“I need your help to tip the scales. Your name carries weight like brass, and you’d catch the ear of more than a few influential folk. If you’d vouch for me—help me prove I’m the right dwarf for the job…” Lunt paused, the confidence in his voice faltering for a moment. His expression softened, almost vulnerable, before he quickly masked it with a gruff shrug. “Well, it could make all the difference.”
For a dwarf, asking for help was no small thing. Asking it of an outsider? That was even harder.
Vell watched him in silence, his crimson eyes sharp but unreadable as he drummed his fingers lightly against the table.
After a long moment, he leaned forward and said, “The world knows the Dread Mage loathes politics, but I’d do a great deal for a friend. You’ve asked kindly, and for the sake of your family, I’ll help. I’ve known the Lunts for a long time, Lunt. Don’t tarnish that name. You’ve no idea what it means to me.”
“Thank you. Truly,” the dwarf said, his voice thick with sincerity. “You’ve always been a true friend to my family.”
Vell, not one for over-sweet moments, quickly changed the tone. “So, what’s the plan? March into the council hall in your finest armor, astride a horse? Or perhaps a war goat? Maybe even a kodo?”
Lunt let out a booming laugh, nearly choking on his pipe smoke. He thumped his chest, wheezing before finally catching his breath. “A war goat, eh? I like the sound of that. Imagine it—me, all polished and gleaming, riding a cashmere one through the council chambers, horns sharp enough to slice bread. Might just scare the old codgers into seeing sense.”
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Vell tapped his fingers on the table. “Tempting as that might be, subtlety may serve you better. No need to startle the council into thinking you’re mad. We’ll need to show them you’re serious—and capable of leading without smashing your way through their traditions.”
Lunt nodded, his humor fading as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re right, of course. I’ve been working in the background for a while now, and the pieces are starting to fit together. The council’s about to meet soon—an important one, too. One of their members is stepping down after decades. I won’t be the only one vying for that seat, but I’ve got a friend on the council willing to nominate me. That’ll get me through the door. After that, it’ll come down to proving myself to a few key voices.”
Vell’s gaze grew distant as he turned the thought over. “Tell me—how much would it sway things if the Dread Mage were to publicly declare himself an ally to the Great Mine if a Lunt held the title of lordship?”
“Who knows?” Lunt scratched at his beard, puffing on his pipe as he considered. “Some would grumble, maybe loudly. But even those who don’t like you couldn’t deny it’d be a boon, no matter how much you are disliked.”
Vell chuckled softly, swirling the last dregs of his drink in his tankard. "Disliked is putting it mildly, Lunt. There are plenty who’d rather see me locked away in a tower than hear my name in their halls. The Dread Mage isn’t exactly synonymous with trustworthy to most, but then again, I don’t need everyone’s love. Just the right people’s grudging respect.”
Lunt leaned forward, his pipe dangling between his teeth. “Aye, and grudging respect is often the best kind. Honest, if nothing else.”