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  “We will send word,” Hrond said. “I will send it, at least, no matter our answer.”

  This was all. He took the lead of the mule and the three of them headed back up the slope.

  We were left with the dead predator.

  “Big one,” Jed said. This was an understatement, but someone had to say something in the silence.

  “Quite.” I nudged its snout with my boot.

  “I don’t understand why they brought this thing to us,” he said. “It’s good they took one down, of course. But what were they doing? Giving us some sort of spring gift? A dead ansark?”

  “I don’t know, either,” I answered him. “Are they feeling concern for us? That seems unusual for them. But I don’t know what else it would be. Do they feel they should have come down during the fire, and this is their way of making some sort of effort, late? I don’t know.”

  “And these things are just as likely to take their hogs,” Britta added, “as our livestock. They know we know that. It’s not as if they were out here hunting for our benefit.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “Well, I delivered the message. Now we wait.”

  “What do you think they’ll say?” Britta asked.

  “He seemed to take us seriously,” I said. “I was actually glad he was as skeptical as he was. It shows he was listening.”

  “Do we come back up here in a day or two?” Jed asked. “To get their response?”

  “I’m not going to do that,” I said. “I’m not desperate for their help, and don’t want to appear so. They can find us.”

  We waited two days. We did not have the numbers to attack the dunters alone, but at the same time no one in town was much inclined to flee. For one thing, Emmervale was surrounded by barren mountains on all sides but our west. We had never before seen this isolation as a problem; no one had believed the dunters would bother reaching out this far east. But now many were regretting that we had no easy escape route.

  We sent messengers to Searose, although we were grim about the odds of those coast people taking an interest in our plight.

  “We should have been reaching out more, all these years,” Britta said. “We could use alliances with other people. Searose, or the peoples to the south on the coast. Or some of the vassal towns to Varenlend or Caranniam, even. Anyone, anywhere in the Open Lands. We should not be alone the way we are.”

  “Well, Varenlend tried to forge ties,” I said. This was grim humor, of course.

  “I mean partnerships, not exploitation,” she said. “We’ve been busy rebuilding Emmervale these three decades, but we should have made time for relations.”

  “We should not criticize ourselves too much, Britta,” I said, seriously now. “All those places you mention have been rebuilding, themselves. Not even Searose escaped the plague. We would have found poor pickings for any grand alliance of our own, even if we had tried.”

  On the third day after we had spoken with Hrond on the hillside, he showed himself at my father’s house. He came in the morning, alone, and announced himself to my niece Gaya, who was picking early greens in the garden. She was a very self-possessed ten-year-old, now, and told us of our visitor with a calm that made us all stop eating our breakfast and wait for her to repeat herself.

  “A dwarf has come here?” my father asked.

  “This must be an answer to our walk up the mountain,” I said. I rose as she brought him into our house.

  It was Hrond. He was wearing his brown coat again, but had left his musketoon behind. His shoulders stretched across our hallway.

  A dwarf in our house: I would not have guessed such a visit might ever happen. We were all silent, perhaps to the point of rudeness, but Hrond pressed ahead.

  “Pardon me, Aiman. I hope I find you well. And you would be Anders Shearer,” he said to my father.

  “Yes.”

  “I have been sent to speak to you about your proposal.”

  “Very good,” I said. I motioned him to come in. “May I offer you tea?”

  “No thank you.”

  “Will you sit down?”

  “I will not stay long. Thank you for this welcome into your home. I have another question. You’ve seen this railroad?”

  “I have.”

  “Personally. Very good, then. We will help you take it down.”

  “All right,” I said. I had expected tougher questioning. “That is good news.”

  “Yes, well. Some of our blasters, our tunnel-borers, are always glad for more work. When shall we go?”

  He was not dawdling. Fortunately I had been mulling over the timing.

  “On one hand,” I said, “we have been thinking we might give it another week, or two. That would give them awhile longer to build more of their line, so we would have more targets. And that would also mean that they would have poured more time and work into it. But of course we can’t wait too long. Their army hasn’t raided us again, but they’re still out there.”

  “And where were you planning on striking that line?”

  “As far west as we can safely go, without getting too close to Red Gorge City. We hope to find a place between the city and their army that is unwatched. It shouldn’t be difficult. I was able to ride out there once myself already, and we’ve had more scouts make it through.”

  “They continue to lay the track?”

  “Nonstop,” I said. “With their kobold labor, and the elves still riding out to them with the steel.”

  “Elves,” he said. He shook his head.

  I was surprised by something:

  “Hrond, I must ask—you have not been out there yourself? Or others from Stenhall?”

  “No. We take your word for it. And of course we can see that expedition of theirs they are trying to link up with.”

  “I admit, some of us assumed you would need to see the tracks yourselves before you agreed to assist.”

  He shrugged. “If we hike out and find nothing, we can hike back. We’re not going to allow ourselves to get waylaid by dunters. We don’t intend to leave this world that easily, Master Shearer.”

  “I’m sure. We will need to meet to lay plans, then. We’ll want to bring a small party, and I would guess you will do the same.”

  “Yes. But I have been sent to complete all plans. We would propose meeting one week from tonight along the remains of the old road that led from our west down to the Kurtenvold. You know it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the track is there? It stretches at least that far east from Red Gorge?”

  “Yes. Actually it now comes even closer to us than that.”

  “Very good. At full night, in one week. The intersection of the railway and the old road. We will approach from the north. If there are dunters guarding the tracks in that spot, we will meet as far north along that road as need be.”

  “Good. And what will you need me to bring?”

  He shrugged. “Yourselves. We shall bring supplies to ruin a good length of their tracks. The dwarf you will meet there is named Maghran.”

  Maghran: he rolled the gh in the back of his throat. It was a fine dwarven name.

  Chapter Four

  I emerged from the trees into the moonslight. Rahira had barely cleared the horizon, but Rahune was high and nearly full. I saw the dwarf sitting up on the train tracks. Next to him were bags, which I knew held the explosives. The days since my meeting with Hrond had passed slowly, with all of us in town feeling we were nearly in the sights of the dunters. I walked up to him quickly.

  “You would be Maghran,” I said. I did not bother with any greeting beyond this—he had seen me approaching.

  “I would. Master Shearer,” he answered.

  “Yes.”

  I stood directly before him now, two heads taller but perhaps half as broad in the shoulders. I held out my hand.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” I said.

  He clasped my hand. I am sorry to say that I jolted, somewhat, because I realized he was missing a finger. He held up the han
d; the smallest was indeed gone.

  “Lost in the trade,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “We were diggers, once. Now we are blasters as well. I could greet with my left, but that’s no improvement,” he said. He held up that hand, and it too was short a finger, or most of one—the pointer in this case. He nodded down toward his explosives. “There’s the problem. But they have not taken the rest of me yet. Let’s move. We should have met farther down the rail line.”

  “This is where it was arranged.”

  “I know, for the landmark. But further down there is a fine target. You’ve seen your spotters?”

  “A few times.”

  “And I’ve seen mine.” Both of us had companions along who had been walking well ahead of us, and on our flanks, scouting for dunters. Jed and Britta, once again, were mine. They had signaled to me a few times in the night; all was clear. “We should move down some distance to a bridge. We have the space open before us.”

  “A bridge?”

  “Yes. It will slow them down much more. It’s not far, we have time. Can you take these?” He picked up a shovel, and also a battle axe that had been lying between the rails. “I’ll take the bags.”

  The axe was a cruel but beautiful thing, sharp and broad with etchings and runes. “You trust me with this?” I asked him.

  “More than I would with what I’m carrying.”

  Without further words he started down the tracks, westward. I followed him. His hair flowed down over his almost impossibly wide back. His boots stomped along the ties.

  I wondered what my grandfather, the Marshal, would have thought of the scene. Not so much the railroad, that’s not what I mean; the Marshal had been an educated man of science, and I’m sure he would have listened along intently as I explained the mechanics of mounting a steam engine on a carriage. I mean the scene of this dwarf and me sweating together all night to collaborate on this operation. The Marshal had led the return to Emmervale, a move made precisely in order to remove us from the thrall of the dwarves.

  And here I was, his grandson, carrying my comrade Maghran’s axe for him so it would not continually bump up against the canvas bags of explosives. I think—indeed I hope, for the sake of my pride—that Grandfather would have understood the urgency of our times. Those who remained free now had to unite.

  “Lovely steel here,” Maghran told me. He walked in front and barely twitched his head sideways to let me know he was speaking to me, and not just to himself. “It reflects the moons so beautifully.” His voice was a growl, his bitterness clear.

  “High quality from the elves, as usual,” I answered him.

  “As much antipathy as I hold for them,” he said, “I still cannot believe that their Lord Silvermoor went through with this. They have always been insular; that’s fine, so have we. They have never come to our aid, but again I understand this, for we have not aided them either. But to go out of their way to sell rails to dunters? I do not understand. They have surprised me, and I have not been surprised for a long time. A very long time.”

  “We were also shocked.”

  “And to do this when Red Gorge is expanding, and gaining the upper hand already. And when any being with eyes and ears knows that we are the next targets of their conquest.” He shook his head. “After we blast these tracks, we may well blast the elven furnaces, and then blast the elves themselves.”

  “We understand.”

  “Have you done any demolitions before?” he asked.

  “I have not, no.”

  “I don’t suppose you have many opportunities,” he said as he walked. “Yours is a quiet town. Well, it’s not difficult. And we have enough power here that we don’t need to be too particular about where it all goes. It’s not like this in our quarries, you know. There, we need to be careful, because too much blasting reaches all the way to our halls. It can shift them, shake them. But here—we’ll put on a show. Too bad only you and I will really see it. Perhaps our spotters will catch a view.”

  “What do you use, exactly? Regular blasting powder?”

  “That’s right.” He nodded; I watched the back of his head bob up and down. “Have you heard of niter-glycerol?”

  “I have, yes. A clear liquid.”

  “Very good. Not too many people know of it.”

  “I have been asking about what I might expect from dwarves. Ever since Hrond and I came to the agreement about this project.”

  “Very well. At any rate, we shall not use the glycerol. Too difficult to transport. Our regular powder will serve us quite well.”

  “We’ll start soon?” I asked.

  “We should be at the bridge in just a short while,” he answered. “That will be harder for them to repair than just these open tracks.”

  “I understand.”

  I kept my eyes on the ties beneath my feet as I walked—and at this moment I came up upon Maghran and nearly strode into him. He had stopped.

  “Look there,” he said, just barely loudly enough for me to hear.

  Far down the tracks I saw a gray shape, a blur in the night. Its movement was barely discernible, at first, and I wondered if it might be an animal. Soon its gait was obvious; two legs.

  “Dunter,” Maghran said. He pulled a knife and moved it behind his leg to conceal any gleam it might throw. “Lower yourself. You stick up like a sunflower.”

  I complied (and ever after knew a bit more about what dwarves thought of our appearance). Maghran lay down on the ground, also, his eyes not leaving the figure.

  “I don’t believe that’s a dunter,” I whispered. “Alone like that, so far out here.”

  “Who else might it be? Some Emmervaler out for a stroll?”

  I didn’t answer. The figure neared as we lay motionless.

  “You may be right,” Maghran allowed. “Looks like a man. In flight.”

  The person trotted quickly along the tracks. Soon it was clear that it was indeed a man, in tattered clothing.

  “Safe to stand?” I asked.

  “I have no fear of this one,” Maghran answered.

  We stood. The man continued to rush toward us, not running but picking his steps quickly and carefully along the tracks. He walked with his eyes down and did not notice us. He was almost near enough that I was about to call out to him to get his attention when he finally saw us and stopped.

  “A dwarf and a man,” he said to us, squinting to make us out.

  “So we are,” Maghran answered. “Where do you come from?”

  “West of here. From east of Red Gorge City. And you?”

  “Mountains, for my part, as you could guess,” Maghran said. “What are you fleeing?”

  “The dunters and this railway.”

  “Very well—why have you waited until now to flee it?”

  “I’ve been a captive of those things,” he said. “I had lived on the plains east of them, and they took me two months ago. When they started their line. I went to see what they were up to.”

  “What do you mean,” I asked, “living on the plains?”

  “Just as it sounds.”

  “No one lives there.”

  “Dunters do, now, and I did before that. I was alone, on a river bank. It suited me. But they caged me in one of their jails for these weeks. I slipped out when they forgot about me for a day.”

  “Good tidings for you,” Maghran said.

  “But not for you,” he said. “They were distracted because they were celebrating these tracks. They are about to start this thing. Their locomotive will be along in a day. It may be straight behind me know, for all I know.”

  “You’ve seen the engine?”

  “Yes. It’s not much to see, don’t get me wrong. But it will carry them out here.”

  “And it’s ready?”

  “They intend to start it this day. This is a festival day for them, do you know that?”

  “Because of the train?”

  “No, I mean a day
in their calendar. Fire Day, they call it. From some ancient lore of theirs.”

  “I don’t concern myself with dunter high days,” Maghran said.

  “But it means their train starts at dawn. They boasted to me of it, when I was in their cage. Through those teeth of theirs, I could still make out their words. When darkness fell, two nights ago, they began their rally. They intend to launch their train today, and conquer with this line.” He nodded once. “They intend to conquer for and with this line.”

  “And then they let you go?”

  He shook his head. “I forced the cage. It was the first time they had left me alone. I crept out and haven’t stopped moving since. I did not linger, as you can imagine, but I did see immense fires. They’d had their kobolds hauling wood for days to fuel them.”

  He looked behind himself now, as if expecting to see the engine chasing him. He was haggard with flight, and wide-eyed with his story.

  I was still struck by the life he had claimed before he had mentioned anything about the dunters.

  “How long,” I asked, “had you been living close to them?”

  “Years,” he said. “I fished, I gathered. The countryside there is spare, but one can live off it.”

  “Along the Walsing?”

  “The Walsing,” he repeated. “I always knew it as the Vacing, but yes.”

  “Have you been a holdover out there since the sickness? And the burnings?”

  He shook his head. “I hope I don’t look that old. But there are a few such persons.”

  “Where are you heading now?”

  “East of Emmervale.”

  “My city.”

  “Is it? You know you are in their path.”

  “We have already been in their path.”

  “But you have come out this direction, instead of retreating toward the other. Well, you are braver than I. I must move along.”

  “You say you are bound east of Emmervale.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know there is nothing much east of there. Mountains, and wilds.”