The Fall of Dorkhun (10 page)

“You’ll be a good king.”

“Will you pardon him?”

“Yes, that’s just.”

“Thank you, sir. I mean Dad.”

“I need to finish these documents,” King Kraganere said, waving his hand over the parchments strewn across the table. “Please, send Master Sondious back in here.”

King Kraganere sat down and focused on his duties, and Roskin left the room. He went to his attendant and asked where Master Sondious’s bedroom was, and the attendant led him to a room near the front of the house. The door was wide open, but when Roskin stepped inside, no one was there. Most of Master Sondious’s personal effects were still there, but as Roskin scanned the room, he saw that several things had been displaced, as if someone had grabbed specific items hurriedly, making a mess in the process. Roskin left and walked to the front door, where a pair of guards stood at attention.

“Have either of you seen Master Sondious?” he asked.

“He left the house not long ago,” one said, her voice detached. Roskin saw in her eyes she had spent time at the front.

“Where did he go? The king needs him.”

“I heard something about the stable.”

“Thanks,” Roskin said. “If he comes back before I find him, tell him my father is looking for him.”

Roskin walked across town to the stable. He remembered much of this area from his time mapping was surprised by how easily he found it. More than a couple of years had passed since he had been here, but the details of the place were as fresh in his mind as if he had just finished his rite of passage. He found a dwarf grooming a horse and asked if Master Sondious had been there.

“Just left in a carriage,” the old dwarf said, not looking up. Roskin recognized him as the chief stable-hand from Dorkhun. “He ain’t been the same since his accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“He used to be soft-spoken and kind. Now, all he does is bark orders and snap at folks.”

“Where was he heading?”

“Back to Dorkhun, I reckon. Told me to mind my own business when I asked.”

“Why do you think Dorkhun?”

“Said something to his attendant about the Hall of Gronwheil.”

“You’re certain?”

“My lord, I’ve served as the king’s stable-hand for many years, and I don’t tell nothing unless I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Roskin said, turning to leave.

“It’s good you’re back,” the stable-hand called to him. “The king’s been worried about you something awful.”

“Thank you, again,” Roskin said, stopping and wheeling back around. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Maybe you can help fix this mess we’re in.”

Roskin nodded his understanding.

“We need peace.”

With that, the old dwarf went back to his grooming, and Roskin headed to the house. At the front door, he asked the guards if Master Sondious had returned, and both shook their heads. Inside him, the dark fear stirred, a feeling he hadn’t felt in some time, and the familiarity of it was eerie. Briefly, the image of Dorkhun in ruins came to him, buildings crumbling, fires burning, and people crying out. He turned and faced west, focusing on the vision as Kwarck had advised, but the image faded as quickly as it had come. He muttered to himself and entered the house, walking to his father’s chamber.

“Where’s Master Sondious?” the king asked, looking up.

“He left,” Roskin said, sitting beside his father.

“Left? We have work to do!”

“Sir, something’s not right.”

“What’s wrong, son?”

Roskin wanted to explain about the dark fear, wanted to describe what he had seen, wanted to tell what Kwarck had told him about the elfish gift of intuition. Instead, he shrugged and stared at his father silently.

“Roskin, I know you’ve suffered something I can’t really understand. It’s on your face and in your eyes, but please know, you can tell me anything.”

“Thank you, sir, uh, Dad.”

“What’s not right?”

“Master Sondious has left for Dorkhun. I have a very bad feeling about it.”

“He’s changed, son. The ogres hurt him, and he’s not the same dwarf anymore.”

“He’s up to something,” Roskin said. “I don’t know what, but it’s not good.”

“Let’s get this truce finished, and we’ll go home and deal with him. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Roskin said, surprised by the question. He hadn’t finished his formal education and hadn’t spent any time on the council to learn about such matters.

“I’ve ordered ten wagons filled with food and two more with gold and gems as a sign of our goodwill. In return, the ogres are to retreat across the Ganheren River. We’ll also help them transport their dead back for burial. Finally, if they have need for more food in the next six moons, we’ll supply as much as we can spare.”

“Sounds very generous,” Roskin said, stroking his beard. “What’s the problem?”

“The ogres are happy with the food and gold, but they don’t want to retreat. They feel as if they deserve to have the lands up to the gate, too. They want to bury their dead here.”

“What did Master Sondious propose?”

“He’s full of venom. He wants to drive them across the river and not give them anything.”

“Could we offer a compromise?” Roskin asked.

“I’m listening.”

“I saw the scene at the gate. We’ve both lost a lot on that ground. Could we develop a cemetery for both races and share the responsibility of tending it? We could give them a good sized plot for their dead and provide the materials for whatever kind of monument they want to erect.”

“I like it. If they will agree to that and retreat across the river, I like it a lot.”

“This is all my fault,” Roskin said, hanging his head.

“No, son. You made some mistakes, but you didn’t do all of this by yourself. We all made a lot of bad decisions that got out of control. This thing had a life of its own.”

Roskin nodded but continued to look down.

“Go have supper. Let me write up your suggestions, and then, we’ll deal with the Butcher.”

“Krondious,” Roskin corrected.

“Yes, Krondious. Forgive me.”

“Thank you for listening to me about him.”

Roskin rose from his seat and crossed the room. He hadn’t tasted ale since leaving the Marshwoggs, and he hadn’t tasted a real dwarven ale since leaving Murkdolm. The outcasts in the logging town had decent drinks, but none of their watered-down ales could match the brew-masters from underground. He would get Bordorn and have supper, and then, after Krondious was free, the three would find the best tavern and celebrate. Lost in his thoughts, he turned the wrong way from the chamber and ended up on the wrong end of the hallway. He stopped and turned, but suddenly, a hand touched him on the shoulder.

Without thinking, he spun and drew his dagger with his right hand. With his left arm, he slammed his forearm into the dwarf’s throat and shoved him against the wall. Terrified, the dwarf tried to scream, but the pressure on his windpipe kept any sound from coming. Roskin had his dagger against the dwarf’s neck before he recognized his attendant. Just as quickly as he had attacked, Roskin jumped back and dropped his weapon. The young dwarf fell to the ground, sobbing.

“Are you trying to get killed?” Roskin shouted. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Between sobs, the dwarf tried to speak, but his words were unintelligible. Roskin knelt beside him and placed a hand on his arm. The dwarf jerked away and crab-crawled backwards.

“I’m sorry,” Roskin said, his voice as soothing as he could make it. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Everything okay here?” the guard from the front door asked, eyeing the scene.

“He startled me,” Roskin said, standing. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

The attendant stopped crawling and collapsed on the stone floor. The guard moved beside him and knelt.

“You’re okay,” she said. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

The young dwarf composed himself and sat up.

“Please,” Roskin said, reaching down to help him to his feet. “Forgive me. I just didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay,” the attendant responded, taking Roskin’s arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Here’s your dagger,” the guard said, holding it out with the handle facing Roskin.

“I’m not usually so jumpy,” Roskin said, blushing. “I’ve not been underground in some time.”

“I was just coming to tell you that Bordorn wants you. I was trying to catch you before you left the house again.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s go find him,” Roskin returned to the attendant.

Roskin sheathed his dagger and thanked the guard for her assistance. She nodded and returned to her post. Smiling at the still shaken attendant, Roskin motioned for him to lead the way. The young dwarf hesitated and then moved towards the bedroom. Roskin followed a few steps behind, replaying the scene in his mind. He had seen Molgheon and Leinjar jump like that when startled and had always hoped to never be that way. He had left home as a kid in search of fame and glory and had returned as someone he didn’t quite understand or recognize. He hoped now that after a little time underground he could let go of what haunted him and live a peaceful life.

Back at the bedroom, Bordorn was still reading but looked up when Roskin came in. Roskin didn’t speak. Instead, he crossed the room to the bureau that held his sword and axes and removed his belt. He slid his dagger from the belt and placed it beside the axes, then put his belt back on. Bordorn watched the entire time without speaking, and once his belt was refastened, Roskin lay on the bed and focused on patterns in the ceiling.

“I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”

“Just almost killed my attendant.”

“He is a little annoying.”

“I’m serious, Bordorn. He came up behind me, and I almost killed him before I knew what I was doing.”

“You’ve been through a lot. You need some time.”

“I can’t carry a weapon while I’m here.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Well listen, I’ve been reading a little while you were gone, and I know what I want to do with my stump.”

“Okay?”

“I’m gonna get a shield fashioned so I can learn to use it to protect myself. Will you help me practice using my sword with one arm?”

“Of course.”

“It seems like another lifetime that I first taught you.”

“Yeah.”

“Once I learn how to use my shield, I’ll be able to whip your butt again.”

Roskin sat up and looked at his friend. Bordorn had lost his arm protecting him, and Roskin had yet to talk to him about it, at least not seriously. He wanted to apologize, but words seemed weak and hollow. Bordorn smiled at him and then rose. From the hard labor at the logging town, his body was lean and solid, and even with half his left arm missing, he still carried himself as someone of noble birth. As a kid, Roskin had always looked up to him, and now, seeing his friend still proud, still positive, still with his sense of humor, he respected him even more.

“Let’s get some food,” Bordorn said, walking to the door.

“Sounds good,” Roskin returned, standing and following him.

Bordorn stopped and spoke with the attendant, telling the still scared dwarf that if Roskin tried anything like that again to let him know, and he would take care of it. Looking down and blushing, the attendant mumbled, and Bordorn patted him on the shoulder and smiled. The attendant looked at Roskin briefly, then back at the floor. Roskin patted him on the shoulder also and told him to take the rest of the night off. Then, he and Bordorn made their way to the dining room, and as they neared it, the smells of meats and stews wafted from the kitchen.

“Oh, that smells good,” Bordorn said.

“It’s been too long since I had a hot Kiredurkian meal.”

“That slop they make in Rugraknere is worthy of exile itself.”

Laughing, Roskin pushed open the dining room door and found a seat at the table. Bordorn sat beside him, and the two introduced themselves to the ones at the table they hadn’t met. After the introductions, Bordorn began telling the story of how he lost him arm. Roskin laughed again as he exaggerated the details, and Bordorn had everyone riveted. Roskin leaned back in his seat, listened to his friend, and watched the other dwarves’ faces as they reacted. Bordorn had always loved social dinners and had always been good at spinning a yarn, and sitting there at the table, for a little while, Roskin forgot about the trading block, the cage, the vanishing trails, the dark fear. For a little while, he was just another dinner guest caught up in Bordorn’s charm, and it was good to be back among his kin.

Chapter 7

To Serve Justice

Molgheon grasped the crossbow bolt and got a strong grip. Leinjar and the others held Jase down so he couldn’t move, but he was screaming hysterically, even though nothing had been done to him yet. Molgheon had removed many arrows and bolts from many wounded, so she knew what she was doing. She applied pressure to the bolt to determine whether it was lodged in muscle or bone, and satisfied her shot had only pierced muscle, she ripped the missile from his leg in one swift motion. Jase howled, but she ignored him and picked up the metal rod that had been heating in the campfire. Aiming carefully, she jabbed the rod into his wound to cauterize it. On impact, Jase’s voice dropped into a guttural moan that broke into a silent scream. The smell of burnt flesh rose with the smoke from his wound, and he passed out.