“Your beard looks like a rat’s nest,” said Klar.

“But how does it smell?” Ror bunched his beard in both hands and lifted it to Klar’s face.

“Ror!” She leaned her head back and tried to push his arms down.

Laughing, Ror lowered his beard and turned back toward the gate. He could feel his half sister’s scorn, and it made him smile. Klar had spent hours in her bower, carefully attending to her appearance. Her auburn hair was all tied into one long and elaborate braid draped over her shoulder. She had chosen her favorite of her long dead mother’s gowns; a sable colored brocade with diamond embroidery that glittered like a field of stars. Halfur stood to the left in his usual morose attire; dark red brigandine surcoat over smoke grey breeches and a black tunic. His red-gold hair and beard had a simple array of braids, with most his locks unbound. And of course there was Yemi. She wore a bright cloth of gold dress that hung low on her shoulders, and her black hair was braided to excess. A nervous, shuffling figure to Yemi’s left caught Ror’s eye. He couldn’t see the person’s face, but it seemed a young man, a boy even, with short brown hair combed straight to his shoulders and a sparse beard.

“Is that who I think it is?” he asked his brother. Halfur simply rolled his eyes. “Audun!” Ror boomed directly into Halfur’s ear. Audun leaned back and offered a pathetically frightened grin. Ror beamed and waved. “I’m glad Mum invited him to stand with us,” he said again to Halfur.

Halfur looked sidelong at Ror, held him in a stone-like gaze, then rolled his eyes and looked away. “It wasn’t Mum,” he said in a strained voice.

Ror looked at his little sister and raised an eyebrow. “Yemi’s a child no more.” His voice was thick with glee over his brother’s perturbed state. Stoking Halfur’s wrath was far too easy a thing to do, but always satisfying.

“Yemi’s a child eternal,” Klar said quietly.

The surrounding guards stood rigid as Ror’s parents entered the hall from a door behind. The Chieftains came in after them and stood in a row behind Ror and his siblings. As his parents took their places in the fore of the group, his father noticed Audun and glared at his mother. He whispered in her ear and her head darted immediately to Yemi, then back to Grar. She shrugged and whispered something back, then they stood still. Ror could tell his father would be giving Yemi a speaking to. He only hoped Audun was spared the King’s ire. Audun had the misfortune of gaining both his father and brother’s scorn. The poor boy hadn’t earned it. He was strange, granted, but sincere of heart and a loyal subject.

The last person to arrive was Balvor. He wore his finest clothes; a green doublet with a fringe of gold rings, dark brown velvet hose, knee high steel toed boots and a dark green cape of crushed velvet. About his neck was a mannarim necklace like the one he had foolishly sent Idana, with the crest of Narvi set in gems on a broad pendant inlaid with scarlet quartz. Ror folded his arms and rubbed his temples. Halfur was looking at him and shaking his head.

“Make the switch quickly,” Ror whispered.

“I’ve half a mind to rip it off her and throw it in his face,” his brother hissed.

“Do the same with his,” Klarr added.

“What are you talking about?” Yemi whispered, but she did so as loudly as person would typically speak. Their parents both looked over their shoulders and gave Halfur a warning look. To his chagrin, Ror could just hear Audun explaining the situation with the necklace to Yemi. His father then gave his mother a warning look.

When the door opened, Ror had to stifle a laugh. Other than the King and Queen, and an old man with the look of a seasoned warfighter, the humans faces were all struck with awe and fear. Have they never been inside a cave before? Ror thought.

King Salimod stepped forward first, then bent forward in a deep bow before his father.

“Dread Sovereign,” the human said, “we are at your mercy. May we enter your great Kingdom as friends?”

“Stand up and hug me, you big tit!” Grar bellowed gleefully. He didn’t wait for Salimod to stand, but lurched forward and took him in a hearty embrace. "Of course you can! All in your company are welcome. Enjoy the Splendour of the Mountain with the love of the dwarves!"

Balvor then just about leapt forward and lifted Idana off her feet. His mother took Queen Yselde in her arms, and Yemi ran forward to the two human children with Audun in tow. Ror stalked ahead, wanting to meet the old soldier, but in the flurry of excited greetings, he found himself look up at a with a thin young girl with bright red curly hair and star-struck blue eyes. Her face was moon-round and freckled, her lips thin and quick to smile, and she held her tiny body with a practiced elegance that almost reminded Ror of a soldier standing watch.

She’s… pretty. A bit thin, and tall of course, but… he realized that he had been staring, and likely grinning broadly, for much longer than he should without saying hello. “Ror Narhim, Prince of Thrond,” he said before squaring his legs and bowing low. He realized then that instead of a cape, he had donned a cloak, and the hood fell over his head as he bowed. When he lifted his head he saw her bowing in the most peculiar way. She stepped back with one leg, lifted her gown to either side with her hands, and only ducked her head down a few inches. Such a delicate movement. She could easily be knocked down.

“Cara Gace,” she said in a high pitched, yet warm voice, “daughter of King Salimod III Gace, Princess of High Alden. I am honored to meet you, Dread Highness.”

Ror waved a hand. “Please, call me by my name.”

She smiled and did that odd bow again, this time haltingly. “As you wish Dread High… erm, Ror.” She continued to smile, but her eyes darted around the hall, avoiding his continuing stare.

Her eyes are so blue! “You have such blue eyes.” He fought the urge to cover his mouth. He had only meant to think that. I must be taking after my uncle. She was a pretty girl, and for all her human oddness he found her captivating. Her red hair and blue eyes reminded him of the star he had seen just days before. The Red Candle, Halfur called it, after the meeting with Ridzak.

“Thank you, Prince… erm, Ror. And yours are purest green, like copper flame.”

“Copper flame?” he cocked his head to one side. “I never thought that a custom above ground.”

“We’ve spent time among the drow, Dread… erm, Ror.”

Dread Ror, I like that. “The drow, eh?”

“Oh, yes, but just the drow of Protus Dread, uhm, I’m so sorry. It will take me time to break free from my custom. I had expected much more courtesy… I mean to say… not that you’ve been discourteous…”

“You know what your eyes remind me of?”

Her face went still and her eyes opened wide. “I, erm, no Dread… Ror. Uhm, what do they remind you of?”

“The blue in the center of the new star, as your eyes are amidst so much red hair. You must have seen it while on the road.”

“Oh, yes, the star. Oh we saw it from the Tall Hill as well, just before dawn on the day we left.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, Ror.”

He felt his heart leap at her saying his name. Save me! I’m just like Balvor. I’ll be forging her a mannarim palanquin at this rate. Strange that they saw the star first, though. We must have had heavy clouds over the Brow.

His uncle’s laughter distracted him and he turned to look his way. Whatever was said, Salimod looked uncomfortable, his father had his face buried in his hands, and Balvor and the old soldier were laughing merrily.

“Your uncle is wonderful,” he heard the girl say.

His heart sunk to his belly when he realized he’d forgotten her name.

“We enjoyed all his visits. I’ve been looking forward very much to meeting the rest of you. My mother says I’m to spend time with you. I mean, all of us. We’re to spend time with all of you.”

“Well,” Ror smiled politely, “that would make the most sense.”

She pressed her palm to her forehead. “I meant my brothers and sister, and your sisters and brother. Please forgive me… Ror, I’ve been taught my entire life how to speak to nobles of other realms, other human realms. Your kin is so much more genial and familiar than mine.”

“You’ll get used to it,”. He looked about the hall again, hoping something would jog his memory before she realized he’d forgotten her name. He caught sight of Halfur holding Idana’s necklace up as if he was inspecting it. She was standing close to him and pointing at the pendant, when Balvor scooped her off her feet again and just about hugged the life out of her. Ror didn’t even see his brother make the switch, but he knew he had when he gave Idana the fake. Nicely done, Red Wolf, nicely done.

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“Does your kin dance?” he heard the girl ask. He turned back to her quickly.

“Absolutely!” Ror loved to dance. “Did Balvor not? During his visits? He loves to dance more than anyone here. Even me.”

“Oh yes, he did, often. I merely wondered if such a love was common here.”

“It is. I dare say it’ll be a sight, with me being two thirds your height, but we’ll make the most of it.”

“Oh, you and…”

“Cara,” said a voice.

Thank you!

Cara looked at Ror and smiled quickly, bowed, begged his forgiveness for what he could not fathom, then rushed off to speak with Klar. They seemed to know each other. Perhaps Klar had dared to leave the mountain and accompany Balvor on one of his visits. Ror searched again for the old soldier, but now he was facing a much younger human with broad shoulders and dark hair.

“Hale Gace,” he said in a voice almost as deep as a dwarf’s, “Crown Prince of High Alden, Heir to the Tall Hill, Captain of the Autumn Van.”

Ror held his head high, as the human had not bowed. “Dread Ror Narhim, Prince of Thrond, Captain of the Gatebreakers, Thrond’s fourth elite heavy infantry legion.” Ror swiftly glanced at the human prince’s parents. Salimod’s hair was silver as starlight, and the queen’s was red like Cara’s.

“I favor my father over my mother,” Hale Gace said.

What an odd thing to tell me, Ror thought.

“In appearance, I mean. I saw you look to them both just now. My father’s hair was dark once.”

“Ah. I see. You have a quick eye.”

“As do you, Dread Highness.”

“Call me Ror.”

“Not Dread Ror?”

“Your sister gave me that name... sort of.”

“Ha! She’s struck with awe, no doubt. Mount Obrus is quite foreboding compared with Cavanal Hill. I imagine our whole castle could fit in your great hall.”

“Don’t let it distract you. We have nought to do but dig, or our halls would be much more reasonably sized.”

“Oh I’m sure. It must be dreadfully boring under the earth, with only the greatest mysteries of the deep world to occupy you.”

Ror laughed. He liked this human. He wasn’t as dumbfounded as the others. “You look like a fighter, Hale Gace.”

“I trained under Ser Dennel as a child. He’s behind you now, speaking with your Army Chief. I was fostered in Eruhal the last eight years and learned war from Ser Gammon Foss.”

“Truly now? I’ve heard some eye opening tales of the Hay Knight.”

“They do him less than half the justice he deserves, I promise you. Are you a fighter, Dread Ror? Or should I call you Gatebreaker Ram? I’ve not heard that title before.”

Ror waved a hand. “It doesn’t mean anything. And no, I’m not a fighter. I do march with my men, and have made war, but I’m a prince first, and then a smith and a dancer.”

“Of course. We only fight when called upon. I play the cittern and bow harp, and I sing.”

“Well, everyone likes a good bard. I’ll have to hear you perform.”

“We can combine our talents. I’ll play a good Darry Slide for you to dance to. So I’ve heard that all dwarves are taught to use arms as children, including your maids. Is this true?”

“Especially our maids. My mother will fight in the Proving, in fact. I don’t suppose you’ll strike the bell?”

“Strike the bell?”

“Oh, uh, enter the lists, as in one of your tourneys.”

“Ah. I’d be honored.”

The crowd mingled for some time in the entry hall. Ror managed to meet the old veteran, Ser Dennel. He had begged Ror not to call him Ser, saying that he had only accepted knighthood so he could serve as Salimod’s Master at Arms.

“I’m baseborn as they come,” Dennel said, “and nought more than a lucky grunt that ain't been killed yet. But I dare not refuse an order from my King.”

“You must forgive Ser Dennel his modesty,” said Salimod. “In truth he is my Hay Knight, and thrice as deadly as King Second Son’s little den brother.”

“I’d like to see Gammon Foss cross steel with one of my nephews,” said Balvor.

“Or your nieces!” Dennel said. “They look hardier than half my footmen.”

“Surely their maids don’t risk themselves in combat,” said a knight with a face like a walrus.

“Oh stuff it, Walsh,” Dennel said to the knight.

The talk went on, until at length they all made their way to the Royal ohr-tempus , which bypassed the city of Ormazum and went straight to the citadel. Dennel was inquiring about his uncle Lobuhl as they disembarked the stage. His father was explaining that Lobuhl was overseeing a sensitive matter when Ror saw the row of guards lining the wall outside the ohr-tempus. The furthest one was head and shoulders above the others. The man’s face was covered by his spiked barbute helm, but Ror knew him by his bearing.

“That’s him,” he said to Klar and Halfur, drawing them both close with his stout arms.

“He’s big enough to be,” Halfur said plainly.

“Will you speak to him Klar?” Ror asked. “For me?”

“For you? Why would I speak for you? You swing your tongue more than you swing your hammer, Ror.”

“But you’re more, I don’t know…”

“Sensible,” said Halfur, “wise, serious, genuine, selfless, reasonable, respected…”

“Yes. You’re some of those things. Look, Klar, Buri always hated me…”

“Then why worry over getting him to speak to you?”

“Because… Buri was always the best of us. He may have hated me when we were children, but I admired him then and I admire him even more now. I want to know why father sent him to the doomed, of all units to train under. I want to know what trials he suffered, and I want to make things right.”

“Who says things are wrong?” said Halfur.

“Halfur has a point, Ror. Buri served, lived, returned, and has offered no complaint.”

“Then explain how he’s treating Gund. Ignoring his own flesh and blood? That’s how he’s offering his complaint.”

“He was always quiet. But, I’ll speak with him, if he’ll speak with me, just so you’ll let me out of the matter. But I won’t press him for anything. I think you may have to just accept that Buri is less concerned with you than you are with him.”

“Klar, how could you know what he’s thinking? He’s been exploited, put through the worst misery a man can endure. How can you even think to know his mind? I’m at least a warrior, and have faced death.”

“As have I, Ror. In a way you never have, but Buri has.”

Halfur raised his brow and looked hard at Ror.

“You’re right,” Ror said, “I forgot about Genneth.”

“Buri hasn’t. I promise you that.”

“Then you’re the best person to speak with him, Klar. You’ve both lost your mothers. Please, just let him know I care about what happened to him.”

“You can let him know that yourself, by leaving him be. Not everyone is going to be your friend, Ror. Learn that now, or learn it later and much more painfully.”

Klar sped up her pace and disappeared down the hall.

Ror turned toward Buri. He felt his ire rising at this sullen man who refused the kindness of the one person reaching out to him. Ror stepped forward, but was stayed by a strong hand. It was Gund.

“Your sister’s got the right of it, boy.” said the old man.

“Gund, of all people…”

“... of all people, Ror, I yearn for Buri’s love the most. Do you see me trying to pry it from him?”

Ror sighed and turned around. Gund slid his hand around his shoulder and drew him close.

“Forget my nephew for now. You’ve got a pretty human princess here who can’t take her eyes off you. Learn to enjoy these moments, Ror. They’ll come far less often as time passes.”