Heaps of rubbish rolled down the wide stone channels that lead to the refuse surt; a dome of porous rock with a gaping black hole drilled through the side that opened into a deep magma vent. Lava bubbled and churned within, filling the entire chasm with stagnant heat. A flow of water and sand kept all the waste of the kingdom moving down the many channels that wormed down from the dark roof of the cavern. Even the water and sand were devoured by the lava, though they served it faithfully, bringing an endless stream of jetsam to sate its hunger. Ror watched intently as so many pieces of his kingdom passed into the all consuming fire beneath Obrus. Above the surt was a long channel dug into the rock, one of the many that came from the chamber of the Ringing Horn. Ror heard a scuffling of feet behind him, and the refuse workers offering reverent greetings to his uncle.
“You’re in my spot,” Balvor said, his jovial voice a welcome contrast to the gurgling dirge of the surt. “Have you come to share in my penance? I rued the oversight of this place when your father first tasked me with it, but I’ve grown used to the noise and smells, and I’ve come to enjoy the company of the workers here.”
“They’re good men. I come here sometimes to think. I planned to surprise you, but I was early.”
“More like I was late. My princess detained me with sweet kisses.”
“Not bitter tears?”
Balvor let out a quiet sigh, not an entirely melancholy sound. “She already misses Yselde and the children, and Cara especially. But she is determined to make the most of her life here. I look forward to you getting better acquainted with her, nephew. She’s bashful, and not quick to warm up to most people, but she is a remarkable woman.”
“She must be to have won you. Every maid in the kingdom goes flush when you pass by, and yet you chose a foreigner. I’ll be honest with you uncle, I doubted your choice at first. But now that I’ve met Cara…”
“Our maids go flush at my passing? Ha! You’re inventing a fancy to sooth my wounded pride. It’s very kind of you, but there’s no need. The injury to my pride is self inflicted. If maids do anything at my passing they snicker and say ‘Look, it’s Balvor the fool, let’s bat our eyes and see what secrets he tells us’”.
“You’re being awfully harsh on yourself, uncle.”
“Bah! I’m being honest. I could have sent her any gift, any, and she would have rejoiced simply because it was from me. But I had to send her the one treasure we kept from the world, and for good reason. Now I doubt our kin will be inclined to share much of anything with outsiders.”
“What of it? The thing is done. All men err, uncle, all of us. Better to make new footprints when you’ve stepped off the path, rather than retread the ones that lead you afoul.”
“Everyone credits your brother with wisdom, Ror, but I see it growing within you.”
Ror smiled and shrugged. “I learn from those around me.”
“Indeed you do, which reminds me of another ripple I’ve made in the well. It’s fortuitous to find you here where we can speak privately. I’ve been wanting to speak to you regarding Cara.”
Ror smiled broadly and let out a deep sigh, not in any way a melancholy sound. If you came to propose a match, uncle…
“What do you know of couplings between the kins?” his uncle blurted.
Ror laughed loudly. “Much less than you, thus far. Is there something I should know? Do I wish to hear it from you? Ought I not learn it by… “
“Our line is doomed to end.”
Ror turned his head to look at his uncle. “I’m sorry for you. Is Idana barren?”
Balvor shook his head. “No, but our children's children will not be dwarves.Only elves and humans are able to grow saplings from the seed of other kins, and their blood always wins in the end. Find yourself a good strong dwarf maid who your parents will vouch for, and you'll be glad you did.”
“What say do my parents have in whom I wed? We don’t marry for status the way humans do. My wife is mine to choose.”
“And say you’re named your father’s heir. You would be turning the rule of the greatest kingdom of dwarves to humans.”
"They would have my blood. Narvi's blood. The blood of the oldest line of dwarves."
"In part, yes. But Narvi's noble traits would fade, and to every eye they would be human. As without, nephew, so within. They would walk with human feet, rule with human hands, see through human eyes, and feel with human hearts. They would be trapped in the citadel, unable to tread the deeper ground within Obrus, unable to breathe the World Dragon's breath. Their rule would be short and futile, and they would most likely turn to human lords and offer our greatest secrets in exchange for their friendship. Thrond would cease to be a mighty nation, and would instead be no more than a marketplace, open to any with coin and a human face for our human kings to smile upon."
Ror parted his lips to speak, but his words died on his tongue.
His uncle placed a loving hand on his shoulder. “I will never be more than an accessory to your father, and so I have a freedom you do not. The crown a king wears is heavy, Ror, and you must think of the realm long before you think of yourself.”
"Accessory? Uncle, you're the king's brother! Many look to you as an example. The rule of the realm may never pass to you, but your actions are as much a spectacle as mine or Halfur's."
His uncle shook his head. "Don't rob me of my excuses, Ror. They're all I have sometimes. Idana is a lady of the green hills, blood of the first kingdom of our age. She has much to offer Thrond, and maybe the whole world. My brothers can chide me all they like, but my way is a kinder and straighter path than either of theirs. Enjoy your feelings for Cara while she is here, but let them fade when she is gone."
Ror thought back to when he and Cara sat by the hearth in his father’s solar. He’d told her of the splinter in Ridzak’s heart, and how the goblin’s heart and mind were one. His uncle’s words felt like a splinter in his heart, a splinter he wanted to pluck. “What does it matter? The odds of dad naming me are slim. I’ve turned the entire kingdom against itself in a time of crisis, and all to save one man.”
“You’ve never been more wrong, nephew. You did not divide Thrond against itself. You saved Thrond from itself. When you fished Koll out of the Moroby you gave us back our honor. The Underguard was once a legion of volunteers, you know.”
Ror did not know. “I’m learning all manner of lessons from you today.”
“You need to remember your history, boy. Narvi laid it bare in his final words. You’d do well to look to our founder. As Thrond grew and thrived, fewer men were willing to devote themselves to clearing out the underlands, preferring the luxuries of their prosperous lives, and we faced too many threats from outside to commit trained soldiers to that effort. In time, criminals were sent down the Lonely Ohr out of convenience, and the stricter our laws became, the more spears we could throw at the deep beasts.”
Ror couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. “Narvi was mad when he wrote that book.”
“Have you read it for yourself?”
“I read ‘til halfway through, and when he told of the moon turning to dust I stopped. I stopped, uncle, to look outside and make sure the moon was still in the sky. It was.”
Balvor sighed. “I know much of Narvi’s Song seems strange. But even a madman has not forgotten all sense of truth. When Narvi speaks of the clouds turning to blood, I wonder at his meaning. But when he speaks on matters of state, I listen to his wisdom.”
“My father has ruled Thrond with surety all his days, and not once have I heard him quote either Narvi’s Song, or the Book of Tides.”
“You’d be surprised, Ror. My brother pays more heed to songs and storms than you know.”
Ror watched as tangled piles of frayed rope, bent shovels, broken cogs and spoiled food washed down a nearby channel into the surt. The red glow within the chamber grew bright for a moment, then faded again. “You’ve known dad longer than I, so I won’t debate you. But such talk is wasted on me just now. We have a quarter million enemy soldiers bearing down on us, two thirds of our standing army perished to an enemy we couldn’t even see, and I’ve just burdened the throne with a promise of over three thousand inquests. Have I lost my wits completely? I keep expecting to see them floating down one of these rubbish tracks into the surt. Tell me if you spy them. I’ll fetch them back and clean this mess I’ve made.”
Ror felt his uncle’s hand tighten like a vice on his shoulder. Balvor pulled him in and squeezed him tight, chuckling as he did so. “As I said, you’ve never been more wrong. You didn’t hear this from me, but your dad has chosen you. He plans to await Halfur’s return and the defeat of the goblins, then the whole kingdom will be gathered to hear the happy news.”
Ror gently pulled free from his uncle’s embrace and turned to face him. “Say that again. I… I didn’t hear you…”
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“Yes you did, boy! It’s you! And who else could it be? Ror, you really do have a lot to learn if you think your brother is better fit to rule than you. Halfur is a boon to Thrond, for a certainty, but he is far too detached to be its ruler. Can you imagine your uncle Lobuhl sitting atop the silver steps? I tell you we’d fare better with me on the throne than him. But you’re both wiser than I, and kinder than he. Halfur is loyal and will always stand by you, and together you will be a storm no ship can weather, and you will be its eye, with our people sheltered inside the love you bear them.”
“But I’ve caused a storm, uncle. A tradition that’s stood for…”
“... Far too long.” Balvor took the collar of Ror’s doublet in both his fists and gave him a playful shake. “You put an end to the misery of thousands. With these inquests will come outcries against injustice, and when your father names you heir you will have the authority to deal with that injustice. You gave the people a promise, Ror, and soon, you will become that promise.”
Ror let out a quiet sigh, a mostly melancholy sound. “No human princess for me, then.”
Balvor laughed loud and gave him another series of shakes. “You’re better off! Human women are mad! All of them!”
Ror smiled. “I suppose. Cara is exceptional, though.” Thrond may have a turning point in its near future, he said to himself, and a mad queen even to usher it in.
“She is indeed," Balvor said, "and a rare beauty. But you’re far too much dwarf for such a delicate girl. Cara is made of starlight and candle flame. You need a harder woman; a war-maiden, made of steel and tempered in mountain fire. A woman who can swing a blade and survive in your wake. Have you spent any time with the soul you saved? He has a daughter. A young and pretty daughter who is most grateful to you.”
Ror laughed and gently took his uncle’s hands off his collar. “And she can remain grateful. I could never abide using such feelings to woo. I have principles that would sullied by such cheap cunning.”
“Bah! Have your principles then. See how warm they keep you at night.”
“I have furs enough for that.”
Balvor laughed and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “They’ll do for now, I suppose. Ror, I want to thank you. You treated my bride’s kindred well, and that made all the difference to her. And I’m proud of you. You’re strong as a bear and fierce as a ram, but you’re also honest, and you know restraint. More than anything else, I trust you to keep peace in our world, even if that peace is bought with a few drops of blood.”
Ror laughed. “So just a little war then?”
“Well of course, now and then. Oh, I have one last revelation to share before you go. Your goblin friend, Ridzak? He’s awake now, and claims we’re in his debt for more than just curing the soldier’s plague. I’m inclined to agree, as a third of the goblin force has broken off and begun to retreat.”
“You’re jesting.”
“I am not. Ask Gund if you doubt me. He came rushing into your father’s solar with the news. We still have a bit of row on our hands, but a row we can handle.”
“This is good news. Uncle, we’ve needed good news. Oh this is good to hear!”
“Yes. I think this also moved your father’s choice. You trusted that half mad creature when no one else would, and it’s paid off. Being able to tell a person’s true worth is invaluable as a king. Allright, you’ve heard enough from me. Go to the steel shed and swing your hammer ‘til you forget about Cara. And give Gurgu Driggz our thanks.”
“I will," see Ridzak, Ror thought, "but one more thing. Did Gund say anything about the men in Forvangur? Is Audun’s cure working?”
“Audun’s cure? I wouldn’t call it that to Ridzak or your brother. But yes, it’s working well. The men we’ve administered it to are already demanding to be put on the line.”
“Good. Good. Thank you, uncle.”
Ridzak was being held in the cell they had him in originally, when Lobuhl had arrested him in his Noxi disguise. He was sitting cross legged on the table, bent almost in half over a plate of steamed beets and a haunch of yak flank.
Ror didn't bother explaining the purpose of the stool placed near the table, rather he claimed it for himself. "I see you're back to normal."
Ridzak looked at him with a mouth full of yak and nodded excitedly.
Ror snatched a long strip of meat and tossed it in his mouth. "What happened to you?" he asked as juice and grease dripped down his beard.
Ridzak sat upright and tilted his head back to swallow his food, then pounded his chest with both his hands. "I was hopin' you'd tell me." He leapt off the table and hopped on one foot to the nearby wall, placed his hands on the cold stone, then leaned one leg back to stretch his calf muscle.
"You don't know?"
"Nope. You was awake, not me." He switched legs.
"Halfur gave you one of the pouches we found in Forvangur's food stores. You sniffed it and went into a fit."
"The Red Wolf puts me in a rare mood," he bent forward and hugged his ankles.
"Are you readying yourself for something?"
"Me brother's hounds is comin'."
"Fewer of them than before. Thank you for that."
"Thank Nines." He laid on the floor and wheeled his legs in the air.
"What did he do?"
"Sumtn' clever, or sumtn' awful. Maybe both." He stood and did jumping jacks.
"You said a name just before you lost consciousness."
"Eels of Ceti. Nasty lil’ devils." He gripped the bars of the cell door, put his feet against them and stretched his spine.
"And then you said something about a girl named Nima."
"I got no time for girls." He hopped down and ran in place.
"If you found a nice girl, you might decide to stay here instead of going to your Black Garden."
"Might be I'll meet me girl there." He dropped to the floor and pushed himself up with his arms.
"Is that where Nima is?"
"Don't know no Nima." He rose to his feet and did somersaults in the air.
"Do you want me to have you released?"
Ridzak stopped his somersaulting and went to the foot of his bed, went stiff as a plank, then fell back onto the rag stuffed mattress. "I'm here for keeps, papa dwarf's orders."
"What about the Whimsey? Won't they miss their boss?"
"I've made arrangements for them." He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
Ror unsheathed his knife from his belt and set it by Ridzak'e supper. "Here, for your brother's hounds."
Ror told the gaolers of the knife he'd given Ridzak and made sure they knew to treat him courteously, then left the cells. When the courier came to tell him he'd been summoned to the Hall of Warding, he was already on his way there. He knew the the purpose of the meeting, and he knew something else. Ridzak had shown him the truth of the matter. Seeing him stretching and resting was like seeing rats running out of a tunnel. Grandell may have changed the arithmetic of the situation, and perhaps to some extent the goblin army's strategy, but the oncoming forces from the Araad would most likely encounter the goblins that had abandoned the assault, and that could take them out of the fight as well. Ror hoped they'd know to ignore them and continue their way to Thrond, but the goblins would likely attack them, giving them no choice but to fight then and there, leaving the dwarves on their own.
Ror decided to head to Forvangur and speak with the conscripts. Gund had done well. He’d replenished the ranks quickly and was training the new fighters hard. Ror had no training to offer them beyond what Gund and the legion captains offered, but he was their prince, and it fell on him to put fire in the hearts of his fighting men when they were about to face death. He wanted them to see that he’d be fighting by their sides, that their king and princes were to share in their risk as well as their glory. He began to wish he hadn’t spoken with Ridzak as he made his way to the warrior’s city. Ridzak didn’t always speak with words, and seeing him readying himself for a fight, even if his actions were playful in nature, had put Ror in a nervous mood.
He’d mostly shaken it off by the time he reached the city. There was a slight nagging tension in a deep corner of his gut, but it was nothing he couldn’t hide. Walking through Forvangur’s dark halls always awakened primal feelings within him. The ringing of smith hammers, the red glow of forges, the clanging of weapons on shields, and the smells of spiced cider and roasting meat stirred the rage that slept in his heart like a dragon guarding an ancient horde. Gund was there, walking hurriedly the way that Ror had just come. The old man’s face was taught with angst, and Ror could feel tension emanating from the captains that followed close behind him.
“What’s wrong?” Ror asked.
Gund shook his head. “Three thousand warriors have abandon the city.”
Ror felt his stomach tighten. Did Ridzak know? “Where could they be?”
“Ormazum? Valgerdur? Could be Karli bought them and their marching to Heth. I’ve no notion whatsoever.”
Gund always had notions, Ror knew, though he often buried them deep. “Gund,” Ror gripped the old bull’s shoulders, “speak to me. Where do you think they’ve gone.”
The Army Chief sighed and Gave Ror a dark, knowing look. “There’s only one explanation, Ror. It has to be him.”
Ror sighed too. He doubted Valung could have any direct control over events in the mountain, but it was not beyond reason that he might have contacts, or agents even, who could report to him and influence matters above. But would he even need to? maybe he simply knew Koll’s return would cause upset. It pained Ror to think it, but Thrond had been falling apart ever since he’d travelled down the Lonely Ohr to rescue Koll. I pulled the thread, it’s on me to stitch things back together. He stood aside as Gund and his captains went on their way. Gund was right to immediately report to his father, but Ror knew the answer to the problem was here in Forvangur. But will they speak with me? He knew it would be unlikely to find anyone with direct information who would be willing to speak openly of it, but any knowledge could be useful. He spent the entire day speaking with the men. He said nothing of the deserters, but rather he asked the soldiers how they were faring and if he could be of any assistance, leaving it to them to offer what information they would. What he did learn bothered him deeply. The missing men were not craven or weak, but strong and bold, eager to prove themselves to the tough old warriors who’d survived the plague.
More than that, no one knew anything of their desertion until it was too late. What Ror could piece together was that they’d drifted off a few at a time, but as to how they’d exited the city unseen, or where or why, Ror could not tell. He didn’t bother with his bed that night, but instead lit his forge and hammered at a piece of steel while his inner thoughts churned. When it was time for him to attend his father’s court in the Great Hall he put down the steel and washed. It was only after he’d left his chambers that he thought on what he’d begun to forge the night before. His mind was so occupied that he’d swung his hammer on almost pure instinct, and left to its own volition his arm had begun to craft a stout bladed knife with a thick spine and a starkly angled point, a match to the knife he’d given Ridzak.