The next day, Shineboot pulled three large river carp out of the weir, and the four dwarves sat together in the middle of the day, the carp roasting on hot banked coals near the edge of the tailing pond. They could smell the sweet juices, and their mouths watered.

“I would speak,” Yorvig said.

“Then speak,” Hobblefoot answered.

“Yesterday was three days, but we hunted the bees instead. It is day four. Have you come to an agreement?”

Hobblefoot and Sledgefist were silent, and they both stared down at the coals, not lifting their eyes. Shineboot sighed and pursed his lips.

“Are two dwarves, both who seek the honor of rinlen, unable to come to some agreement?" Yorvig asked.

Hobblefoot furrowed his brow and his jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond. Sledgefist looked up at Yorvig, and then away.

“Hobblefoot and Sledgefist both wish to marry the Hardfell maid,” Yorvig said.

“Chargrim!” Sledgefist snapped. “That was in confidence!”

Hobblefoot looked at Sledgefist, eyes wide in surprise. Shineboot’s eyebrows rose, and he poked at one of the fish with a char-ended stick, not looking at the others.

“I only promised to think on a solution. You have failed to come to an agreement, so I will attempt it before all is abandoned,” Yorvig said. “I do not suppose either of you would swear an oath not to pursue the Hardfell maid in exchange for being rinlen?”

Neither spoke.

“No, I didn’t think you would, though there are more maids in Deep Cut than one. But I suppose it’s not so much about her, now.” Yorvig paused. “So here is what I say. If neither of you will forswear the maid, there are only two ways to settle this. The first is to part ways. Admit that though you set out as friends, you cannot remain so in the same claim.”

“But who will take the claim? I am eldest,” Hobblefoot said.

“I have put too much of my labor into this rock to abandon it, and my father the eldest,” Sledgefist said.

“Then forswear being rinlen,” Yorvig said. Hobblefoot looked up at Yorvig with some surprise.

“No,” Sledgefist said.

“Then let the rest choose their rinlen in the spring.”

“Rinlens are not chosen. They are by right,” Hobblefoot said.

Which was true, and would have been in that case, if they had done the sensible thing and sworn oaths before coming out to the wilderness.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“If Hobblefoot is chosen, I would part.”

“As would I, if Sledgefist were chosen.”

Yorvig had expected that. But the others did not know what he did. A thick lode of gold lay in that rockface, and to part or let part in ignorance would be foolishness or treachery, and to reveal its presence before an oath was reached could be to burst the boiler.

“Then let it be thus. When the others arrive, we choose between Shineboot, Savvyarm, and Warmcoat to be rinlen, but no one takes a double portion. Each of those who are in the claim when the rinlen is chosen shall receive the same equal portion of ownership. Any who may come later will receive according to wages, unless the owners agree. In the meantime, Shineboot will act as rinlen until then.”

Shineboot’s eyes widened.

“I do not want it,” he said.

“I am most experienced,” Hobblefoot said.

“I’ve mined no less, by any count that matters,” Sledgefist replied.

“You two have forfeit the right of decision, if you do not wish to part ways. The rinlen will share as the rest, and neither of you will have more honor or wealth. You can strut for the Hardfell maid on level rock.”

“If Shineboot is rinlen, it still strengthens their hold as kin," Sledgefist said.

“I don’t want to be rinlen,” Shineboot said again.

“It’s only until the rest return. We can choose from Warmcoat or Savvyarm.”

“Then you do it till then.”

Hobblefoot and Sledgefist looked at Yorvig with narrowed eyes.

“Maybe you want the Hardfell maid,” Hobblefoot said. “Among all equals, rinlen is the only thing to set apart. Whether it is you, or Warmcoat, or Savvyarm. . . ”

What made them think the maid must choose just from this claim? For all they knew she had accepted an offer months ago. Was it the maid, or the fight that mattered?

“I’ve never met the maid,” Yorvig answered. “She means nothing to me. And I do not seek to be rinlen. Let it be Shineboot for now until another is chosen.”

“Let it be Chargrim,” Shineboot answered. Yorvig sighed.

“I am not satisfied,” Hobblefoot said.

“And what would satisfy you? Besides having everything your own way?” Yorvig asked.

Hobblefoot squinted, eyes locked on Yorvig.

“Swear an oath by the spirit and hoard of the Crippled King that you will never pursue the Hardfell maid as rinlen, and let the rinlen chosen in the Spring do the same. Let Sledgefist and I pursue as equals, and I will be satisfied. Even if he win her, so long as it be as equals, I will be satisfied.”

“Will you swear such an oath?” Sledgefist asked Yorvig.

“I will.”

“Then do it now,” Hobblefoot said.

Yorvig was still unable to put much weight on his injured leg, but he was able to rise without his crutch. He stretched his arm northward.

“I hereby swear by the spirit and hoard of the Crippled King that I will not pursue the Hardfell maid as rinlen.” Yorvig sat down heavily on his stool.

The others looked around at each other. Shineboot rose first, and then the other two followed.

“We swear to uphold the duties of kulhan to you as rinlen.” It was a formulaic oath sworn by all those who joined a mine or claim, kulhan being dwarvish for a subordinate.

“Fine,” Yorvig said, heaving a sigh of relief. “Then let’s put this foolishness behind us.”

“Fish is done,” Shineboot said.

He lay awake that night, trying to plan. He still needed his crutch to get around, though a sense of warmth had begun to return to his foot, and the pain was subsiding. Still, he couldn’t reveal the presence of the upper strike yet, for fear that the others would know he had been hiding it. The guilt weighed on him. Nothing about the deception felt good, and he reminded himself constantly that he only hid the strike in order to preserve peace. He needed enough strength and an opportunity to feign making a fresh strike. Any dwarf who saw his cliff-side adit as it was would know the lode had already been discovered.