High Iron Page 9

  Chapter Six

  We were seven and a horse; three dwarves, the three of us from Emmervale, and our gagged prisoner. Jed was last in line, leading the horse.

  “You might as well ride it,” Maghran told him. It was a tall and powerful gelding. Dwarves, of course, preferred to stay on their feet.

  But Jed shook his head instantly:

  “I shall walk with the rest of you.”

  Maghran and I went first. Behind us, Hrond and Inman prodded along the messenger. Maghran had told them:

  “Keep a club about you, the butt end of something. If anything happens to us—begins to happen—you have to knock out that man, quickly. We can’t have him assisting our enemies.”

  We started away from the tracks and the bridge, due south. We would be walking through open grassland for some time, seeing only occasional clusters of trees. It was well into the morning now, a fine day with a breeze.

  The double row of Silvermoor’s sign behind us made me think he was forever watching me over my back. I stopped and turned to look at the rails.

  “They are so odd, I feel they may disappear,” I said. “But I suppose they won’t go anywhere.”

  Britta answered this:

  “Perhaps we can roll one home with us when we are done.”

  “We should keep moving,” Maghran said.

  “Should we?” Jed said. “No one on any train passing by is going to see us.” I saw him shake his head, and he seemed to be rolling his eyes; I didn’t know why. But we resumed our march.

  The terrain continued as before: green, and no signs of habitation. We would see a bird of prey circling high from time to time, looking for rodents in the fields, but no men or elves.

  “What sort of dwelling does this woman live in?” Maghran asked me.

  “An old keep. You would think it is ruined, to see it. If you can see it at all. It’s covered with vines, and concealed. I have not been there for years, mind you, but I doubt it has improved, or that she has trimmed back anything.”

  “It’s in those woods, then?”

  “Yes. The Kurtenvold. We’ll cut into them eventually.”

  “Where is she from?”

  “Caranniam. Long ago.”

  “And why did she leave?”

  “Some sort of falling out with their council.”

  “So she must be a friend to us. Or close enough.”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose she consorts with elves, what with living out here?”

  “Yes. They come out this far.”

  “I wonder if they watch us even now.”

  “I would not be surprised if they do.”

  We kept on, past mid-afternoon. Eventually we neared a stream which came from the open land to our left and cut in front of us. Beyond it—well beyond it still—we could see a wall of dark green; this was the Kurtenvold.

  “That is our goal, then?” Maghran asked, nodding toward the forest.

  “Yes. There is some more walking even once we are in.”

  “Then let’s cross this and then set up our camp,” Maghran said. “We’ve traveled a good distance. We can enter tomorrow.”

  “As you wish,” Jed said from in back. His voice was sharp. I noticed this, but Maghran did not seem to. Then I heard the horse snort behind me. I looked, and Jed was tugging the lead and hurrying to the water, passing us. He was shaking his head. I touched his arm as he came abreast of me.

  “Jed, what is it?”

  He threw one hand up in the air. “Why does he give the orders? Why is he the leader? We’ve done just as much out here as they have.”

  “Jed, it’s not important. He’s an old dwarf; it does no harm to respect him. And he brought the explosives.”

  “Which ended up making no difference, for all their boasting of them,” he said. “And they are the ones who told us that they wanted you along to help. Why does that mean that he is in charge? It’s not as if it was our idea to assist them. And why is it that they guard the prisoner? And why do they invite themselves along now at all? Wilhelmina is our acquaintance, not theirs.”

  “Jed. Let’s just walk, and take care of this letter, and get home. We may be very glad to have these companions along, before we return.”

  He passed me, and said nothing.

  We crossed the stream all too soon, and Britta and the dwarves began dropping their bags. Britta was near Jed, and Hrond spoke to them.

  “We did not come stocked for an extended stay in the wild. Did you?”

  “We did not,” Britta said. “We brought enough food for the return home, but not for this detour here.”

  “We’ll have to see what we can find, then.”

  “We are nearing dusk, and there’s the line of trees,” Maghran said. “Perhaps a deer will come along.”

  “That must be our plan, then,” Jed said. Again no one else seemed to notice his tone.

  “Can we shoot out here?” Hrond asked. “Is there any reason to stay quiet?”

  “I believe we can shoot,” Maghran said. “If you feel you can hit anything between the two of you.”

  “Between Inman’s barrel, and my shot, I’m sure we could.”

  “You’re not the only ones with a gun,” Jed said.

  “True,” Hrond said. “Or perhaps you could catch us some fish, young man. Just like the old times.”

  “Catch them yourself, dirt-eater,” Jed said, and he swung his fist at the dwarf, and connected.

  I felt a quick shock.

  Normally a strike from Jed landing on a dwarf would have essentially bounced off, but Jed had been standing a bit higher than Hrond to begin with, and also he stepped firmly into his swing. He landed his punch on the left side of Hrond’s face, and he snapped the dwarf’s head sideways a bit. The sound was like a potato masher hitting tough raw meat.

  “What’s this!?” Maghran roared.

  “Jed!” Britta yelled. She threw her arms around him and pulled him back.

  “We are your fishermen no longer!” Jed shouted.

  Hrond brought his face back around, darted toward the two of them surprisingly quickly, and swiped at Jed. He hit him in the lower ribs, with one swing, and knocked him over along with Britta as well. His blow made me think of Maghran pulling the messenger down to his level, earlier; neither dwarf seemed to put much effort into the action, but both tossed around the bodies easily.

  “Come now,” Maghran said. He stepped toward Hrond and pulled him back as I went to my two fallen companions and shook my head.

  Long ago in Stenhall, of course, one of the chores of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers had been to catch fish for their dwarf masters. The dwarves would not deign to do it; and they ate fish only occasionally, and then only thoroughly dried until it was satisfactorily tough for them. But they had taken pleasure in ordering our forefathers to fish for them. And not only had the dwarves found fishing disagreeable in the best of times, but in those years a fishing trip out of their mines and down to a river meant potential attacks from the scourge of dragons and wyverns. These were very dark memories for Emmervalers.

  Maghran held Hrond back with one hand, and spoke past me to Jed. “Listen, young man. You fish for no one; we know that. Your two companions here are of your proudest family, and we are indebted to you yourself for that strike on the messenger. Hrond was not insulting you. We are out here together, and we have five thousand dunters a day’s walk away who want all of our heads. We have to leave this behind us.”

  “Then leave it,” Jed said; but he did turn and walk away. He disappeared into the woods.

  Maghran looked at me.

  “A proud young man,” he said.

  “To a fault,” I said.

  “If he can keep his fists to himself, his strength should serve him well.”

  Hrond stood there—not, I noticed, rubbing his face.

  “So,” Maghran asked him, “when’s the last time anyone struck you?”

  “Not since I was a lad. A fight among youth in some f
orgotten hall.”

  “You can forget this?”

  Hrond nodded. “I think this man Jed here may be even younger than that lad of ours who last struck me, in that brabble long ago.”

  Britta, Inman, and Hrond took their muskets to try to hunt deer, or anything else they might find, to the south, closer the edge of the woods. They saw nothing. I located some splitleaf plants, and dug up their roots; we ended up roasting those and also eating the considerable rations which the messenger had brought along. We bound his legs, untied his gag, and allowed him to drink water and watch us eat.

  “We will let you wait to eat until you are with your friends the dunters,” Maghran told him. “They should have some food you will enjoy.”

  The man did not answer, probably assuming, rightly, that we would gag him again and take away even the water if he objected.

  “Would you want to tell us your name, now?” Maghran asked him.

  “No.”

  “How about your message? Your errand?”

  The man did not answer.

  “We are going to keep you alive, sir, but I reckon you will not see your countrymen until this war is over. You have nothing to say?”

  “I do not.”

  “Your railroad has failed. The elves you assumed were working with you, are clearly not. You have been robbed. Your dunter armies are far from their bases, with no reinforcements coming. Any men of your acquaintance who are with them are now subject to whatever preemptive raids my families, and those of Emmervale, will mount. You have nothing to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Maghran’s warning about the attacks from Stenhall and Emmervale was optimistic, I knew, and the messenger probably knew it also. Emmervale could not defeat that dunter force, and it wasn’t probable that Stenhall could either. Furthermore the dwarves were not likely to even bother harassing the dunters as long as they were not under imminent threat. The messenger said no more.

  Britta and Jed ended up building their own fire and sleeping some distance away from us. Britta had asked me what I thought of this, and I encouraged her to stay with Jed. I remained by a second fire, with the dwarves. We soon set watch and slept.

  In the morning we rose early and set off quickly. We went without breakfast, just drinking water from the stream. The three with guns kept them ready.

  “If we see anything to eat, on hoof or wing, we can stop and roast it, I would hope,” Britta said.

  “If you can bring it down,” Maghran said.

  Jed joined us again, and we walked in the same order. Jed and Hrond did not speak to each other. Maghran did not seem to pay them any mind, and I tried to do the same.

  We reached the Kurtenvold fairly quickly, but along the way the messenger began to flag a bit. Hrond and Inman had to prod him more frequently. Maghran spoke to me.

  “Our friend did not sleep well, it seems.”

  “He can rest more once we are with the Duchess.”

  “The Duchess of the wild,” Maghran said.

  “And this reminds me,” I said. “I wish I had a gift. I didn’t know I’d be coming down here.”

  “It’s necessary to bring one, for her?” Maghran asked.

  “No, not necessary. She’ll still speak with us, I’m sure. But it never hurts to smooth the way, with her.”

  “I may have something.” He swung his rucksack around and reached into it.

  “You carry gifts?”

  “Small wealth. For such occasions.”

  He produced a deep red gemstone. It lay rich in his hand, diverting one’s attention even from the missing finger.

  “Arovis,” I said. “I’ve seen them in Emmervale.”

  “From our mines. We charge dearly for them, for they are rare.”

  “You’ll part with it? I think she will be pleased with that,” I said.

  “She very well should be,” he answered. “Many hours go into finding these and polishing them. Many hours.”

  Finally we came upon a sort of protrusion in front of the woods, a small hill. It was just a bit higher than the rest of the rising land around it.

  “Here,” I said. “We cut into the woods here.”

  “Very well,” Maghran said. “And is it far in?”

  “No, not far.”

  “Not too thick in there for the horse?”

  “No.”

  Inside the trees, the woods quickly became dark. But they were not tangled; our progress was easy across the forest floor. Ferns grew, and became larger as we continued. We soon had to cross a river. This was the Ridan, the same one that ran through Emmervale miles to the northeast. It was shallow enough that we did not have to walk far to find a place to ford. The river bed held piles of smooth rocks. Britta stopped to skip one as we crossed.

  We continued due east, through the trees. We heard the echoing calls of birds high above us, and they parted as we passed below. Eventually we moved up a slight ridge. The undergrowth rose up quite high, suddenly, and vines and low branches from the trees came down to meet it.

  “This is it,” I said. “Over there.”

  I had taken care to point out the keep before it could be easily seen, but Maghran did not admit to being unable to find it. I had hoped to get a reaction from him. At any rate we advanced, and soon it was obvious: dark green walls stood before us. A carpet of vines grew up the sides. Only at the top did stones emerge so one could see that this was an old tower. It was wide, but not tall, just twice the height of a man. Crenelations, unmanned for who knows how many decades—or centuries—looked down us.

  Two large trees had grown up within the walls, right in the middle of what had previously been a formidable defense.

  “One could certainly walk quite near it and not notice,” Maghran finally said. “Who lived here—is it known?”

  “One of the great families of this region,” I said. “I do not know the name. Long ago, of course, well before the emptying. These woods were not here, then; at that time their edge was to the south, and this land was productive.”

  “Just a single tower? It must have been long ago indeed.” He meant that larger castles had been built in this area, in later years. But this was just a tower—what was left of it. Its modest heights had broken down in a few spots.

  We walked around the wall to a gate. The heavy wooden door was intact, but the lintel piece above had collapsed onto it, and some of the surrounding stones were loose, also. A second, newer, smaller door had been cut into the original.

  “Empty hands, everyone,” I said to the group. I then called out:

  “Duchess Wilhelmina, friends call on you.”

  We waited.

  “You reckon that’s enough to bring her?” Maghran asked.

  “I believe so.”

  We waited longer, and then the smaller door did click, and rattle, and open inward.

  She stood there. In her youth she must have been striking. Even now, she was striking still. Her face was lined, but her dark eyes were still penetrating; her hair was unruly and unkempt, but still mostly black and full. She had some sort of scent about her, that of a spice tree or some mix of herbs. She wore a blue robe—it was rather fine for a hermit, thick and clean and whole.

  “There were two more dwarves with you, earlier,” she said.

  Maghran and the others were taken aback, at this; they looked at each other.

  “They have gone back to their home,” I said.

  “Which is?”

  “Stenhall.”

  “Very well. Why have you come? And you are a Shearer, I believe. An Emmervaler.”

  “I am. Aiman. I was hoping you would remember me. Thank you for opening your door to us, Duchess. We have come into possession of a letter written by Caranniam. It was being taken to the dunter army which is camped at some short distance from Emmervale. We want to know what it says, but we are unable to read it.”

  “My guess,” she said, “would be that it commands that army to take and burn down Emmervale.”

  “Yes, w
ell, milady,” I answered. “It seems a long letter for that. There is much writing on it. And also we assume that those would have been the orders known to that army all along. We think there must be more to it.”

  “I suppose this bound man here is the messenger himself.”

  “Yes.”

  “And nothing from him. Well, you must have time now, or perhaps a reprieve entirely, what with the ruin of the railroad tracks.”

  “We hope so, of course,” I said.

  “I will ask you to come in,” she said. “This is not precisely my battle, but I always enjoy a disguised message, if this is indeed what you have. And I would miss Emmervale somewhat, if it were eradicated.” For all I knew, this may have been the strongest statement of allegiance and affection she had ever made for any city or realm. She beckoned us inside. We entered, pushing the messenger along with us.

  The inside of the old keep was one large space. Ages ago there must have been guardrooms, hallways, and other chambers, but now the inner walls were gone. A few broken foundations of them were still in place—and a few columns, to support what remained of the flat roof—but otherwise the space was open.

  Open, but not empty. The great room was decorated with old tapestries along most of its outer walls, and in a few places they hung down from the ceiling to create partitions. There were also a few old, broad tables, and wardrobes here and there. It would have made quite a grand hall in the palace of a king—save for the trees, of course. As we had seen from outside, the two large trees grew right in the middle of the hall. The apertures in the ceiling left a large gap around the trunks, but Wilhemina did not seem to worry about any intruders climbing down. Grass grew beneath the openings where the sunlight could enter. Near one of the trees was a tall, freestanding brick fireplace, which made use of the opening in the roof for the smoke to exit.

  Wilhelmina also had benches strewn around, seemingly at random, and several very worn chaise lounges and upholstered chairs. There was a cluster of chests near the fireplace. The furniture was kept on areas of broken stone and tiles, but some areas of the floor were dirt.

  Britta and I had been inside the keep before, but all the others stood and took it all in. It was a singular home.