High Iron Read online

“Do not compare me to a dwarf,” Sennet said.

  “Come, Sennet, I am not,” I said.

  “And regarding our grandparents, and what they set up for us,” he said, “they also did not lead themselves out of those dwarf halls all on their own. They had a leader. You know this better than anyone, Aiman.”

  “That was different,” I answered. “Back then, in the mines, they could not call meetings. All was secret. One man had to do most of the plotting on his own, and take charge, or we would still be up there in that mountain today.” That man, of course, had been The Marshal, my grandfather. “But that was an exigency. Now we’re better off by sharing our ideas. Putting our heads together.”

  “We don’t have time for that any longer,” a woman said. I recognized her as one of those from the west side of town; her house had likely burned. The group rumbled assent to this.

  “These torches,” another councilor said, “these guns to our heads, change things. We make good decisions, here, but we’re not able to act quickly.”

  “And we know that Caranniam and Varenlend are not going to waste their time having meetings like ours, before they decide to attack again,” another added. “We have to be as nimble as they are.”

  Sennet spoke again, with a tone indicating he intended to prod us forward. “Let’s elect a captain of the militia, then. He, or she, will answer to us.”

  “Very well,” I said. “But let’s call this person the dunter boss, or maybe the rail wrecker. This way it’s clear that the job lasts only as long as the dunter threat.”

  “No one is going to be very proud of having a title like that,” Sennet said.

  “I know, and that’s all to the good. One more reason for the person to drop the job as soon as possible.”

  “Very well, then,” Thona said. “We will break for a few moments and talk. We will return and select a dunter boss. A rail wrecker.”

  Outside the brewery I saw my father take his leave from a group of other councilors. I joined him. He looked grim.

  I asked him:

  “Who do you guess this captain will be?”

  He shrugged. “Bollard might do it. Sennet could; he is an organized man. We need to make sure it is a person with a sound livelihood, so there will be no temptation to perpetuate the post.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Or it may be you, Aiman.”

  “Or you, father.”

  He shook his head. “They don’t need an old sheep herder.”

  “But a young one is ideal?” I asked.

  “My irreverent son,” he said. “We shall see. But you have to wonder how long this will last.”

  “This dunter siege?” I asked. “If this is a siege?”

  “No, I mean our system. Our council. We are unusual, you know. An odd bird. Most cities through the ages have had a single ruler, one way or another. And this, here, what we’re seeing now, is precisely why: there is a crisis, when quick decisions need to be made, and then one person gets into power and stays there. Or one family. The only reason we are not that way already is that the rule of the dwarves over us was so distasteful. Our ancestors valued their voices. All of them.”

  “I know.”

  “Your grandfather was lucky; his reputation was safe because there was no way he could seize power. No one would have stood for it. People tell stories of how he was committed to the council, and willingly gave up his leadership, but he really had no choice. The people would have bound him and thrown him out into the hills had he tried to just replace the dwarves and become another king.

  “But there will be fewer and fewer left who will have memories of living under the dwarves. Eventually, few will have the old qualms about being told what to do. Someday a wise captain will come along, and people will appreciate the leadership, and that will be the end of the council. And the first one who succeeds in being such a leader may be very good and wise, you understand. He’ll have to be, or the people will desert him. It’s not him I worry about; it’s those who come after.”

  “Well, there are still enough who do remember the dwarf rule,” I said. “That will be a fight for another generation, I hope. Not ours.

  “And this world is changing,” I added. “There are trains, there are schools. One person will be less and less able to run everything. No single person will have the knowledge.”

  “Perhaps. Who knows what you’ll see, Aiman.”

  “Enough to make me forget these dunters, one day? I wonder.”

  Once back inside, the council took nominations for dunter boss. The group variously called upon my father, Thona, my old friend Bollard, and others. And some nominated me.

  Before anyone could suggest a vote, I noticed many faces turned toward me; and then most of them, and then all of them.

  “Aiman, I think the council’s wish is clear,” Bollard said.

  I shook my head.

  “With your leave, I would do other work,” I said. “I have a plan I think we need to execute. And I want to do it.”

  “All the more reason for you to be the dunter boss,” Bollard said.

  I shook my head again. “There is too much for one person. Listen,” I said. “How is this: I accept, but I will take the title of rail wrecker and pass along the other one. Thona, you can run a brewery. You can also run our defense. I move that you become the dunter boss.”

  Now many of the faces in the room turned toward her.

  “I will do it,” Thona said, “if you have your plan. What is it?”

  “To speak with the dwarves,” I said. “Try to rouse them. Would any of you rather do that yourselves?”

  No one volunteered, and most showed clear distaste. They lowered their eyes and again shifted on their benches. A few coughed and cleared throats in the silence.

  “What could you have to say to Stenhall?” Sennet asked.

  “I will explain. But first, the titles. I’ll need one to do my work. So, do we have a Dunter Boss and a Rail Wrecker?”

  The council debated a bit more but eventually agreed. We departed, leaving all the beer to continue fermenting in peace.

  Later I spoke with Thona, Bollard, and my father.

  “So what is this message you take to the dwarves?” my father asked. “I suppose I am proud of you for coming up with such a forward idea without running it by me first.”

  “I should have raised it with you, Father, I know. But I believe we have to tell them about this. Tell the dwarves. I mean about the alliance between Caranniam and Varenlend, and that railroad coming for them.”

  “Will they believe you?”

  I shrugged. “We have to try, regardless. If they take any action, it will help us.”

  “What do you expect them to do? Withdraw from their lowermost gallery and lock themselves in further back?”

  “Yes, I know it’s unlikely they would ever do much more than simply wall themselves up in their tunnels. And they are certainly not going to lift a finger to aid us. But it can’t hurt to inform them what we’ve seen.”

  “I’m sure they’ve had a grand view of half of our town on fire,” my father said.

  “But the railway, they don’t know about that. They might act.”

  “Act? By doing what?”

  “Well, let me speak with them first.”

  “Aiman, think,” he said. “You know that their entire lives, all their decisions, are based on just living apart. And protecting their own.”

  “I know, Father. But we can’t be sure what they’ll do. This is unprecedented in our lifetimes, or even The Marshal’s. When is the last time anyone declared intent to march on Stenhall? It’s worth a trip up there.”

  Chapter Three

  Britta, Jed and I walked up to attempt to speak with the dwarves the next day.

  Stenhall lay a few hours’ ride north of town, up through our family’s vale and then across an expanse of rocky foothills. After the days of discussions and fear in town, it was good to get out. The grass was now dotted with spring flowers, yellow a
nd white. I felt guilty for enjoying the clean and quiet views, but out here it was difficult to worry too much about the dunter camp. We climbed up the gentle slope, eventually leaving Emmervale far behind and somewhat below us. From this distance the burnt dwellings on the west side of town—well, they could still be seen, if an observer out here was looking for them, but they were not so obvious. They might have been missed altogether by someone unaware of what had happened.

  I spent the ride telling Britta and Jed about the talk of the council the day before.

  “Rail wrecker, is it?” Jed said. “Will you make yourself a seal with this on it?”

  “I won’t hold the post long enough to need anything like that.”

  Britta, as usual, was more serious:

  “So Caranniam and Varenlend both have forces with that dunter mob.”

  “It seems so,” I said.

  “You know where I am going,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “If you had lived years in Varenlend, they would have kept the dunters away from us, now. They would have—” she tossed her head— “invited us to join them, more likely.”

  “You can hardly think that would be a good—”

  “Of course not,” she said. “But the world would be a different one.”

  “It’s long past,” I said.

  Jed spoke.

  “Aiman, do you see movement, up that hill? Just a few specks?”

  We were up now on an incline that had little vegetation. Jed had good eyes. I scanned the rock and crevasses.

  “I don’t. Britta?”

  “I see nothing either,” she answered. “Are you certain, Jed?”

  “Yes. Something coming down toward us. Several things, I should say.”

  “Well, let’s keep going,” I said. “We can outrun them if need be. If it were a wyvern it would have taken wing already.”

  “It’s no wyvern.”

  “Is it dwarves? Coming to see us?”

  “It could be. It’s been a long time since they’ve sought us out, though, hasn’t it?”

  “A very long time.”

  We continued ahead and soon I could see the figures, working their way down.

  “Definitely dwarves,” Jed said. “And they have an animal, hauling something. I think they’re pulling a sledge.”

  Soon I could see it, also. Three low shapes—the dwarves—bobbed around a mule and its load. They dropped down the hillside in fits and starts.

  “What’s on that?”

  “Some carcass. It’s bigger than a stag.”

  “Did they kill an ansark?”

  “Perhaps. Why would they be hauling it down here?”

  Our two groups neared each other. The dwarves did not slow down as they came closer. They were thick and powerful, swaying side to side on posts of legs as they descended. All three had shoulders as wide as a wheelbarrow lengthwise.

  They looked so much alike that it seemed to me they could have all been brothers; and this struck me even when they had come up to stand directly before us. They had similar eyes, dark hair, long beards. Each dwarf wore a wide leather skullcap, black in every case. Only their jackets differed; two of them wore dark brown, and the third, simply a lighter shade of the color. This one carried a musketoon slung over a shoulder. This is a short weapon we in Emmervale refer to as a mountain gun, since it is common among dwarves. The other two wore axes at their belts. One of them led the mule, and the other two walked behind the sledge holding onto ropes that were tied to its rear. Parts of the slope were steep enough that they would have to be cautious about the sledge slipping forward and crushing their mule.

  They smelled, of course, like dwarves. Their scent always struck me: leather, and smoke, and deep sweat mixed with stone and dust. The mortar of bricklayers was one thing that always reminded me of dwarves. And they smelled of age. These were old stonecutters before us, each of them likely with more years than the three of us combined.

  On the sledge was the dead body of an ansark. It was a large one, the jaws of its long head looking perhaps two feet wide. The mouth lolled open, displaying the razor teeth. It was on its back, tied to the sledge, its four thick legs sticking up in the air. Enough of the fur on its sides was exposed to show the well-defined gray and brown stripes of a mature adult.

  The dwarf with the musketoon nodded toward the animal.

  “I am Hrond. We took down this beast up in the hills. A bit east of here. Not so far away from your sheep grazing.”

  I was taken aback at this.

  “You know I raise sheep?”

  “I meant your town’s. But if they are yours, all the better. You have respectable flocks. You won’t want this out there.” He gestured at the dead ansark.

  “Indeed not,” I said. “Thank you. I am Aiman Shearer. This is Jedrek, of the house of Blackwater, and my cousin Britta, also Shearer.” The dwarves had not seemed concerned about introductions, but then Hrond did ask:

  “Shearers, both of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” He nodded again toward the carcass. “This was a large one.”

  “Certainly. You brought it down by musket, I presume?”

  “Yes. Not even we relish getting close enough to one of these to dispatch it with spears. It was several muskets. I was there, but the other hunters have returned.”

  I had assumed that they had intended to haul the thing down into the valley, for whatever reason, but now they seemed to regard their journey as complete. One of the two in back moved up to the sledge and pulled a knife to cut a cord that bound the ansark. They did not speak. I found it curious.

  “And what,” I asked, “are you going to do with it now?”

  “Leave it here for the wolves. This mule will be glad to be free of it.” He took a step back to watch his companions both place a boot on the dead animal, now, to push it off the sledge. “We don’t eat ansark steaks. I don’t know if you do.”

  “No.”

  “You are hunting, yourselves?” he asked me.

  “No. We were coming up to speak with you.”

  All three looked at us, then. The two behind Hrond froze, each with a boot still on the ansark. Their faces instantly became more guarded, if this was possible for these dwarves with heavy eyebrows and beards up to their cheekbones.

  “Speak with us? Concerning what?”

  “This force of dunters camped out beneath your foothills.”

  “Of course we have seen them,” Hrond said. “And it looks to us more like they are camped outside your town. We don’t believe we are their target. We saw that they did much damage to you already.”

  “They did, yes. But we have learned that they plan much more yet, directed at all of us,” I said.

  “How can you know that?”

  “We have spoken with someone from Varenlend who knows. A trader I meet with. And Varenlend and Caranniam are both involved, we have learned.”

  We shared what we had been told by Ralenda, days ago out by the tracks: the alliance, the railroad, the elves. The dwarves listened with a tilt to their heads and a squint in their eyes that told me they were skeptical; but they were gravely silent all the while.

  “And this trader was certain that the dunters are coming for Stenhall?” Hrond asked.

  “That’s what she said. And she seemed to be in a position to know. She had magic.”

  “She did? What sort?”

  “She made us invisible. Jed, here, and me.”

  “Well, then. We might assume she knows of what she speaks. Mightn’t we.” He shook his head and continued:

  “We will blast them down the hills. We will blast them all the way back to Red Gorge.”

  “They seem to be preparing for that,” I said. “This is quite a collaboration of theirs, with those cities and the dunters as well.”

  “And the elves,” Hrond added. “I was not surprised to hear you say that, Master Shearer. We have always known they would take whatever opportunity against us they c
ould, and this seems a good one for them.” He nodded once and scowled.

  “So this is what you were coming to tell us?” he asked.

  “Yes. And to ask you to make a plan with us. With all these powers lining up against our vale, and these hills, we should coordinate.” I nodded further uphill, in the direction of Stenhall. “Begging your pardon, we were hoping for an audience with your leaders. Perhaps Ghranam, if we might.”

  “Speech to us is speech to us all,” Hrond said, indicating himself and his two companions with a flick of his hand. “I don’t doubt the gravity in all this, but what would you propose? With all respect for your new town—” he regarded Emmervale, now a full generation removed from our time indentured to his people, as still a “new” venture— “your numbers are not sufficient, even with ours, to hold off the cities and the dunters. If this is indeed their plan.”

  “We want to hit their rail line,” I said. “You are right, we could not defeat all of them out in the open. But if we can break their line, even before it starts, that could save us.”

  “They would just repair it. Build it back.”

  “But that would give us time. Time for you to speak with White Mount, and for us to ally with Searose or others.”

  He considered this. The other two stood silent by the ansark.

  “This would be a war of all the North,” he then said. “Everyone involved.” He shook his head. “No more time for the dwarves to isolate themselves in their halls and watch the winds blow down below, eh?”

  “That may be the size of it, sir.”

  “Well. We will want to confirm all this ourselves.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “We have eyes of our own, and ears. And many who would want to be heard, about this.” He straightened, now, and adjusted the musketoon’s strap over his shoulder. “But I take you seriously, Aiman. Aiman Shearer.” He showed a slight smile. “I believe you should have taken the name Marshalson, young man.”

  “I shear,” I said. “And people know well enough who I am.”

  “I am sure they do. Off with it,” he said; this was to the other two. With their boots they shoved the ansark off the sledge. It rolled over and hit the ground, belly down. It had one bullet hole in the side of its head, and at least two others in its back. Its eyes were open. Even in death it looked wild, threatening, ready to tear a horse in half with its crusher jaws.