12. City Stroll

“I have made my second visit to the so called stone city of this new dwarven peoples. Like the last, I was met with hostility, suspicion, and what must have been revulsion.

But this time they at least tried to hide their ill feelings.

No doubt when we had first met they assumed that goblins were a savage people, who posed no threat to the humans or the dwarves. But now it seems they have learned more of The Small King and the sprawling Grorginite Empire. And understand that we might snuff them out at will.

Good wishes and well wrought gifts were offered us. I was taken for a guided tour through the stone streets, where I saw male dwarves coupled up with female humans. It would seem that my prior suspicions were right, and these travellers have arrived without any breeding partners. As such perhaps they were honest when they claimed that their relocation was happenstance and not preplanned.

Height not withstanding, perhaps their similarities will allow some crossbreeding. As was rumored to be the case with exiled elven folk before they went extinct. I am ever grateful for the Pool.”

Ruby stood with her back to the wall of a shaded alley. “This is an odd sort of cruelty.”

“I would not disagree.” A lithe man waited beside her, wearing a coat of mail under his green jacket. “But I fail to see what business it is of ours. Would your father have openly involved himself in such an affair… for the sake of a member of the Black Hands?”

“He is an old friend, Ragni. That and besides, this is an opportunity to ruin the plans of the Crooked Teeth.”

“And to what end do we do that?” Ragni asked. “They offered you a truce, and your first act after that was to slay one of their members. Do you wish to bring us into an open war? Blood staining every street of the city?” He shook his head. “Not even the Black Hands would risk that.”

“A snake without a head,” Ruby dismissed. “There is no way that Brolli would suffer this. The Crooked Teeth does not want power or coin. They want to murder Jarl Thrand or else bring the city into an uprising that will achieve the same thing. That is why we are here… because if we stand idly by and let these mad men do whatever they please then there will not be business left for us to profit from.”

He grunted. “I yield to your wisdom.”

Ragni held out his hands to stand on, helping Ruby climb onto the angular stone roof.

He followed after her, using the ledge of a closed window for footing. They both had sight of the city below, their ears assailed by the din created by hundreds of folk speaking, shouting and jeering. The gathered crowds stretched from the promontory of Jarl Thrand’s Estate and down the stone city’s main road that led towards a smaller path which ended at the northern mine.

The mine could be seen from any place of height, nestled into the northwestern corner of mountains that surrounded Timilir. A wooden compound with dirt floors and tall palisade walls fenced off the rocky maw that served as the mine’s entrance.

The leaning wooden structures stood apart from the sturdy stone homes of the rest of the city, but seemed a good match for those of the shadowed slums, where two more mountainous corners opened to mines ran by paid labor and not slaves. The tunnels of those were once considered as much safer, but more recently kobolds had abducted dozens of miners without distinction.

“It’s a wonder,” Ruby spoke over the gathered voices of the scores in the stone street below, “that folk have been so easily made to hate a man they don’t even know.”

She lifted her gaze to the sloping approach of the marble estate where a huge, naked man trudged forward ahead of a dozen armed guards. Stalls had been wheeled forward full of rotting vegetables, eggs, and fruits, which was hurled at the prisoner as he passed.

Ruby could not hear the words of the crowd that closed on his approach, but she could see hate in some faces, derision in others, unfocused anger or cruel humour on the rest. They shouted, hurling what they could, spitting what they couldn’t.

One old man whipped out his cock to piss a puddle along the paved street.

Hjorvarth strode through it as if it didn’t bother him at all. Ruby watched his unerring stride, even as rocks and loose bricks struck him, one splitting open his brow, as wet vegetables broke apart on his shoulders, as slop buckets layered him in slime and filth.

A rotund butcher walked forward to douse him in offal.

Ruby thought she could almost see him laugh, smiling beneath the red and brown liquid that now masked his stony face. “You would think Brolli or Jarl Thrand walks that street… or even the leader of the Crooked Teeth.”

“Or Isleif the Bard.” Ragni shrugged. “It is not so hard to have a crowd committed to blaming a man for the crimes of others… particularly when he is the son and foster son both. I’ve heard those who think he’s to blame for the Crooked Teeth. They did, after all, begin not long after Thorfinn’s death… and since his arrival the attacks have become more and more common.”

A skinny woman hurled a brick at the filthy prisoner’s back.

Ruby gritted her teeth. “They’re going to kill him.”

“What more could he expect when he threw himself to the mercy of Jarl Thrand?” Ragni asked. “He declared Thrand and his son as cowards, and offered no real apology at all. It was… foolish.”

Ruby glared. “He does not deserve to be stoned to death.”

“I would never suggest that he did.” Ragni’s lips twisted in distaste. “He won’t die. He hasn’t even slowed. And it’s a hundred years in the mines for whoever kills him.”

Further behind the naked prisoner, guards had begun to break apart the crowds and pull people out for beatings.

Ragni raised his brows. “They’re taking those throwing bricks is my guess.”

Hjorvarth stopped now four leather-clad folk leapt out of the colourful crowd heaving around him. Ruby watched wide-eyed while they tried to butcher the huge man, while Hjorvarth made best effort of twisting and stepping back on slick stone.

A black-clad young man entered the fray, burying a dagger in a woman’s neck, shoving her into an older man. He swept forward, taking a wide slash across the side of his shoulder, then stabbed a second man in the collar bone, and dived amid the folk gathered opposite.

Hjorvarth had struck the older man down. He managed to trip the fourth attacker, and kept wide of the man who still struggled with the blade in his chest.

The guards put an end to those still living now they followed behind the huge prisoner.

“Was that one of ours?” Ruby asked.

“No,” Ragni answered. “It looks like this is a day of rash interventions… although no one seems too eager to knock on the door of The Stone Sons.” He nodded to a wide street where an ornamental fountain stood untouched between two towering rows of gold-banded structures. “I would have thought they’d be out in force.”

Hjorvarth strode towards the fountain unimpeded, and started to wash his face and hair in the running water. He had been hurt, badly, and blood ran from a few wounds.

He eyed the paved ground around him, then swept his gaze about the abandoned street. Crowds jostled at either end, pushed back by waiting grey-liveried guards, but none ventured into the shadow of the buildings.

Hjorvarth then turned to the sound of stone clunking.

The three-storey structure ahead had four colour-glass windows on each upper floor. The ground level was reached by a wide, squared stair, and on through ornate stone doors wrought wide enough for two passing carts.

Hjorvarth sipped from his cupped palms while the doors groaned open.

“Are you well, friend?” asked a slow voice that reminded him of heroes of old.

The sturdy man that spoke appeared much the same, with a handsome and hard-boned face, framed by a mane of black hair that had begun to grey. He stood amid a line of a score. Eighteen men and three women. They had the same hard features and weathered faces and appeared as if they had outlived some past age of honour and bravery, now living in a place and a time they despised.

The Stone Sons wore armour of iron, mail and leather, covered by a uniform shirt that had been dyed blue and woven with a white boulder. Their shields, for those that carried them, bore the same device, and all their weapons showed the same wear and age as their faces.

Hjorvarth felt a sudden longing to belong, and understood why his father had wished him to join the fighting band of the stone city. “I only paused to wash the filth from my face. I meant no offense.”

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The Stone Sons descended the stair in unison.

The sturdy man nodded in consideration. “I assure you, there was none caused. Even so, we have taken it upon ourselves to escort you from this sanctuary.”

Hjorvarth stepped back from the well now the fighting band approached. “I am happy to leave of my own accord.”

“Oh.” The man raised his brows. “That was no veiled threat, son of Isleif. Your father was long a friend of mine, and I will not see his son brought down by filth and hail… or murdered by cowards in the open streets.”

“You have my honest thanks, but—”

“Then I will take that as your tacit approval as well.”

The Stone Sons split into two groups to form a hollow column.

The sturdy man walked forward, dragging Hjorvarth between the blue-clad fighters before the formation closed into a square around him.

The grey-liveried guard ahead closed ranks to block the streets, and readied spears. The guard captain, marked by his grey-painted helm, stepped forward. “This brute is in our care, Ulfsteinn. The Stone Sons should move no further.”

Ulfsteinn raised his hand to call a halt, striding ahead of those surrounding Hjorvarth. “Five knife-cuts, a split brow and dozens more small wounds as scratches and bruises. Your care has been found lacking, guard captain.” He unslung a runic two-handed warhammer. “Further, you are in no position to make requests of me. Step aside.”

“You would threaten Timilir’s guard?” the captain asked in disbelief. “You have lost your wits, old man. Move further and this ends in blood.”

“Your blood,” Ulfsteinn answered. “Do you I think I weigh your life as a commodity of import, stranger? By threatening The Stone Sons, you have broken the ancient tenets of The Stone City. Your lives are forfeit. Lower your weapons and retreat before we move to claim them.”

The guard captain looked to his score men. Each had started to shrink back. The colourful crowd behind them had fallen to a watchful silence. “Jarl Thrand will abolish your order—”

“Abolish?” Ulfsteinn roared. “It is I that have the power to disavow him! I have suffered his slights in the past, when he refused to allow me to settle the death debts of three hundred. But that leaves me gold to spare for you men. Now I will say again, once more, for the sake of women and children that might rely upon you… stand aside.”

Ulfsteinn marched forward with his war-hammer readied and all The Stone Sons kept step behind their leader.

From the same rooftop, some distance away, Ruby sighed with relief when the city guards parted.

Beside her, Ragni murmured in surprise. “Timilir is soon to tear itself apart.”

“Perhaps,” a cold voice mused behind them. “Or perhaps we’ll dig up the bad meat before it seeps the rot into the lot of us.”

“And which party is the bad meat?” Ragni asked, almost idly, then realised who had spoken.

Ruby had drawn a short-sword, and gripped a fan of knives behind her back.

They both turned to see a round stone chimney, blackened by long use.

The mad man appeared to be climbing out of it, his face matching the discolouration, his cold eyes turned upwards in a curious smile. “Ah, hah. I’m quite stuck! No, wait—that was a lie! Come no closer, I’ve knives hidden behind my back! No, wait… no, wait. Why did we meet here?” he finished ponderously.

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “Are you alone?”

“Alone? Yes, no, no… how can a man be alone with all those voices yap, yap, yapping in his head?” The mad man started to fall down the chimney, grunted, and heaved himself higher on his elbows. “Would one of you lend me a hand…?” A tinkle of metal began, ending in a metallic crash. “Ah, there go my knives, but never mind. Has anyone a hand to lend me?”

Ragni crept forward, letting go of his own knives. “Hold out both your hands.”

He grabbed a hold of the mad man’s extended arms and pulled him up and out of the chimney. The mad man sprung off the chimney and tackled Ragni to the floor, a knife already pressed against his neck before Ragni reached for a blade.

“Hah!” the mad man shouted. “As easily had as that.” His arm tensed, tightening the grip on his knife.

“Don’t!” Ruby warned.

“Oh?” The mad man frowned. “Is that not what we’re doing? Gem Cutters waiting in the streets to cut apart the Crooked Teeth. Isn’t that the game we’re playing? Slash, slash, slash. Hack, hack—ah, ah! Hands away from that blade, my friend, or you’ll be gripping this one with your throat.” He chuckled. “Ruby, of the Gem Cutters. Please deliver to me compensation for the lives taken… or else I’ll come for the price in teeth.”

The mad man smashed his dagger’s hilt into Ragni’s head. He rolled forward while Ruby tried to slash across his back, then leapt quickly onto the chimney. “Further word, shall be shared!”

Throwing knifes glittered in the air, narrowly missing the man before he dived into the stone home below.

Ragni groaned. “Hit him?”

“No.” Ruby knelt beside the black-clad man. “Are you badly hurt?”

Ragni shook his head, grimacing. “I didn’t think that he would be quite so quick.” He studied her for a long moment. “Do you intend to pay the compensation?”

Shouts, screams and laughter rippled up from the street below.

Ulfsteinn and The Stone Sons had strode close to unimpeded amid the spectators.

They had barely suffered interruption and only a dozen thrown stones, but had now been stopped amid a narrow paved street by a pair of overturned carts. They had moved to clear the way while an order was given by a hooded man.

The docile crowd of colorfully clothed folk had revealed hidden blades. Leather-clad archers on the rooftops had stepped forward and begun to draw.

“Hold!” came the stentorian command of Ulfsteinn.

The Stone Sons tightened their formation, kneeling to better cover themselves behind sparse shields. A few knife-wielding women had already gotten into the square, but Hjorvarth disarmed one and Ulfsteinn’s hammer crunched into the remaining pair.

Arrows loosed, puncturing mail and flesh, scraping off of helmets, snapping against the hard stone of the road.

The Stone Sons grunted their pain and held their ground. The unarmored attackers leapt onto the fighters as if they cared not at all for their lives. One woman got her knife under a visor, digging into a man’s throat even as he disemboweled her. Two others of the Stone Sons, those that had ventured forward to clear the carts, were surrounded by cheering attackers, brought down in a flurry of stabbing, scratching and biting.

The folk that surrounded The Stone Sons proper had suffered worse luck, most having their blades turned and their legs hacked out under them. On the rooftops, Alrik and Ruby had leapt across a divide and now fought with a group of four archers, while those atop the homes opposite continued to draw and loose on the fighters below.

The Stone Sons had their own bows, or throwing axes, and managed to slay archers that stayed too long in line of sight. Wounded men and women now littered the blood-slick ground around them, clutching at wounds or trying to struggle away on stumps.

“Clear the street, but venture no further!” Ulfsteinn ordered. “Ware of friends on the roofs!” He waited while the bloodied attackers retreated back into shadowed alleyways. “Form together!”

Hjorvarth still stood unclothed amid the well-armoured blue-clad fighters. He watched with a wary confusion, not wanting to step forth to kill men and women even if they had meant to murder him.

The Stone Sons stepped forward to envelop the carts, righting one, loading with care three dead and one badly wounded, then split into two groups of twelve and eight. The twelve led the cart back the way they had come, while the eight, seven with shields, marched forward, closer together than before.

They followed the stone streets, growing more abandoned, in a tense and ready silence, but no members of the Crooked Teeth came to challenge them. Timilir’s folk had lost their heart for senseless displays of anger as well, which meant that the spectators of the procession dwindled until the The Stone Sons walked through empty streets.

The paved road they followed grew into a greater state of disrepair until they trod across worn earth. The wooden gate of the mining compound lay open ahead of them, where more grey-liveried guards waited, standing alongside the dozen brown-clad staff of the northern mine itself.

The Stone Sons slowed to a stop far from the gate. Ulfsteinn accompanied the huge prisoner for a more dozen steps.

“My thanks for your help,” Hjorvarth spoke in a troubled voice. “I had expected the journey to be simpler.”

“As had I.” Ulfsteinn nodded, his weathered face tense with regret. “With that in mind, perhaps I should have made this offer sooner, but I have the power to invite any man sentenced to the mines into the ranks of The Stone Sons. For a hundred winters, in your case, but I would expect the life would serve you better. It is not often used, not for forty winters, and may well be contested, but the offer is made in all severity.” He took a slow breath. “Jarl Thrand be damned if he thinks to move against The Stone Sons.”

Hjorvarth kept his gaze towards the dusty compound. “Your offer puts me beyond gratitude, Ulfsteinn of The Stone Sons.”

“But…”

“But I come to this place with a purpose in mind. My friend has been sentenced, and I am sworn to protect him. It is my belief that his son serves in the mines as well.”

“Ah,” Ulfsteinn sighed. “I wish you your father’s luck, then, son of Isleif. He is the only man I know who truly escaped his service in that place.” He rested a hand on the huge man’s bruised shoulder. “The offer remains open, then… should you one day return to the open air.” He dipped his head, and turned to leave.

The Stone Sons stood waiting for his approach, showing no sign of ill will towards the huge prisoner who had cost them three of their own, or to the leader that had ordered them towards the cause.

Hjorvarth strode forward as the city guards drew close. Wounds throbbed and burned all along his aching back, shoulders and chest. A chill seeped into him despite the sun overhead, growing keener now he crossed into the shadow of the ragged mountain that sheltered the wooden compound.

A plump man with a friendly, dirt-smudged face led the procession of city guards. “On your knees, prisoner!”

Hjorvarth’s legs responded all too readily. He thudded into dirt. Pain reverberated through his bloodied body.

“Ah.” The plump man smiled. “You look ready for a day’s work.” His nose furrowed. “Or a bath in cold water.” He gestured to the brown-clad men further back. “Get this man washed, then dry him in the dirt and fetch him something to cover his cock.” He turned to a grey guard. “As to you, Atsurr… I fully understand the good Jarl’s wishes. You can both be at ease with the thought that this prisoner will be shown our fullest care.”

The plump man bent to one knee. “And you, big man, I expect you’ll come to regret The Stone Son’s protection.”

Hjorvarth struggled to keep his eyes open, while the fear, panic and excitement fled his wearied mind to leave him hurting and exhausted. “I… mean—”

Atsurr’s heel struck him in the side of his head.

The plump man frowned up at the armoured sentinel. “Was that needed? Now we’re going to have to drag him.”