“What do you mean ‘wiped out’?”
“I mean that a large portion of their male population has been killed by dwarfs.”
“Right… why?”
“Because human cultures usually only employ males in acts of war.”
A glance at Mrk taught Jack that he wasn’t the only one not getting it.
“No, I get that. I meant, why did this kingdom and your people go to war?”
Brom swallowed a few more bites before answering.
“I do not believe I can describe the reason behind that conflict without describing my culture as well. I can describe it to you, but first I’d like to ask what you to know of my kin.”
“Not much honestly. I mean, you know how my memory works. It was only after Mrk pointed it out that I realized you are a dwarf. And the only things I remember are how you generally look like and vague facts like having a racial inclination towards metalworking and living underground.”
“Somewhat accurate. And you, Mrk?” Brom asked.
“Ratlings know of dwarfs. Know dwarfs too, but rarely. Mrk never met one. No one in Mrk warren did. But elder says us meet dwarfs when digging sometimes. Trade sometimes. Elder also says never anger dwarfs. Mrk know other things, but little.” He said, shrugging.
“I see.”
He put his bowl down and crossed his arms. When he spoken next, it was to Mrk.
“I would thank you for the tea, if you are still inclined to brew it.”
“Mrk is.” The ratling said, getting up to his feet.
While he fussed over the pot and the herbs, Brom started his story.
“My people are known for living underground, that is true. But it would be perhaps better to say that we prefer places that are not out in the open. Not exposed. Thus, not all dwarfholds are below ground level. My Clan is one example, as they have made their home in the mountains near the kingdom of Amenor.”
“In the- wait, can I ask questions?” Jack asked. “Great, so when you say in the mountains, does that mean…?”
“Yes.” Brom nodded. “I meant inside the mountains. There are several settlements there, though only one dwarfhold.”
“And a dwarfhold is like a bigger settlement?”
“It is what humans would consider a city to be. There are several differences, but most of them cultural. As I was saying, my people have settled in the mountains near Amenor and it is there that we build our own place. It is also true that my kin are better at working stone and metal than most other races. I do not believe this to be a natural inclination, though. Ages of living underground built up experience in working the materials mostly found there. And not all dwarfs are experts in metalworking. I myself have no interest in the area, save for what allows me to spot the difference between a good axe and a poor one.”
“Why underground though? I mean, why live below the ground at all?”
“I do not know.”
“Huh?”
Ignoring Jack’s eloquence, Brom moved on with his answer.
“I do not know why the dwarfs of old have chosen to live like that. Millenia have passed and the answer to your question has been forgotten. If some dwarfs today know of it… they are higher in station than I am. As for my people of today… that is a complicated answer.”
He had the same look on his face as he had when he refused to answer the knight.
“No worries, Brom. It’s your story.”
“Thank you.”
Mrk returned with three cups of freshly brewed tea. He hadn’t participated in the talk so far, but that wasn’t surprising in and of itself. The ratling chose his moments to stand out better than one might expect.
“Besides, not all dwarfs live below ground. Some venture out into the sunlight. I am an example.”
Pretty sure that wasn’t a choice, buddy.
“So this ties in to the war with Amenor?” Jack asked.
“It provides background. Several dwarf Clans lived in the vicinity of that kingdom, my own as well. They had lived there for as long as that kingdom has stood. Even longer, if I remember our history correctly. Back when that kingdom was not much more than a few squabbling tribes.”
Jack could feel from his tone that he wasn’t exactly enthused with their presence.
“We didn’t war with them, not at first. We traded. Their fields could grow more food than we could produce. More diverse type of crops too. But our clans grew faster than their settlements. Every settlement could grow food. Fewer could produce quality metal and, in time, we started fashioning weapons and tools to sell. We found that other kingdoms and local powers would offer more for our products than the kingdom of Amenor. When they warred against each other, we took no sides. We sold to everyone who was willing to pay.”
Brom’s expression grew thoughtful.
“They didn’t like that. That their enemies had access to the same weapons as they did. But the dwarven clans were not a power to outright insult.”
“How many clans are there?”
“In the world? Innumerable. Yet my home hosted three. My own Clan, the Mountainheart is what you would call the leader. The Forgeborn Clan is what you could call a ‘classical’ dwarf clan, in the eyes of most other species. Interested in their crafts and not much else. The last is the Gradun Clan. They are… part of the reason for the conflict.”
“Last clan is weird.” Mrk said.
When Brom looked at him, he hurriedly clarified his statement.
“Other clans have words in names. Last is just name.”
“Gradun is also a word. But it is a word of our old tongue. It does not translate correctly, but it can be said to mean ‘keeper’.”
“Keeper? Keeper of what?” Jack asked.
“Traditions. Dwarfs. They are a clan which prides itself on being protective of what it means to be a dwarf. They are more individualistic than others. And as I’ve said, they are part of our problem.”
He took a sip from his tea before continuing.
“In time, Amenor grew and so did our dwarfhold. Only rarely did we war with them and when we did, it was only border skirmishes. That changed when the current lord’s grandfather, also a lord, had landed on the throne.”
“Don’t they have a king? I mean, they’re a kingdom, right?”
“They are. I am not sure why. Human politics.” He said, somewhat distastefully. “Perhaps his ‘kingdom’ was not large enough for him to call himself ‘king’. Perhaps the ruler of Ameron never reached the |King| Class. It matters little. When that man seized power, he grew lustful or so my people say. He wanted more, not satisfied with just his own kingdom. Perhaps he truly wanted to be a |King|.”
“So, let me guess. He wanted your people to only sell weapons to him.”
Brom laughed, though it was a bitter laugh.
“If only. Had he done that, we might have negotiated. No, in his folly he attacked us. He must have thought that his army was strong enough. That if he won, he could use my people as laborers to supply him with weapons. That his army, armed and armored with dwarven steel would be an unstoppable conquering power towards the local powers.”
He snorted.
“He failed. The three Clans agreed we must go beyond simply defending our homes. Such an act of war cannot go unpunished. For the first time in our dwarfhold’s history, my kin went to war. We broke his armies and broke his kingdom. Understand Jack, that though we did it publicly, we only went as far because we wanted the other kingdoms to see. See what happens when we were moved to action and understand it was foolish to anger the dwarfs. Yet we did not set out to kill everyone. We spared most soldiers and treated prisoners well. We torched objects of art and destroyed items of significance, but we did not torch crops. We did not attack civilians. At first.”
He sighed, but moved on.
“As they kingdom of Amenor lay broken, but alive, the clans moved back in the mountain. All but one. The Gradun Clan decided it was not enough. Not enough to simply show them the measure of our strength. Amenor had attacked without provocation. In their minds, it was a matter of honor. Fools, the lot of them.” He said, spitting in the dirt.
“They went back, before us or the Forgeborn could stop them. They killed ten humans for each dwarf that had died so far. Men or women. And they killed the lord… in front of his family. Understand, Jack. That might still seem like justice for a human. But we are not humans. We were supposed to be better than that.”
“Nah, I think it’s pretty stupid and I’m speaking as a human. I mean, I can understand the need to pay them back. But not after you just pummeled them into the dirt.”
Brom nodded.
“The Gradun’s were punished. But that was not the end of things. The lord’s son was young, but he had seen his father die. As he grew, so did his kingdom. We were open to trade, even after the war, but he refused it. He named my kin enemies. He named my entire race his enemies and made sure his entire kingdom felt that way. It was he who changed Amenor’s symbol. It is now an armored fist, one that I understand signifies their ‘unbending will’. Fools.”
“And he followed in his father’s footsteps, right? Waged war as well?”
“He tried. By refusing our help, he had to ask for help and trade from neighboring kingdoms. Former enemies. Powers which we still had relations with and who feared angering us. His kingdom recovered slowly because of his stubbornness. We even sent help, as we knew we had to bear part of the blame, yet he refused it. As his kingdom started to recover, attacks started coming from his side again. Smaller attacks, from men that were trained poorly and equipped just as poorly. Not the enemy we remembered.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Lord still attack?” Mrk asked. “Why?”
“I do not know. Perhaps because only by having us as an enemy could he justify the way he treated his kingdom. The lord who wished to be fool had ambitions of power, but treated his kingdom justly. His son, in his hatred, treated his people little better than slaves. All so that his kingdom may grow without our help. All so that he could mount attacks on us.”
“And what did your people do? Did you meet them again in battle?”
“We did. It was not ‘battle’ for us. Mere skirmishes. But we did meet him on the field or in the mountains. Wherever they attacked. These intrusions were mere nuisances to us, but proved to be costly for them. Especially as other kingdoms saw their weakness and sought to profit from it. Yet they still attacked. That has been going on to this day.”
“I’m surprised they still exist. What with them going to war with your people and the other kingdoms.”
“It is not easy to destroy a kingdom. I mean this for the other human kingdoms. It would have been child’s play for us. The last lord is the grandson of the one who started this war. His father is alive, but has abdicated. Their drive is… strong. I cannot condone it. But it has kept their kingdom alive through the years. If only that drive could be put to better use.”
“Huh. That’s kind of a sad story. I guess that’s why that knight’s in Helmrest, right? Looking for more manpower for the war.”
Brom took a moment, before speaking again.
“His presence troubles me. Ameron has not waged war on neighboring kingdoms in a few years. The current lord is more diplomatic than the others. If not by much. Trade and diplomacy have given room for a kind of peace. His attacks against my kin have continued, though not as strongly or as often. I fear he is building strength. And that this attempt at annexing Helmrest plays into his plan.”
“You think he’s gathering forces? For… what, one big push?” Jack asked.
“I do. These are unsettling times. Something has also happened in my dwarfhold. I cannot share it, yet it also gives me cause for concern. For all this to be happening at the same time… it bodes ill.”
“Anything we can do to help?”
Brom gave out a small laugh at hearing that, tension draining out of him somewhat.
“Not to my kin. I do not believe you strong enough, Jack, at least not yet. But to Helmrest… we shall need to help Elia win. That will allow Helmrest to be free of Ameron. Perhaps by doing that I will also wash away a part of my sin.”
There was silence following that statement. Not for long, though.
“Mrk still thinks we needs alcohol.”
Brom laughed again, all traces of his former worries draining away.
“I agree. Ale was a staple back home. Ale and meat.”
“I hear that.” Jack amusedly said. “The meat part anyways. So, this knight won’t be giving you any troubles if we go to the village again?”
“I do not believe so. He is here to make an impression on behalf of Ameron. Though, if he becomes too irate, I shall tell him my Clan. I believe he only asked because he has issues with the Graduns.”
“All right then. But we’ll still be taking our weapons next time.”
“Mrk agrees.”
They toasted their tea and carried the conversation towards calmer subjects. That was how sleep eventually found them, under a new roof, with a new day coming.
***
The next day started off very much like the rest. Jack cooked breakfast and Mrk helped. Jack did a bit of gardening and Mrk helped. Brom went through a few axe training exercises. And Mrk didn’t help. The ratling was set in his ways. What was different was that after their breakfast, Brom engaged them in a short, ‘easy’ sparing session.
He even used his shield too, since he may have felt that he was going too easy on them the previous time.
“I’m starting to think a rapier isn’t a very good counter for a shield and an axe.” Jack said, after they were done.
“Mrk think same about knife.”
“Hmm. Rapiers could be good, if you had any skill. Or Skills. But they are used for penetrating armor and impaling the opponent. It will not do you much good, unless you become faster on your feet.”
“And knife?” Mrk asked.
“The knife is a short distance weapon. Useless up front without Skills. At least, against someone as armed and armored as I am. Better used for attacking from the back.”
Mrk peered warily at Brom for a second, before nodding his head.
“You really think I could become good at fighting without a Class, Brom?” Jack asked.
“You could. There are those who refused martially inclined Classes, in favor of others. Yet they chose to learn the art of combat by taking the long road. Among them, there are those who could fight on par with |Warriors| or |Soldiers|. Not high-level ones, but they could.”
“Huh. So, how much time would that take?”
“Decades. Perhaps only years, with talent.”
That took some wind out of Jack’s sails, to the clear amusement of Mrk.
“But that should not be your purpose.”
“It shouldn’t? Well, what should be my purpose then?” Jack asked, a little morose.
“Learning to fight well enough to flee. Leave combat to those around you. Those who would protect you, while you take care of them. You are the Keeper of this Refuge, Jack. That doesn’t mean you must be the one fighting on the frontlines.”
Jack nodded, though internally he wasn’t feeling it. His current plan was to become greater than he was. And that included martial prowess, though his Class situation didn’t help at all. Brom’s vision sounded logical, but it wasn’t one Jack felt ready to embrace.
After a short break, the three went on to set up the packages they were about to carry. Elia needed their resources and that meant they needed to deliver them. By the end of it, they had packed the fresh mushrooms, dried mushrooms and mushroom dust and ooze. It stood to reason that their harvesting operation was very much mushrooms oriented. But that wasn’t all of it. They had an entire bag full of other ingredients, tightly packed together and slung over Mrk’s shoulder. Jack and Brom each had a couple of huge wicker baskets they carried, at opposing ends of strong sticks, hung over their shoulders.
They trek to the village was longer than usual, given the weights they carried. |Minor Stamina| helped, but it was called ‘Minor’ for a reason. Still, they made good time. Just over an hour and a half, by Brom’s estimate. They didn’t even manage to get three steps into the village, before someone intercepted them.
“Hello, good sirs. May I have a minute of your time?”
“I have a rapier and I’m not interested in replacing it.”
That might have seemed like quite an abrupt reply, but Jack was tired. More than that, he knew the man currently trying to talk to him. It was the same peddler which tried to sell him a club, though it was little better than a stick.
Lola was right. It really does get easier to resist his Skills in time.
The peddler himself looked a little taken aback, but rallied the very next second.
“No, my good sir, you mistake my intent. I do not wish to sell you any goods, though if you are interested in anything, I would be very happy to assist you at a later date. No, I simply wished to talk to you about Helmrest.”
“…what about it?”
“You all seem to be traveling and fine gentlemen such as yourselves might be interested in the fate of our little village. Our Village Head is about to changed and there are two contenders for the position. Each of their sides is gathering support.”
“…uhuh?”
“Well, I am the representative of one of them. If you would allow me a minute to talk, I might present to you the beneficial changes that could happen to our village. Perhaps, if you appreciate them, you could donate a few coins, to show your support? I’m sure travelers such as you would benefit from the local ‘watering hole’ growing, no?”
The man’s smile was infectious. He wasn’t exactly charming, but he had the energy of a man genuinely trying to help. Unfortunately for him, Jack had already been on the receiving end of such Skills and now had experience in resisting them.
“Look, I don’t know you, but you already tried to swindle me. And I can guess who you’re working for. Tell Mr. Winnow to train his men better, if they think they could get any coin from me.”
“…Sir, I do not work for Mr. Winnow.”
“Oh? Playing both sides then?”
Jack had only seen the man twice, but he already infuriated him. Somehow, trying to use the dispute between Mr. Winnow and Elia over the fate of Helmrest to get some coin on the side seemed even worse to Jack than outright supporting Mr. Winnow. At least his followers tried to do some good for Helmrest, albeit in a very wrong way.
Jack’s tone had grown acerbic and his companions must have noticed, going by how they came to flank the peddler. He must have noticed too, since his eyes were wide and his hands were raised.
“No sir, I don’t, I swear. I work for Miss. Elia!” he said.
“…really? You expect me to believe that?”
“I do not expect anything sir, I am just telling the truth.”
“If man works for Elia,” Mrk said “why man ask coin from us?”
“B- because I thought you were willing to part with a few coins! Please sirs, I am just doing as instructed.”
The hint of fear on his face and the way his eyes were darting around, looking for a place to escape, made Jack believe he might have actually been telling the truth. The man was a |Peddler|, not some kind of |Performer|.
Still, one thing doesn’t fit.
“Let’s say I believe you. But why us? It’s not like our coin doesn’t go to Elia already.”
“It… does?”
Jack eyes him dubiously before realizing it.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, on a hunch.
The man’s eyes darted to their baskets and bag before answering.
“Travelling merchants?”
Both Brom and Mrk burst in laughter at hearing that. Travelling merchants. They wished. Jack simply held out a hand.
“Not exactly. I’m Jack.”
The man’s expression went slack for a second, before bursting out in relieved laughter. What followed was a sequence of him shaking Jack’s hand, telling them he’ll accompany them to Elia, before assuring them he truly did work for her.
“I was never in the forest, when the monsters attacked. I hid in a cellar. And I knew of you, but I’ve never met you. Well, I did, but I forget faces. I tend to stay away from any serious arguments between people.”
“But then, how come you came to work for Elia?”
“Well, she asked me too. Said I could make some good coins and all I had to do was talk to people and convince them to part with their coin. It’s what I do all day anyway. And this time, I get to do it for a good purpose. Best offer I’ve had in years.” The man said, grinning.
Jack noticed that once he was out of his seller persona, the man still had a curious charisma about him. He just didn’t seem so oily anymore.
“And Mr. Winnow isn’t giving you any trouble?”
“Eh, he sends his goons my way every now and then. But I’ve got years of experience in running away.” He laughed.
Brom nodded appreciatively.
They made it to Elia, who was ecstatic in seeing so many ingredients in one place again. Lola came to see them too, but only had time to stay for a short chat, as she had to take care of the store while Elia used her short break to talk to the three and assure them that Pickle really was her man.
“Pickle?”
“Yup. Don’t have much of a name, but you can call me Pickle.”
“Pickle the |Peddler|.” Brom said, in his monotonous voice.
That only seemed to heighten the absurdity of the name.
“Well, can’t say anything about it.” Jack said. “What with my name being Jack and all.”
“Mrk thinks people like pickles better than Jacks.”
“And it lowers their guard.” Pickle grinned.
“So, how’s things Elia?” Jack asked, forcefully changing the subject. “People like you more than they do Mr. Winnow, right?”
“For now.” She said, frowning. “But he’s holding off the day when the people will get to make their choice. He’s been parading that knight of his all over town. I think he’s trying to boost his popularity.”
“Think he has any chance of succeeding?”
“If more and more people get fooled by that shiny armor… maybe? I like to think that people aren’t so shortsighted, but then again, they have tolerated the Winnows for years.”
“Anything we can do to help?”
“Not unless you can take that knight out of the picture.” She sighed. “Or force Mr. Winnow to just accept letting people choose already.”
Huh.
Jack chanced a glance at Brom and found him already looking at him.
Thinking the same thing then.
He nodded at him, got a nod back and they both went on to finish their plates, talking with Elia about more minor things and listening to Pickle’s stories about the best ‘deals’ he made. Soon, the peddler made his way out, going back to work. That was the cue for Elia to get back to her customers as well, though not before making Jack accept at least a few coins and packed meat for his troubles. They got to say their goodbye to Lola, though she was half waving at them and half haggling with an older woman and they went on their way back to the Refuge.
And since sometimes things go the way of stories, they only managed to pass by a few streets before getting accosted again.
“I remember warning you that these are human lands, dwarf.”
The knight had neared them, stepping out from a side street, though he was now bereft of his horse.
His perpetual lackey, Louis, was still at his side, however.
“You did.” Brom said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I had delivered goods to a friend.”
“You expect me to believe you have friends among my kind?”
“I do not expect much from you.”
The man’s hand went to his sword, though he did not draw it.
“Watch your words, dwarf. Who is this friend?”
Louis responded, before Brom did.
“It’s the one my father had talked to you about, sir. Elia. She’s in league with the Jack.”
“No need to add a ‘the’ to my name, Louis.” Jack found himself answering.
“The one who tried to steer this village away from my kingdom’s protection.” The knight said, eyes darting between Jack and Brom. “I am not surprised.”
“Not much of a protection, from what I’ve heard.” Jack said.
“You’d do well not to trust the words of a dwarf. Not that I expect much from a Jack.”
“Oh, I don’t expect much from you either.” Jack cheerfully informed him.
His frown deepened, but he didn’t continue that line of queries. Instead, he turned towards Brom.
“I’ll ask you this a final time, dwarf. What is your Clan?”
Brom furrowed his brows, but refused to speak.
Thinking back to what Elia had said, Jack had an idea.
“Hey Brom.” He said, turning his head towards Brom in a way that only left one eye visible to the knight. “This guy looks like he’s about to cry if he doesn’t find out. Maybe you should just tell him.” He grinned and winked at Brom.
The only sign that Brom understood his plan was a slight widening of his eyes. Well, that and the slight smile on his face, when the answered the knight.
“I am Brom of the Gradun Clan.”