snarled, but did not move. They kept their arms out somewhat, like ridiculous little brown bears. (East of Emmervale, up in the heights at the feet of the mountains, there are such bears; when they stand up, it is much more impressive.)

  But these two did not need to do anything to catch me. Four behind me and to my side were rushing in. They did not scream or yelp, but I heard their growls. I turned on them, attempting to draw my knife, but then the first two darted up. The group was attacking me just like trained dogs might: one or two would draw my attention and stay out of reach, and the others would close in.

  I turned once more, and then three of them hit me and knocked me down. The other three were on top of us all in a moment. I struggled, but together they outweighed me considerably. I tried to yell, but one climbed atop my head, pulled my jaw shut, and then wrapped a furred arm around my face. He was remarkably strong; I felt his muscles harden into rocks. His rough fur pressed into my mouth and nose.

  Another then reached under this one’s chin, which was grinding into my head, and slipped a blindfold behind my ears and then around my eyes. Others followed with ropes around my wrists and ankles.

  I felt I was being trampled by one enormous, dirty, panting, powerful dog. They pinned me to the ground and took away my knife. They then pawed me to find anything else of value. I had left my pack and sleeping roll back with Britta, fortunately. This was likely good not only because it kept me from losing much, but because it made me look like just a foolish wanderer. Had they seen all my supplies they might have realized I had a plan for their city. This in turn might have made them search harder for Britta and the dwarves, on the assumption that I was not working alone.

  But they bore me off toward the city immediately. They moved to their left some distance, and then turned north. This path kept them away from our shed. The others would have no idea what had happened to me.

  They half-carried, half-dragged me along, and of course I thought of the satisfaction Baron Laurent might have felt had he seen this: I was being dragged by kobolds just as he had been. And my trip was much longer. They ran nonstop, seeming to drop me in the dirt and drag me every hundred yards or so.

  At one point they paused. They released me to the ground, and I rolled half a turn and came to rest against a wooden wall. I guessed they had reached the first shacks of the city. They began chattering with each other, then, with rushed and quieted voices. Their language sounded like strings of yaps and dog moans. All six seemed to speak, at first, but soon the argument—for that’s clearly what it was—fell to two speakers. Each seemed have a different plan for me, from their tone.

  One of them prevailed, and I was picked back up. They hustled me through the streets, then, more quickly than before. They did not drop me, this time; but this was because they were in a rush, not because of any concern for my welfare. From time to time my head would be snug up against a muscled kobold abdomen, or hip, and I felt their exertion. The dog smell became more and more pungent as they ran.

  Eventually the sound of the ground below us changed. One of the kobolds barked a loud order, then, and I heard a gate creak open. They ran me into a building, out of the sunlight. We rounded one corner, more orders were barked, and then I was dumped onto a stone floor.

&n
bsp; The one who had been giving the orders now spoke in what I recognized as the language of the dunters. His voice still had a yap to it, but he was clearly speaking dunter and also sounded more respectful.

  The kobold touched me twice with his foot, as he spoke. He must have been using me as an illustration of his tale. Then, suddenly, I felt a hand tug at my blindfold, and then it was off.

  I saw that I lay amid the knot of kobolds who were presenting themselves and their prize to a dunter. The dunter looked older, with some grey hair and also a few of his teeth snapped off short. His red eyes glared at me. I now felt, impossibly, some camaraderie with the kobolds who had taken me; they seemed a much more pleasant lot than this new host.

  The dunter stood before a chair in which he had apparently been sitting when we entered. We were in a room with a large fireplace, and tools hanging from the walls. There were no windows, and the walls were rough-hewn rocks. In a corner was a rude table with a helmet; it was a battered old piece and seemed to be an ornament or trophy. Overall I took the room to be a dunter’s formal parlor—as well-appointed a room as one might find in Red Gorge City, I guessed.

  The dunter pointed at me and snapped a question at the lead kobold, who bowed his head and answered. The two of them went back and forth. The dunter seemed more content and calm as the conversation went on, and I looked up and saw that the kobold, for his part, was narrowing his eyes. He was a touch larger than the others, and he had an unusual black patch of thick fur atop his head.

  The dunter then stepped toward us, reached into his coat, and pulled out a purse. He fished out three coins and tossed them to the kobold leader. This one caught two of them, snatched up the other from the floor, and then all six hustled out as quickly as they had come in. The leader looked back at me once, on their way out, and then they were gone. I was alone with my captor.

  The dunter now walked over and circled me. I could see him, but was still bound.

  He spoke at me in his language and looked me in the eyes. I don’t know that any humans anywhere learn that language; certainly I had never met or heard of anyone in Emmervale who did. But he kept jabbering, apparently just content to be upbraiding me or whatever he was saying. As he spoke he kept his eyes focused on me, alternately widening them and squinting.

  Then he switched to Valley Lower:

  “And why do you visit Red Gorge City, human?”

  “I live in the plains, east of the city,” I said. I had already decided to take on the identity of Korben, the man Maghran and I had met along the train tracks weeks earlier. Or even better, I thought, I would pretend I was a neighbor of Korben’s, just in case he himself was known here as the crazy hermit down by the river.

  I added: “I was just walking here.”

  “No one lives east of here. No one between us and the dwarves, and the flower-pickers of the hills.”

  Flower-pickers; that would be Emmervale.

  “A few do,” I said. “A few of us who want to live alone.”

  “Why would a fine young man like this one want to live alone?”

  “I was outlawed,” I said.

  “An outlaw. From where?”

  “From Emmervale.”

  “Outlawed by the flower-pickers. I suppose they will outlaw for anything. What did you do to them—snare a bird? Butcher a deer?”

  “I ran into trouble with the Shearer family,” I said.

  “And who would they be?”

  “Some consider them the main family of Emmervale.”

  “And what did you do to the shearers?”

  “I stole one of their sheep,” I said.

  He nodded at this.

  “Believable. Well, sheep-thief. That theft has cost you much.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Because you will have no family to care about you, or hear about you.”

  “My family remembers me,” I objected. I did not like the turn this was taking.

  “No one to ransom you,” he continued. “Better you were in one of those main families yourself. We would treat you well, in that case. But an outlaw . . . an outlaw. I must think about how you would be most valuable to me.”

  He walked in a straight line now, away from me, apparently immersed in thought.

  “Do you forge?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you work metal? Tools, dies?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know steam?”

  “I do not.”

  “Do you gunsmith? Do you mix powders?”

  “Again, no. I can shoot.”

  “Anyone can shoot,” he said. “You will have to wait while I consider you. Outlaw sheep thief.”

  He shouted down a hallway to the side of the room, then, and returned to his chair to sit. Soon a kobold came trotting in. He looked older and more ragged than the strapping young group that had abducted me; again I found myself half-missing them. This one was dressed in one battered tunic, and looked at me in confusion. The dunter gave orders to him, and he then ran back up the hall.

  “Not my usual servant,” the dunter told me. “My finest two are out serving the dunter force outside Emmervale. Be glad; they may soon take revenge for you on this sheep family you spoke of.”

  I did not dwell on this threat to the nefarious Shearer family. It struck me, instead, that in this city of dust and offal, as I lay on a rough stone floor in this jumbled mess of a front hall, the dunter seemed concerned that I might take away a poor opinion of his estate because his kobold slave was feeble and poorly dressed. I thought about telling him that the bent old servant should have been the least of his worries.

  But mostly I wondered if I should share news about the breakup of the combined dunter-Caranniam-Varenlend expeditionary army. Perhaps this dunter had heard of it already, but perhaps not. I could not decide how much to say, however. I wanted this creature to treat me well, and to accept any chance to release me, but I didn’t know what might best accomplish that.

  The old servant returned with others, five total, and they again picked me up and carried me away. Kobolds did not seem to trust captives to walk on their own.

  We moved through two hallways and then dropped down stone stairs. This was now the lower level of the fortress. Of course I hoped that this would be the same manor I had reconnoitered, the one where the dwarves were held. I had no way of knowing if it was, since we had come into the city by a different route and I had been blindfolded.

  I was despondent when they brought me to a single, empty cell. I was alone down there. I would be left stranded in a dungeon unknown to Britta and the dwarves.

  But I then saw that the cell had bars on two sides, and past the set to my left was a longer cell holding three stocky lumps. These were the White Mount dwarves. They were dozing, or otherwise idle. Two were sitting up against the far wall, and the third was lying in the middle of the floor. One of the two against the wall rose at the noise of my entrance.

  The five kobolds set me on the floor, and then four held me as one cut the cord at my wrists. They all then backed out quickly, slammed the barred door, and left.

  “Man,” the standing dwarf said. This was his greeting. He did not bother to say “welcome.”

  I stood, carefully, with my ankles still bound. I could see, because the cell had a tiny window, with bars of course, at the top of the outside wall. The dwarves’ cell did not have one. The window was partially obscured by vines on the outside; this was why I might have missed it, had I seen this side of the fortress in my visit the day before. The window was no bigger than my head, but I could see out. There was a street, and I saw the cleared no-man’s land and shacks beyond.

  “I don’t suppose you see any friends out there you might call to,” the standing dwarf said. There was a clink, as he spoke. I looked over at him, and saw a chain around his right arm. It was anchored to the wall. All of them, I learned, were bound in this way.

  “No friends yet,” I said.

  “Not yet,” he repeated, an
d I could hear a smirk. He continued:

  “I suppose you managed to fall into the hands of these dunters outside Emmervale?”

  It sounded as if he thought little of anyone who could be captured by dunters; yet here they all were, themselves. I did not challenge him with this.

  “Why do you say Emmervale?” I asked.

  “We know the dunters have headed out that direction. And all the few men between here and there have enough sense to keep their heads down.”

  “What do you know about dunters at Emmervale?” I asked him. “You’ve been in here some weeks, I believe, or months even.”

  “And how do you know that?” he demanded. The other two were both also looking at me, now; the one on the floor had sat up.

  “Listen, I have come here with Herrar, and with a group of dwarves from Stenhall. They are intending to break you out of here. Tonight.”

  At this, all three stood. It was a pathetic scene, as they rose on stiff legs. Their chains were long enough to allow them to approach me a few paces.

  “You? Have come with Herrar?” the dwarf asked.

  “Yes, and with Maghran of Stenhall. And a few others. Elves presented Herrar to us a few days ago.”

  “So that is how she left! Elves! And they did not bother to take out the rest of us, when they bought her freedom?”

  “They tried,” I said. “The price was too great. It was more than they had.”

  “More than they were willing to part with, you mean. And you know this how?”

  “From the elves. I was there. We were a small group, and I stood beside Herrar and Maghran during all this. They spoke with Aladar Silvermoor.”

  The one speaking seemed to regard me for a moment and think to himself. I could not see his face well between the dark, the distance, and his beard.

  “You have spoken with Herrar,” he said. “You would have no reason to invent this story.”

  “I would not risk raising the hopes of three dwarves and have them dashed,” I said.