Arcanum (62 page)

He hadn’t made a mistake: their dress, their weapons, the way they looked. Another foot off their height, and they’d be dwarves. Which is what they were, or at least had been once.

“Peter Büber,” he said. “The Prince of Carinthia sends his regards.”

They looked as one to the man-dwarf-thing who’d handed him the tinder box.

“You speak German?” asked Büber.

“Yes.”

They looked miserable. Not just unhappy, but defeated. There was something of himself in their slumped, sullen expressions.

“You were trying to light a fire. Now you have one.” He hadn’t heard of dwarves ever having problems making a fire before, but he conceded that dwarvish hearths burnt black rock, not green wood. “If I could share it with you, I’d be grateful.”

The spokesman – spokesdwarf – grunted his assent. “You know who we are?”

“I think I’ve worked it out. If it makes you feel better, I could pretend I haven’t.”

“What’s the point, human?” He kicked the ground, perhaps wishing it was honest stone.

“I need to get my horse. We’ve lots to tell each other, so don’t go away.”

He almost sprinted down the road and into the forest. He found his bemused horse, and led it back out.

“They’ve grown,” he told it, patting its neck. “They’ve grown and they don’t know why.”

He wracked his memory for the other preternatural characteristics of dwarves: fierce, untrusting, greedy almost to the point of evil, expert miners and smiths, cunning makers of machines. By gaining height, what had they lost?

The pillar of white smoke was starting to fail by the time he returned, and he fed the fire with more wood, placing green timber around it to dry it out. They’d have done better collecting the resin-rich branches of the local pines, which burnt hard and fast. He’d point that out to them later.

As he squatted by the fire, he held his hands out to its heat. An instinctive gesture. He wasn’t cold.

The German-speaking dwarf looked and frowned. “Your fingers. You lack many of them.”

“Most of them ended up in the belly of some beast or other. A couple I lost to a sword-blow. That was …” He put his hands in his pockets. Again, instinctive.

“Hard?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“And your magicians?”

Büber looked at the iron pot supported by an iron tripod placed over the fire he’d made, and at the wisps of steam rising from its black lip.

“That’s not what hunters do. Did. They could have healed me, but then enchanted creatures would’ve been able to feel me, and either run from me or attack me.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t what was wanted. Not then.”

“Why are we like this?” the dwarf asked suddenly. “Why are we …?” It was his turn to struggle with his words.

“Tall.”

“Yes. Tall. Big. Long-limbed, ungainly, tottering, fumble-fingered, poor-sighted. Why are we becoming like you?”

“I can’t tell you why.” Büber breathed out. “Well, maybe I can. Ragnarok. The twilight of the gods. They’ve gone, and they’ve taken the magic with them. No more spells, no more unicorns, no more wood and water spirits, no trolls or dragons or anything else with a spark of magic in them. And no more you, so it seems.”

“Who told you this?”

“The last sorcerer. Sorceress.”

The dwarf snorted.

“I know, I know,” said Büber. “If it had been one-eyed Wotan it would have been better. More believable. It happened anyway, just like she said.”

“What of the unicorns?”

“They just melted away. Too much magic, I suppose. I don’t know about the dragons. Big, flightless lizards? I don’t know. We’ve had problems of our own.”

One of the other dwarves put dried meat and mushrooms in the now-boiling pot. He glared at Büber, then stalked away.

“Problems, human? Compared to ours, they’re nothing.”

The huntmaster thought about getting angry. “Not nothing, no.”

The dwarf looked sideways at Büber. “The extinction of your entire race?”

“No. But still not nothing. Let’s not get into a pissing contest: I doubt you want my sympathy any more than I want yours.”

“True.”

They contemplated the fire together.

“What brings you out of Farduzes?” asked Büber.

“Do you know what it’s like,” said the dwarf – and he growled at the indignity – “to live underground for your whole life, and then to become scared of the weight of rock above you? Of feeling afraid of being buried? Of even having to duck through doorways you once strode through? We are not dwarves any more. We are short, ugly men.”

“You’re all leaving?”

“In groups. Like this one. When it becomes too much to bear.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

The dwarf stared into the heart of the fire. “Survive, I suppose. The best we can. It will be difficult.” He leant closer. “Our women are losing their beards.”

“Losing their beards.” Büber nodded. It was clearly significant. “The people – the humans – at Ennsbruck, have gone as well. Left what they couldn’t carry and gone down the valley. They told me to ask the dwarves why.”

The dwarf pulled at his beard. “There might have been something said. About closing the pass. Forever.”

“They didn’t look pleased.” Büber picked up a branch from the wood pile and poked the fire. “They scrabbled a sort of existence through farming. Take away the trade they relied on for the extras, and they had no reason to stay.”

“They have somewhere to go, human. More than we do.”

“You have Ennsbruck now. It’s empty, and it’s just down the road. You may as well take it.” Büber thought of the boy-thief, and of how he would react to the arrival of these short, dark, angry men-things. “You’ll have shelter and stone walls to protect you while you get used to living above ground.”

The dwarf pulled at his beard again. “That has merit. I can suggest it to the others. It is a small place, though.”

“There aren’t that many of you.”

“It’s not us I’m thinking about.”

“How many?”

“You don’t get our secrets from us that easily, human.”

“The Prince of Carinthia,” said Büber, “wants to hire you. Whoever will come. There are tunnels under Juvavum, dug by dwarves in Roman times and filled with dwarvish machinery that puts water into every house. The prince wants them working again, and we don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Dwarves don’t work for humans.”

“You did for the Romans. You fought for the Romans.”

“That was a long time ago, and our honour is still tainted.”

“I usually find that putting food in your children’s bellies commands a higher price than honour.” Büber shifted uneasily. He didn’t want to have to either run or fight, but there was room enough for only one person to wallow in righteous self-pity, and he’d got there first. “I said I’d put the offer to the Lord of Farduzes.”

“The pass is closed, human.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Do you value your life so little?”

Büber smiled. “Yes. Death would be some sort of release. What keeps me alive is the thought that I might change my mind at some point, and I’ll regret giving up now.” He threw a pine-cone into the fire and listened to it hiss and spit.

“Your prince,” said the dwarf, “does he have gold?”

“The prince will share it with those who choose to help. They can live with us, or they can build themselves somewhere.” Büber relaxed again, and watched the other dwarves bumble around the makeshift camp.

“If you have gold, do you also have silver?”

“We have mountains and forests and lakes and rivers and pasture. We have gold and silver and iron and copper and salt. We have meat and milk and bread. We’ll share it all.” He scratched at his nose and waited for the obvious question.

“You need us for now.” The dwarf had gone from suspicion through hostility and threats to arrive at a rare glimmer of hope. “What if, when the work is complete, your prince changes his mind?”

“Carinthia will share its land and wealth with any of the dwarves of Farduzes who will come. When the prince made his offer, he didn’t know how your … situation had changed. But he’ll honour it, in full, or I’ll be a liar and an enemy of Carinthia forever.” Felix would keep his word, one way or another; Büber was determined about that.

“And you wish to speak to the Lord of Farduzes?”

“No, I
will
speak to the Lord of Farduzes.” Büber emphasised his intention clearly.

“Then I will be your guide.” The dwarf nodded just as emphatically. The matter was settled, and there appeared to be no way to argue against it.

Büber scratched at his chin. So much for being alone in the mountains again.

The solar was full of men, and not the sort of men that the solar usually saw. It used to be a place where the rich, the powerful, the influential gathered to make small talk and become richer, more powerful and better connected. Not today.

Then the long, sunlit room became slightly fuller, and slightly less manly. The door opened, and the babble of voices, some of them barely broken, cut off as quickly as beer from a barrel when the tap is closed. Felix walked in with Sophia behind him, and navigated his way to the far end of the room through the gap that opened for them between the worn boots, dusty breeks and patched jackets.

Ullmann was waiting for them there.

“Is this enough, my lord? I could have taken more, and I could have taken less, but I used my judgement and presumed two dozen, plus myself, would be a good number to start with. All true Carinthians, with Carinthia’s best interests at heart.”

Felix looked up at the front row of men. To a soul, they looked honest and poor, hard-working and keen. To them, this was an adventure. To him, they were simply tools to be exploited and used as weapons. Perhaps not simply – it was needful and expedient – but Ullmann had called them and they’d come. He needed those who were loyal not just to him, but to the idea of Carinthia.

“You’ve done very well, Master Ullmann.” The numbers were more than he’d asked for, and it was possible that some of those gathered might have previously gone over to Eckhardt. There was no way of telling; Ullmann’s judgement was the only measure he had for now. “Now find me a chair.”

Ullmann took one from next to the table, set it in the middle of the room, and steadied Felix as he climbed onto it. Sophia passed him a folded piece of parchment from the stack she was carrying.

The room, already silent, was now still.

Felix looked down at every man there, then at Sophia. If there was a weakness here, it was the lack of women. He already knew there were things a man would tell a woman that he wouldn’t tell a man. Ullmann would have to go out onto the streets again and see what he could do.

“Gentlemen,” he started, wishing that he would grow and that his voice would deepen so it didn’t sound like a mouse’s squeak. “Master Ullmann has picked you because you want to protect Carinthia from its enemies. Your duties will be varied. Sometimes it may be taking a message securely from my hand to another’s. Sometimes it may be going to another town beyond our borders and sending back information. Sometimes it may be dangerous. Some of you will die. If any of you don’t wish to be involved, leave now, with my blessing. If you stay, you are sworn to oaths of loyalty and secrecy.”

He waited, and the men in front of him waited too. Not one moved so much as a foot. They did glance at each other though, perhaps seeing if any would bow out. None did.

“Very well. I have letters of authorisation – not enough to go around yet, more will be written – letters that permit you to take anything and do anything in my name. Misuse that freedom of action, and I will have you pressed in the main square, along with your collaborators. Use it properly, and you will be properly rewarded. For now, you answer to Master Ullmann, and he answers to me. After twenty-five years’ service, you will have land and titles for you and your families, because Carinthia rewards its loyal sons.”

That was the end of his prepared speech, the one he’d been practising all morning and had only partly written himself. He knew he shouldn’t go on, that he should let Ullmann take over, but as he searched the men’s faces for a sign that he’d said enough, he caught the opposite mood. He needed to leave his script and say what he felt.

“When the magic failed, we found we were all living in a different world. It’s not the world we were born to, any of us, but it’s where we have to make our homes now. If we want to keep those homes safe, we have to do things differently. You’re our scouts, the ones ahead of the troops. Before we think about raising an army or what weapons to use, you’ll be telling us what we have to defend ourselves against. If you fail, Carinthia falls. It’s as simple as that.”

Perhaps they weren’t so used to someone in authority being so candid, and the mood of the room grew uncomfortable. Sophia frowned at him, and pointed subtly towards the floor.

He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to explain.

“I’m trying to make you understand how important your role is. It’s not more important than what others are trying to do now, but I’ve told them the same thing. If you’re going to build something, you need stone and wood and tools and someone to wield them. If you’re missing one of those things, nothing happens. We’re at that point. We need to get everything together first. Then we need to build, tall and strong. When the storm comes, which it will, we need to be ready.”

Now he was done. He jumped off the chair, and stood next to Sophia as Ullmann took his place.

“This is your first job: to announce a grand council that is to take place here in Juvavum two weeks from today. You’ll be divided into pairs. Each pair will go to the furthest part of the land, and call all those with something to say to arrive no later than the full moon. Start with the most distant places, work back towards here.

“Now listen: this isn’t just for the earls and merchants and freemen. Anyone who wants to come can come. They can leave their land like a freeman can, and don’t you suffer any nonsense: earls’ lands won’t be earls’ lands for much longer, no matter if there’s an heir or not to claim them. When the prince calls a grand council, he means what he says. All Carinthians are welcome, and no one’s to be left out.