Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (67 page)

The expression on the dwarf’s worn, wrinkled face was one of wonder and possibly disbelief. The eyes though, they gazed on him with familiarity and... recognition?

“Yer name be ‘Kinsey,’ I’ll bet me life on it,” Sargon said.

Thunderstruck, Kinsey took an involuntary step backward.

Sargon’s hands came up slowly as if to calm a spooked animal. “It be okay, boy, I understand it now. Ya be half-dwarven, don’t ya?”

Kinsey stared at the old dwarf. “How do you know my name?”

Sargon sighed. “That be a long tale, lad.” He looked up at the sky; the first touches of orange could be seen through the canopy. “Might be we could discuss it over breakfast?” Both of his brows lifted so his forehead disappeared behind them, and a welcoming smile made its way across his leathery face.

Kinsey looked over the old dwarf at the others.

The woman had moved closer to the axe-bearer, the sharp bolt still trained steadily upon Kinsey. The other half-dozen had spread out in a large semicircle, and their large hands lay lightly upon their weapons.

Sargon kept his eyes on Kinsey as he spoke. “Jocelyn, ya can lower yer crossbow. He means us no harm.” He reached up and untied his cloak. “The rest of ya, get a fire goin’. I be starvin’.” The old dwarf offered Kinsey the cloak and nodded. “We can’t be havin’ yer weapons hangin’ out durin’ breakfast, now, can we?”

Kinsey’s cheeks reddened. He had become so accustomed to his nudity in the past few days, he hadn’t even considered looking for suitable clothes amongst the dead Pelosian soldiers. He took the cloak and wrapped it around his waist with a nod of thanks.

The dwarves were obviously accustomed to their roles and moved with great efficiency. Within minutes, the dead campfire was roaring once again. Pots of water had begun to simmer on a metal contraption one of the men had produced from a pack and unfolded. Two of the other dwarves were plying the water of the deep pool with makeshift poles in search of fish. Jocelyn had unrolled a leather scrip and was stropping a slender knife with a curiously peaceful look for someone who had, just moments ago, been threatening Kinsey’s life. The axe-bearing dwarf and one other set themselves to watching the forest and Kinsey in equal measure.

The orange glow in the sky that Sargon had noted earlier had barely brightened when the old dwarf motioned for Kinsey to sit around the fire with those who were not keeping watch. Amazing aromas were rising from the iron skillet, and Kinsey’s stomach growled loud enough to draw a laugh from the elderly dwarf.

Kinsey shrugged sheepishly and squeezed in beside two of the armored dwarves.

One of them handed him a small tin plate as he sat.

“My thanks,” said Kinsey.

The dwarf gave a grunt of acknowledgement and proceeded to serve up the meal.

It was the best meal Kinsey had had in a long time. Granted, it could just be that roots for the better part of a week had stained his palette, but even so, it was remarkable what Jocelyn and the others had produced in so little time.

As he ate, he watched his hosts carefully. There was a tension in the group Kinsey did not understand. Sargon and the burly dwarf with the axe in particular kept looking at him, and each other, only to look quickly away when their attention was noticed. The axe-wielder seemed agitated, and his glances obviously made Sargon uncomfortable.

“Where do ya hail from, lad?” Sargon finally asked after finishing his plate.

“Waterfall Citadel,” replied Kinsey. “And you?”

The old dwarf grunted contentedly as he passed his tin plate to a younger dwarf, who took it with a respectful nod. He then pulled out his pipe. “Mozil.”

“The dwarven capital,” said Kinsey.

“Mm-hmm.” Sargon nodded while pulling a twig from the fire to light his pipe.

“That’s quite a long journey. Do your lost boys generally wander so far?”

Sargon chuckled. “That be quite a clip, indeed.” He lit the pipe and drew deeply, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I believe I’ll be needin’ a word alone with the lad,” he said to the air as he settled back on his log.

The burly dwarf squinted at his greying elder with suspicion. Sargon raised his brows and whatever objections the younger dwarf might have had, he swallowed. He grumbled under his breath instead and nodded at the others who were looking at him questioningly. All the dwarves retreated into the brush, leaving Sargon and Kinsey alone at the campfire.

“Ya knew ya were half-dwarven, didn’t ya?” Sargon asked.

“Yes.”

The old dwarf puffed on his pipe. “How come ya never came ta Mozil, lookin’ fer yer blood family?”

Kinsey thought on Sargon’s words. He hadn’t realized anyone on his dwarven side still lived. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought on it at all for years. Thoughts of traveling to the dwarven kingdom had tempted him many times in the past, but he had never found or made the time for the trek. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

Sargon nodded. “Well, seems yer family’s come lookin’ fer you.”

“What do you mean?”

The old dwarf leaned forward. “What I mean is, I been sent by yer family ta see ya home.”

“That’s crazy,” Kinsey said. “What family? I wasn’t aware of any living dwarven relatives.” He was having trouble believing the old dwarf. If he had dwarven relatives still alive, they obviously didn’t mind his absence. Then, of course, there was the question of time. “And why come for me now?”

Sargon sighed. “I’d suspected yer ignorance ta be the case.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Yer family be of powerful influence in the dwarven community. They hadn’t known ya’d survived until recently. I can’t explain all that’s happened, it’s not ma place. But I’ll tell ya what I can and show ya the way home.”

Kinsey frowned. “Sargon, I understand you have a mission here. I do,” Kinsey began. “But as much as I appreciate what you’ve gone through to get here, I can’t go with you to Mozil. Not now, anyway.”

It was Sargon’s turn to frown. He tapped the end of his pipe on his lip. “We come a mighty distance, an’ lost two along the way. I’ll not be goin’ back without ya.”

Kinsey didn’t like where this was headed. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Don’t be gettin’ me wrong, lad. I understand priorities—you be mine, after all. I imagine ya’ve got yerself a few things ta take care of before ya come with us. I just won’t be leavin’ yer side, is all.”

Kinsey stammered, “I... That’s not possible.”

The old dwarf smiled widely. “Anythin’s possible, lad. Now, where we be headin’?”

Sargon had seen the water city several times in the past. The last occasion had been over one hundred and twenty years ago. The place hadn’t changed much in the intervening time. The trees had grown a bit, but other than that, it was the same.

He chuckled to himself, as he always did, upon seeing the “remarkable” blend of architecture. The elves had a whimsical approach to engineering. They refused to believe things needed a foundation of stone. But their skill with wood and crafting with the Shamonrae had helped to compensate for the humans’ lack of understanding of how to build
anything
. It was more amazing to Sargon that the Citadel still clung to the cliffside than any marvel of the city itself. He shook his head. “Are ya sure it be necessary ta do this, lad?”

The young half-dwarf glanced back. “Yes,” Kinsey said, then continued in a grumble Sargon knew he was not supposed to hear, “for the hundredth time.”

Gideon had given over a set of spare clothing from his pack so the young man wasn’t limited to only Sargon’s cloak wrapped around his waist. The tunic and pants were far too short for the half-dwarf, but there was just enough fabric, when stretched to its limits, to encompass his body. Sargon had to admit the boy was well muscled for being part human. If the short pants and shirt had been on a full human, Sargon figured it would look ridiculous. On Kinsey, the display of so much muscle and flesh seemed almost dangerous, somehow. He knew his opinion was shared by at least one member of their party. He caught Jocelyn’s gaze lingering on the boy more than once.

The old dwarf sighed. “Let’s be on with it, then.” He waved his hand at the bridge that would take them across the falls to Waterfall Citadel. Sargon looked back at the other dwarves. All of them, save Gideon, had an expression of stoic indifference. The general, however, maintained his façade of annoyance, which had been present ever since they had come across the young half-dwarf. Gideon knew their objective had been achieved in part with the discovery of Kinsey in the jungle, but not why the boy was significant.

Sargon couldn’t blame him. He still wasn’t sure what to think about this
Kinsey
himself. Each night, after their party had gone to sleep, he had pulled out the lodestone to test it against the half-dwarf’s position. Each test was the same. The stone indicated unerringly that the red-bearded man was the one he sought. The verification of the stone and the strong family resemblance left little doubt in Sargon’s mind he had found King Thorn’s grandson. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Kinsey had proven to be stubborn, resilient, and fairly irritating during the past few days of travel. Each of these traits was familiar enough to earn him a place in dwarven society, but none of them were of enough note to make the young man worthy of the possible upheaval that would result from bringing him back to Mozil. It might be that this jaunt into Waterfall Citadel would supply the evidence Sargon needed to make a judgment on whether he could announce that the “heir had been found.” As resistant as Sargon was to enter the water city, he needed the extra time.

Traders and merchants bringing large amounts of goods into Waterfall Citadel could take days to be searched before being allowed entrance to the city. Wanderers and travelers carrying their loads could gain access almost immediately. Sargon was relieved they wouldn’t have to stand outside the city for days. The past weeks of travel had been daunting, and he wasn’t sure how much more patience Gideon contained. When Tarel and Quinn had fallen in the Wildman ambush, Gideon had recalled the talk they had had under the stars at the beginning. “It always comes to blood,” Gideon had said angrily as they piled the stones of the cairns together. Sargon’s continued refusal to divulge the purpose of their quest had angered the general, perhaps to the point that their friendship would be forever compromised.

Ya don’t know just how right ya are, my friend
, Sargon thought sadly as he watched the general tramp behind Kinsey as they crossed the bridge. Sargon could see the tension mounting in his friend’s shoulders with every step they took. Just this morning, Gideon had tried to talk Sargon from going with Kinsey to the Citadel, but Sargon had refused. He needed to see this through, and it was worth the cost of all of their lives to do so.

They strode up to the gates, moving past the long lines of wagons and carts waiting to enter the city. Kinsey, in contrast to Gideon, had a wide and easy smile as he approached one of the guards and said, “Blaine, by Eos, it’s good to see you!” He patted the man on the shoulder. “I need to speak with Dallin, and I’ll need an escort to the palace as quick as possible.”

The guard’s eyes had widened with shock when Kinsey began speaking, and now he stood staring in disbelief.

“As quickly as possible usually means ‘now,’ Blaine,” Kinsey said with a chuckle.

“You... I... Just a moment,” sputtered Blaine. The man spun about and ran to what looked like a guardhouse.

Kinsey frowned and shook his head with a
hmph
.

“Bright lad ya got there,” Gideon said, scowling after the vanished soldier.

Kinsey gave him a placid look.

Sargon had begun to wonder if there was a problem, until the man, Blaine, came out of the guardhouse and signaled for them to come past the gates. Sargon and his fellows followed Kinsey and Blaine into a walled courtyard from which several thoroughfares led away into the city. Sargon could see the milling public beyond those arches, although the cobbles before them had no random traffic. A man in a uniform swung an iron gate closed in one of the arches. Kinsey was asking questions of Blaine in an irritated voice. “Where in the name of Mot’s fiery beard did you get to? I was beginning to grow roots out there.” The great tree, Terrandal, could easily be seen from the wide court near the guardhouse. The shadows of its wide-reaching branches brushed the stones under Sargon’s boots as they walked.