Jonathan closed the Manor door behind him and walked to the station. This time of night no one was awake to see him run, but he was in no hurry. The sadness was gone, and the grief alone couldn’t hold back the anger that was boiling up from deep inside him. That rage would take time to crystalize enough to do what had to be done. He’d need all the anger he could muster to overcome his own natural weakness. It was a sad truth that he was ashamed to admit. He’d lost his father tonight and even though Marcus would have to pay for that, rushing to him to carry out this vengeance wouldn’t make it any more satisfying.
The night was cold but Jonathan let the heat of his anger warm him as he walked through the deserted streets and thought about the terrible day he’d been through. He almost died himself, probably more than once if he thought about it. He’d survived against all odds only to come home and find his father on death's door. Next to all that death, what was one more body, he thought? Even the body of his brother wasn’t worth much more than the brigands and layabouts that had already died for his brother’s ambitions. Surely some of the homes in the village had started wondering where their delinquent sons had gotten off to - why they still weren’t home. Tomorrow word would spread that they were never coming home - if it hadn’t already. Without Lord Shaw there to be the voice of authority and explain what had happened, the people of the village might riot and demand vengeance of their own. Jonathan tried to imagine that - eight hundred people with torches and pitchforks out for someone to blame. It put Jonathan’s need to see Marcus suffer in perspective as he approached the station.
The windows of Boriv’s office were still lit. Jonathan had thought that would be the case, but what he didn’t expect were to see half a dozen campfires dotting the railyard and siding. Those were a complete mystery to him, but as he got closer he could see the uniforms of the guard garrison clustered around them easily enough. Jonathan would ask Boriv about it, he decided, but only after he’d dealt with his brother. When Jonathan arrived in Boriv’s office he found it empty, then he remembered what the dwarf had said about the shed and headed outside. He didn’t get anywhere near the cluster of men and dwarves he saw in that area before a guard stopped him though.
“Easy runt - that conversation aint for you.” the guard said, lowering his spear to bar Jonathan’s way.
“I need to speak to Boriv,” Jonathan demanded.
“And I need a doxxie who takes credit, '' the guard countered, mocking him. “It’s not going to happen. I was told no trespassers, and I’m sure as can be that a twelve year old brat like you counts as one of them. Now go back to mommy before I give you a reason to run home crying.”
“Please summon your superior officer and inform him that this fourteen year old has an official grievance he’d like to file,” Jonathan said, seething though he did his best not to show it.
“Ain’t no way I’m taking orders from a snot nosed brat like you,” the soldier said, raising his spear to strike Jonathan with the butt. “Now get out of here before I—”
“If you strike me I’ll see you run a full gauntlet before they toss you in irons.” Jonathan said, proud that he only flinched a little. The confidence gave the unshaved guard pause, and after a long stare he finally backed down and went to find his guard captain.
Jonathan thought about just bypassing them both and finding Boriv instead, but the treatment he’d just received grated on him. He couldn’t let some drunk with a spear insult the house or the office of warden. So he waited, and a few minutes later the guard arrived with another man, who was older, wearing chainmail and carrying a sword.
“What’s all this then,” the guard captain demanded impatiently. “We’re in the middle of something with the shorties, and ain’t to be disturbed.”
“That may be,” Jonathan said calmly, “But I am the son of the Warden, and I’ve come to deliver exceptionally grave news. As the stationmaster he has to be informed.”
“Why don’t you tell it to me then lad, and I’ll—” The captain started. At least he was trying to be reasonable, but in doing so he was still every bit as patronizing as his subordinate, and Jonathan had had enough. Instead of trying to answer or discuss it further he attempted to rush past the two of them. It was a foolish decision, as either of them was obviously stronger than him, and he was easily knocked on his rear.
“Boriv!” Jonathan yelled out in desperation as he scampered away on his hands and knees. “I’ve come to see Boriv! I have—”
That was when the first guard stomped on him, pinning him to the ground like a bug before stabbing the point of his spear down just in front of Jonathan’s face. “Easy there lad. Just cause your daddy’s got power doesn’t mean you get to share it. Now give us your message and run along home.”
Jonathan burned with emotions inside. They were all knotted up inside of him so he couldn’t tell where impotent anger at this disrespect ended and rage at his brother began. They were shot through with grief for his father and fear at the blade, but neither of those emotions could hold a candle to the wrath building inside of him. Jonathan felt the bonfires call to him. He knew from practice he couldn’t do much but…
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That was when Boriv finally appeared. “What in the blazes are ye doin. Let him up already.”
“But sir, he tried to sneak into y-your—” the guard stammered.
“I don’t care what he tried to do. That’s for me to punish. He’s my apprentice and if ye don’t take your hands off him right now - ye’ll regret it.” After that, things happened quickly. The guards made their apologies stiffly, but only for fear of the dwarf’s temper, and then made themselves scarce leaving Jonathan to scramble to his feet for what must have been the third time that day.
“What’s all this then?” Boriv said, sitting down on a small pile of rail ties.
“I’m sorry Master. I came as quickly as I could… I…” Jonathan said, unable to say what he needed to say.
“Come on lad. Out with it.” Boriv answered with more understanding than frustration.
Jonathan took a few deep breaths before finally whispering, “He’s dead.”
Boriv just nodded, unsurprised. “Aye. I’d thought that might turn out to be the case. I’m sorry lad. Truly.”
Jonathan just stood there. Sympathy from dwarves was as rare as rainbows, so it staggered him a bit to hear. “I need to see Marcus.”
“Aye. I thought you might say that - but ye know I can’t let ye kill him yet.” Boriv cautioned, “Ye can hurt him a bit if it will make you feel better of course. Ye shouldn’t kill him after the trial either of course. Bad luck to kill a member of your own clan, even though he definitely deserves to die.”
“But - but - he needs to pay.” Jonathan answered more petulantly than he meant to, as he sat down beside the dwarf and he realized he wouldn’t even be able to do this one thing.
“And he will.” Boriv agreed, “You can be sure of that. We’ve been questioning him all evening, and we’ve plenty to punish him for.”
“What else did he do? Jonathan asked.
“Don’t ye worry about that just now.” Boriv said, suddenly serious. “We need to talk about something else first. Do ye remember a phrase yer brother used earlier? Root and Branch? Do ye know what that means?
“I guess it would mean that you’d have to make sure you found everyone associated with robbery and saw them punished by the law.” Jonathan guessed.
“Well that’s part of it,” Boriv conceded, “but not nearly all of it. The laws of men punish the guilty, but the laws of dwarves go much further than that because the life below is so much harder.”
“I don’t understand,” Jonathan said.
“Traitors blood runs deep, and thievery never skips a generation.” Boriv continued. “It’s a dwarven proverb that loses something in translation.” He repeated it presumably, but in dwarven, but the second time it sounded like nothing but gargling and grunting. “The point is that in the lands of man you punish the criminal, but in any clan hold worth the name your actions reflect on your whole family, root and branch.”
“Wait,” Jonathan answered, his mind spinning as he tried to wrap his mind around the implications of what his master was saying. “You mean you don’t just want to punish the men that robbed the train but their parents and children… That could be forty people.”
“Not want to,” Boriv intoned solemnly. “Will.”
“But they’re men, so the laws of man should apply.” Jonathan said hastily. “We can send for a magistrate and—”
“The afront is not to men, but the Mithral Throne.” Boriv said with finality. “That’s why I’ve brought the men from the post. To help me round them all up in the morning before there’s a panic.”
“A panic?” Jonathan asked, his mind racing. “You can’t mean that you’re going to…” He berated himself for how pathetic he was, unable to say the word.
“Aye.” Boriv nodded. “They’ll all need to be executed. Every last soul so the rot spreads no deeper and no one in the Dulcine valley ever thinks to try their luck with us ever again.” The thought made Jonathan sick, but he knew that he wasn’t joking. Boriv didn’t know how to joke. He really planned to execute old women and young boys.
“Isn’t there another way?” Jonathan pleaded. “There has to be. You told me you wouldn’t execute me and—”
“Aye, but ye are a special case.” the dwarf said. “And if I’d known what you were about to confess I might not have even promised that much. By rights you should die too for your brother’s crime.” Jonathan couldn’t speak at such a revelation. His mouth went dry and he could barely breathe as he listened to horror after horror come out of his mentor’s mouth.
“Why did you need to tell me this then?” Jonathan asked finally as Boriv was standing.
“Because depending on how the trial goes, ye may yet be the Warden of this valley,” Boriv answered, “And so the next few days I need ye to stand tall, no matter how much the people of Dalmarin don’t.”
“What if I don’t understand either. What if—” Jonathan responded.
“That doesn’t matter now lad. This is entirely beyond you, and if your father were sitting here with us right now it would be beyond him too. You know now and that’s enough,” Boriv said as he walked away. “Now come along. Let’s let you see your brother before it gets too much later. Tomorrow will be bloody work.”
Jonathan hopped to his feet and followed along, amazed that he’d managed to forget his need for vengeance and the real reason he’d come out tonight, but he had. The dwarven need to punish those that had wronged them root and branch wasn’t any justice Jonathan could recognize. It wasn’t even revenge. It was monstrous. Compared to the people that had died already because of his actions it made Marcus seem almost reasonable. It was Boriv that was the real butcher.