Yorvig lay awake on his pelts. Striper leapt down and scratched at the door for him to let her out of the chamber, not able to get comfortable with his tossing and turning. He yanked at his beard and sweated. At last, he swung his legs free of the alcove and stood up. He would make his decision. Despite the thought, he felt sick to his stomach, not better. Either despair or joy awaited him, but for his part, he would have courage, come what may. He could do no more. It came down to this: could he live with it, if having stepped down as rinlen to pursue her, he failed to win her? There was no safe decision for him. But he knew one choice was cowardly, and as that certainty grew, he felt there truly was no choice. If it was cowardice that kept him back, that shame would follow him. If she did not truly matter to him, he could find another maid and meet her challenge by refusing her. He did not want that either.

For hours more he paced his chamber, but he had made up his mind, already. There was only preparation left. He could not write the speaking runes nor read them, so he rehearsed in his mind what he had to do, to say, and the arguments he would make. Often he questioned if it was all madness. Maybe it was, but if so, it was not madness from which he could think his way clear. Maybe no madness was.

Waiting was the most misery, so after washing his face in cold water, as early as could be reasonable, he left his chamber and gathered the other owners together. Yorvig had ordered the delving of a small private chamber at the end of the Owners Drift near the hoard. Inside was a nine-sided stone table carved of the living rock. It represented the owners, including Savvyarm. He sat down at his seat across from the door. It had been a long night, and he still felt pangs of nausea. The others looked at him with only routine expectation. If they noticed he was more red of eye and pale of face than normal, they did not show it. Such early meetings were not unusual for them in the running of the claim, though most of the time Yorvig met with them individually or in small groups.

“I’m renouncing my authority as rinlen,” he said. There was no use delaying it. Better to say it plain.

If there was anything positive in the whole business, it was watching the shifting gradations of expressions on their faces—blank, then confused, then shocked. But it was Onyx’s expression that he relished most. She was wearing a fine purple veil he had not seen before, embroidered with gold, and her hair was wrapped tight in a scarf. Her brow rose. He locked eyes with her.

“What?” Shineboot asked.

“I’m stepping down as rinlen. I have accomplished my task. The mine is amply supplied. Whoever takes over as rinlen has but to stay the course.”

“Chargrim,” Sledgefist said. “What is this about?”

“I did not come to this claim seeking to be rinlen—”

“Shut up, Char!” Sledgefist said, slipping into the familiar as he got angry. Yorvig had expected anger before they reached acceptance. Sledgefist was leading the pack. He had also expected that. “This is foolishness. We decline your renunciation. As owners we decline it.”

“Rinlen can step down. It is so in Deep Cut as well.” It just wasn't common, unless a dwarf wished to go elsewhere or turn his authority over to a younger generation.

“I still don’t understand. Why?” Warmcoat said.

Onyx sat at the table, her eyes fixed on Yorvig, sitting erect and motionless.

“What is this about? Has something happened?” Shineboot asked.

“I feel I have fulfilled my duty to the safety and prosperity of the claim. Now you can run the mine unimpeded.”

“Unimpeded my ass!” Sledgefist shouted, then looked sheepishly at Onyx. “Sorry,” he muttered, and then yelled again. “You’ve barely mined all summer! Rinlen of the mine is one thing. Rinlen of this whole claim is another! Who wants that?”

“Prospectors are already coming to trade. This was all your idea,” Warmcoat said.

“I have ensured our survival,” he said. “And now I am stepping down.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Shineboot asked. It was Hobblefoot who followed Yorvig’s gaze to Onyx. Onyx stared back at Yorvig with eyes like polished granite and amethyst. He looked from one to the other for a few moments, then sat back in his chair, shaking his head.

“So that’s it,” he muttered.

“Do not be angry,” Yorvig said to him quietly. “I beg you, cousin.”

“Don’t be angry!” Sledgefist yelled, standing up. He looked like he wanted to throttle Yorvig. He found no more words, but stood there, red of face.

Hobblefoot sighed, raised his hands palm, and shook his head again.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“I have prepared instructions to whoever will take my place,” Yorvig said.

“Save them for when someone is chosen.” Hobblefoot rose and left the chamber. Sledgefist stared after him, and then to Yorvig, his face a bright red.

“I will not take part in the choosing,” Yorvig said, rising to his feet as well. “That is for you all to decide. Do so soon, for I will not continue the duties.”

At that, Yorvig left. Hobblefoot was just stepping into his own private chamber. The door closed behind him.

That had gone better than it might have. He had prepared all sorts of arguments. Hobblefoot had deduced the truth, he was sure. The others? Yorvig couldn’t tell. But he was not about to put Onyx on display by speaking it. It would have been indecent.

One thing Yorvig hadn’t decided before, and that was what he was going to do or where he was going to go once he left the meeting chamber. He strode to the main drift of the claim, turning to the stair to the terraces. He walked to the third level. It was the terrace where she had set him the challenge. He had rightly guessed it would be empty. The gardeners worked the beds in rotations, and they were down in the dell. This terrace was full of the squash plants Onyx had found, plus more of a similar kind the gardeners had brought from Deep Cut. They had a sweet, musty odor. Yorvig stared out across the dell.

“Chargrim.”

He turned. It was Onyx. His stomach leapt at the sight of her, and he gave a wavering smile. When he raised his hand in greeting, he realized it was shaking.

“You actually did it,” she said.

“Ay, yes.”

“I'm not sure I believe it, after this time.”

“There were a few things left to do, but it is done. Now I can pursue you.”

"I did not promise you."

"I know."

What promises could be made anyway here in the Red Ridges, except to venture and to risk? To keep an oath or not?

She stepped toward him, and as she did so, she unhooked the corner of her veil and let it fall away. Now, she smiled, and for the first time, she seemed afraid to meet his gaze.

“Tell me, Chargrim,” she said. “Why? There are more beautiful maids than I. You could save your gold and pick from three score rhundaela in Deep Cut. Why do this for me?

“You are more than a beautiful maid,” he said. “Your work. . .”

“My work?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yorvig felt he was on the wrong track, but he persisted. It wasn’t that it was a lie.

“I’ve seen your work. It is fine, and though not yet the work of a master, it is elegant, with a clear sense of balance and scale.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“There are maids of greater skill in Deep Cut.”

Yorvig paused, feeling frustrated and scared once more, like he was on unsteady scaffolding and only a small misstep could bring him from the brink of joy to absolute ruin.

“I have known few maids, it is true. . .” He turned and looked back out at the dell, his face hot and hammering with his pulse.

“But?” she asked quietly.

“But I don’t want to,” he said with surprising force. “I have seen you in the face of ürsi and in the trials of the wilds. I have walked through fear of death with you and seen your mettle. You cannot say I do not know you—“ he raised his hand. “Ay, I don’t know everything, but of what maid in Deep Cut could I say the same?"

"You could find out."

"It doesn’t matter. Ay, yes, I could go and find a maid of Deep Cut to rule over. Who would gainsay me? But no one speaks to me like you do. To be rinlen is to be alone. I can’t explain it, but it’s you. It’s you.”

Onyx stepped up beside him. Gently, she placed her open palm on his chest and turned him toward her. She leaned her head forward, and he placed his forehead against hers. Tears welled in his eyes.

“I only sought to know that you wanted me and not just my womb," she said. "That I was not merely a jewel in the setting of your accomplishments. I needed to know.”

“I hope you do now.”

“I think so."

“Will you accept me, then?”

“At least I know life with you will not be dull. Ay, yes, I will.”

They stood there on the terrace overlooking the dell, their foreheads pressed together.

Yorvig went looking for Greal and Khlif. They weren’t among the miners or in the workshop Greal had taken for his lapidary art, so Yorvig returned to the Owners Drift. Greal’s stonehold was nearest, but no one responded to his knock. He proceeded to Khlif’s and heard voices even before he arrived. Greal and Khlif were within, their loud speech carrying out into the drift. Yorvig ignored them and knocked.

Khlif opened the door.

“What is it Chargrim?” Greal asked over his brother's shoulder, obviously upset.

“I have made a proposal to Onyx and she has accepted. As her brothers, I am informing you first.”

The Hardfell brothers both looked stunned. It was Khlif who spoke first.

“Now I understand,” he said quietly.

“And you didn’t speak to us beforehand?” Greal snapped.

“Onyx is a mine owner, has her own stonehold, and is not beholden to the keeping of anyone. To whom should I petition?”

Greal didn’t respond. Yorvig was correct by custom.

“I wish you joy, Chargrim,” Khlif said after a few moments.

“Thank you,” Yorvig said.

“Is there anything else?” Greal asked, sounding more tired now than angry.

Yorvig shook his head, gave a respectful nod, and left them alone.

It was still far from acceptable for Yorvig and Onyx to spend time together before the wedding. Oftimes a maid had only one or two interviews with a proposing dwarf to make a decision. Her relatives would serve to evaluate the character and reputation of any potential suitors. But Onyx’s situation was far from the norm. Still, he did not wish her to be spoken of in ignorance by the kulhan or even the other owners. So, he stayed to himself in his private chamber for the rest of the day, despite the boredom. He did not know what took place in the mine or in the minds of the other owners. No doubt, with Greal and Khlif aware, news of his proposal to Onyx would spread quickly.

In what must have been the evening, Yorvig ventured out his door in search of some food to eat but no sooner had he started down the Owners Drift than the door to the main drift opened and Sledgefist barged through. He saw Yorvig and only hurried faster, stopping in front of him. Yorvig could smell the beer and liquor.

“You abandon us! You take the maid we wanted!” Sledgefist pointed his finger at Yorvig’s face, a gesture that could have started a brawl in Deep Cut all by itself. Yorvig prepared himself for a blow. He would not raise a fist against his brother.

Despite his anger, Sledgefist must have felt the same way. He waited for Yorvig to react, his finger raised, but there was no reaction. With a snarl, Sledgefist brushed past and stormed down the drift to his own chamber. When the door slammed, Yorvig continued on his way and saw Onyx standing in front of her own door at the end of the drift. She was veiled, and she was watching with furrowed brow. He approached her.

“I feel we may need to part ways with the claim,” he said. Better to leave than to live in conflict, he figured.

"I am not sure it was a good idea," she said. "I wanted you to pursue me and yet not break oath. I only half thought. . . But I worry about them."

"I never wanted rinlen, not truly. Not like I want you. I am happy to be free of it. If they cannot survive now. . . Must I set aside myself to tend them forever? We can go back to Deep Cut wealthy."

“I do not wish to return to Deep Cut. I have tasted the mountain air,” Onyx said, a note of sadness in her voice though her words showed she accepted the situation.

“Nor do I wish to stay here, with ill-will among kin,” he answered.

“We could go to East Spire. Begin our own stonehold somewhere in the Ridges near there. We are already wealthy, by our share.” Even if an owner was not present, the rinlen running the mine owed them their portion, and portions could be sold.

“So be it,” he said.

The following morning, Yorvig found Shineboot working a section of the room-and-pillar mine. When he saw Yorvig standing near, he stopped swinging his sledge and motioned for the dwarves handling the drill-bit to step away.

“Onyx and I will be taking our tenths of the current weight and leaving for East Spire,” he said. Two tenths of the claim’s proceeds went to the kulhan, and the rest was split between the owners.

“What? You’re leaving?”

“I do not think there can be peace, now.”

“Look, Chargrim, they’ll get over it. You don't have to go.”

“Have you selected a new rinlen?”

“No. They won’t even meet to discuss it.”

Yorvig shrugged. On his way to find Shineboot, Yorvig had turned away two kulhan seeking direction. There was a sense of confusion and uncertainty in the mine. Yorvig had calmly explained he was leaving to go marry and a new rinlen would be appointed. The statements did not seem to relieve the confusion. A rinlen could marry without stepping down. Rumors would fly, as everyone would know something else was involved.

“They can’t even pick a new rinlen, and you expect us to live here in fellowship? It will make it easier on them if I leave.”

“I, or we?” Shineboot asked.

“We.”

He nodded.

"You've done right by your oath," Shineboot muttered. "But the oath has not done right by us." In a louder voice, he added. "They just need time. We didn’t see it coming.”

“No,” Yorvig said. “I’ve done what I could for you. We’re going to leave in two days. We’ll reach East Spire before the weather turns.”

“You’re traveling with her before you marry?”

“We’re asking you to hear our oaths and wrap the chain. With Warmcoat if he’ll be present.”

It was a simple ceremony, the chaining, where a dwarf and maid had their forearms bound together with a silver chain before their kith and kin and swore oaths to each other and the mine. But all their kith and kin were here. They would have to use an iron chain. Silver was traditional, thrice refined for purity, but iron was stronger, and it would do. They were still in the wilds, after all, no matter how different the dell looked.

Shineboot looked down at the rock, his brow furrowed.

“My friend," Yorvig said. "Say you will hear our oaths.”

“I will,” he said. “I just wish it were different.”

“What else could I do?”

“You could have asked to be free of the oath.”

“Is that what you would have done?"

"I would not have had need."

"And you think they would have freed me?”

“You didn’t give them that chance.”

Yorvig shook his head.

“It is past. Tomorrow night we marry.”

"So it is," Shineboot said.

Yorvig tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Shineboot took his hammer back up and yelled over at the dwarves with the drill.

“Come on! We’ve got time to make up!”

Yorvig headed to the brewery the next day to speak about a drink for the ceremony—oaths were made over a shared cup—when he met Tonkil. The old dwarf was leaving the brewer’s workshop carrying a flask. He grinned and hefted it as he saw Yorvig approach.

“Well, I suppose I need neither hide this from you, but also drink to your fortune.”

"I see news is in the mine. You needn't have hid it, anyway."

“They say it was all for the maid,” the old dwarf said.

Yorvig nodded.

“It was.”

"Even you as rinlen?"

"Even that."

Tonkil put a hand on Yorvig’s shoulder.

“Don’t feel too low. Take it from me. There are plenty of claims in the world. I’m guessing you won’t last long without rock to shape. I would have told you there are plenty of maids in the world, too, but you did not ask me in time.” He chuckled.

In honesty, beyond going somewhere near East Spire, Yorvig hadn’t thought much of what he would do. Maybe he'd use the gold to set up as a merchant. Onyx could come with him. There were still mountains to see.

“You heard I’m leaving?”

“I figured you would. No good to be a former rinlen. We’re heading out to the marsh river flats to hunt. Be back by high sun tomorrow. Maybe there’ll be a rinlen then. Three of the kulhan ran when you stepped down. Said their oaths were to you.”

Yorvig nodded. He hadn’t considered that, but it wasn’t surprising that some dwarves would use it as an excuse.

“Any news of ürsi?” Yorvig didn’t mean to ask as rinlen; he was just thinking of his trip to East Spire.

“None,” Tonkil said.

“Maybe we have truly driven them out of their home.”

“This isn’t their home,” Tonkil said, squinting. “They do not delve like we do.”

“They must live somewhere.”

“The Long Downs were their spring hunting grounds. We rarely saw them any other time. In the end, they only stayed to starve us.”

Yorvig frowned. He thought back over the few years he’d been in the Red Ridges. They had never seen ürsi in the springtime.

“I thought they did not come to the Long Downs until the claims had been there for years," he said.

“Not in force,” Tonkil said. “At first it was just a few. Then in tribes. Then. . ." He shrugged. "After it all happened, I figured it took them time to rouse their kind together. Had to find some nasty kulkur to lead them, I suspect.”

Yorvig frowned. Tonkil saw the worry on his brow.

“Don’t worry overmuch,” the old dwarf said. “Plenty of prospectors coming still, and no word of ürsi. The Long Downs are far, far, and East Spire is between here and there. We will keep an eye out.”

“Right. Safe hunting.” Yorvig's words belied his worry.

“Safe marrying,” Tonkil said with a smirk, and headed down the adit.

Yorvig returned to his private chamber with a bowl of mushroom and elk stew when he realized he should have invited Tonkil to the marriage. His friends should be there, and especially now that he’d stepped down as rinlen, he thought of Tonkil as a friend. Hopefully, he could find the hunter in the afternoon when he returned from the hunt. He should tell the others what Tonkil had said. Before he and Onyx left, he would tell the others, just to be safe.