Harald awoke in his bed.
It felt strangely luxurious. Confused, smiling, he stretched in his armor and turned to stare out his sunlit windows.
His body was sore, and he felt a strange combination of over-slept and exhausted.
But this was nice. Just lying here. He could hear birdsong, the rumble of distant traffic.
Then he frowned.
When was the last time he’d awoken this late? It had to be close to Tenth Bell.
He sat up abruptly. What had happened? He was still dressed in his raiding gear. He even had his boots on.
This was hardly the first time he’d awoken fully dressed, but usually it was accompanied by a raging hangover.
That at least was absent.
“What the hell?” He got out of bed and set to unbuckling and removing his leather armor. How tired had he been that he’d slept in all his gear? Luckily he wasn’t splotched in dried blood or filth. Some of the night returned: jogging through the 4th Level and letting the Goldchops do their thing.
Of course he wasn’t covered in blood. He’d never even had a chance to fight.
Still, he felt musty and stale.
Oh wait. Kársek.
A vague memory returned to him. Hailing a carriage upon exiting the Dungeon Plaza, then slowly collapsing as exhaustion began to win its battle against his unnatural vitality. He’d called on Dark Vigor upon reaching the manor, just so that he could get Kársek situated… and then…
Time to see what was going on.
Grabbing a towel and fresh set of clothing, Harald emerged from his room, listening cautiously, and heard voices coming from the kitchen. He padded downstairs and found Sam, Vic, and Kársek seated at the broad kitchen table, all of them nursing half-finished mugs of coffee.
Kársek had replaced his ruined yellow outfit with a simple tunic that he’d belted at the waist with his own broad belt; his tousled yellow hair was freshly washed, his tanned face free of exhaustion and spattered blood. His bristly brows and striking features gave him a fiercely alert air, and his green eyes caught the morning sunlight slanting in through the high windows so that their flecks of gold near glowed.
Sam was leaning against the stove, wearing a sharp new outfit. Crafted from supple leather dyed a deep, rich brown, it fit her athletic form like a second skin. The top was a structured bodice, laced down the front and highlighting the strength of her shoulders. Sword at her hip, hair plaited into a practical braid, boots of dark leather rising to her calves, she looked at once ready for violence yet relaxed, capable and confident.
Harald couldn’t help but marvel. She’d changed just as much as he had these past weeks. Or perhaps, like him, simply begun to reveal what had always been there.
“Hello?” Vic waved a hand. “I’ll be the first to admit Sam is looking quite dashing in her new leathers, but what about my waistcoat?”
Harald laughed. Vic was lounging in the stiff kitchen chair as if it were a luxurious bed, long legs kicked out with feet crossed at the ankles. His waistcoat was indeed sublime; it glimmered as if woven from supple metallic thread, and was patterned with elegant flowers across its breadth. High collared, he wore it open, the buttons and catches hanging loose, to reveal a thick and sumptuous white shirt beneath.
“Master Darrowdelve.” Kársek stood abruptly. “I want to thank you again for saving my life last night -”
“Oh Kársy, darling, sit.” Vic rolled his eyes. “The first rule of tolerating Harald’s company is to not compliment him. Keep him on the ropes, uncertain, wary, so that he remains pliable. If you go around spouting stuff like that, he’ll become an arrogant monster.”
Kársek stared at Vic in confusion.
“Morning, Harald,” said Sam, pushing off the counter to pour him a cup of coffee. “I’m surprised you’re up.”
“You didn’t wake me for Sixth Bell.”
“I tried.” She handed him the mug. “Briefly. Then decided you needed the rest.”
“Kársy has been telling us about last night,” said Vic. “Harry? Did you go raiding by yourself?”
“Just the 4th Level,” said Harald, trying not to sound apologetic.
“Just the 4th.” Vic sighed. “They grow up too fast.”
“Harald.” Sam’s tone was stern. “We did the 10th yesterday. And then the 8th. And then you were pulled into the 27th. Where you fought alone for hours.”
“And then,” added Vic, “you went to dine with the fabulous Celestis’ siblings. How did that go, by the way? Where’s Nessa?”
Kársek looked bewildered. He slowly sank back into his chair.
Harald latched onto the dwarf. “Master Kársek, you’re welcome here, as I said before, and you don’t need to worry about formalities. The Fallen Angel knows nobody else does. We’ll figure out your, ah, life debt soon, but in the meantime, just make yourself at home.”
“Harald.” Sam was still frowning. “Forget the wisdom of going alone into the dungeon in the middle of the night—”
“Which was asinine,” added Vic.
“—how did you have the energy?” Sam look mystified.
“You know, a little Shadow Fortitude goes a long way.” He raised his towel and clean clothing. “Let me freshen up, and then you can interrogate me to your heart’s content.”
“Where’s Nessa?” called Vic as he hurried out the back. He crossed the patio to the well, and set to hauling up the bucket. He dunked one after another over his head, spluttering and gasping as he rinsed away the night, and then toweled off. Not really caring if anyone was watching, his stripped, finished drying, then dressed in his clean clothes.
“… he couldn’t express his gratitude enough,” Vic was saying as Harald returned to the kitchen. “You should have seen how he held a sword!”
Kársek turned his wide-eyed gaze to Harald. “Your friends…”
“Barely qualify as such,” grinned Harald, pulling out a chair. “But look. Instead of answering a hundred questions piece meal, I’ll just catch you all up on what happened.”
Kársek stood. “I will excuse myself while you discuss confidential matters. Master Darrowdelve, I’ll await you in the garden?”
“Sure.” Harald almost bid the dwarf stay, but waited till he was gone to turn back to his friends.
“Nice guy, for a dwarf,” said Vic. “You going to accept his life-oath?”
“Of course he isn’t,” snapped Sam.
“All I’m saying,” protested Vic, raising both hands, “is that we need someone to start collecting my laundry and bringing me food at night when I’m peckish. I’m just trying to be reasonable.”
“No,” said Harald pointedly. “I’ll figure out how to handle Kársek soon. But as for yesterday…”
He recounted dinner. Nessa’s interference with Melisende’s plans, how she’d flushed Josse out, and then complicated the final pitch.
“Well done, Nessa,” said Vic. “You see why I wished her to go with you?”
“To a degree. It hurt her, going there. Melisende knew about her past. She all but threw it in Nessa’s face at the end. She was really upset, and insisted we go to the Black Note after leaving.”
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“Good music,” agreed Vic. “And?”
“Well.” Harald tried not to blush. “I think Melisende’s needling made her… aggressive. Destructive.”
“What happened?” asked Sam, sitting next to him.
“She…” Harald laughed huskily. “I don’t know. Tried to tempt me. But only so as to fuck everything up. I refused, and then she got… not mad, but…”
“Nessa doesn’t tolerate rejection well,” said Vic soberly. “What happened?”
“She got out of the carriage close to the Shambles. She was gone before I could stop her.”
“Well, shit.” Vic stared off and shook his head. “We’ll see what condition she’s in when she returns.”
“Well done,” said Sam. “You did the right thing.”
“Oh, I know.” Harald felt miserable. “I… but no. It was obvious. Nessa isn’t attracted to me.”
“It’s because you have the face of a rich woman’s lapdog,” said Vic apologetically. “You know the kind with their snouts pushed in?”
“Fuck you, Vic.”
“Maybe if you were cuter. So then you decided to go… raiding?”
“It doesn’t even feel like raiding with the Goldchops. I just jogged around and harvested scales while they did all the work.”
“Still,” said Vic. “Not smart. Accidents happen. And every so often even a measly level like the 4th can cough up a real threat.”
“Something the Goldchops and my Mastiff couldn’t handle?”
“Well, probably not. But Harry, nobody even knew where you were. If one of the Houses sent a raiding team after you…?”
“Oh.” Harald thought of Nessa’s revelation about how Lady Yseult would make rival teams disappear. “That’s fair.”
Sam shook her head. “I can’t believe you went raiding three times in one day. And are now up and chatting like it’s nothing.”
“Shadow Fortitude is pretty amazing. The darker it is, the more energized I become.”
“Must make sleeping quite restful,” said Vic wryly.
“Maybe that’s why I feel great.”
“Well.” Sam was clearly still upset, but moving on. “Where does that leave us today?”
“I’ll try to find Nessa,” said Vic. “If Melisende really messed with her equilibrium, she might need some extraction.”
“I need to help Kársek get over his debt,” said Harald.
“Don’t take it too lightly,” said Sam. “I’ve heard a little about dwarves through Futhark, the smith that’s been helping me. You might insult him if you don’t take it seriously.”
“Fair. But I’ve five weeks till I’m slated to fight Yeoric. I still want to train.”
“Hmm,” allowed Vic. “Seein’ as you can’t use the Goldchops or your Mastiff against him, that’s a legitimate preoccupation. But I’ll be honest, Harry: your rate of growth has been pretty stupid. In three weeks you’ve become a Level 2 Abyssal Initiative, raised your stats within a stone’s throw of his, and done quite a bit of dungeon delving. I’m no longer quite as worried as I was.”
“True, but Nessa’s made it clear how unprepared I am to fight a human opponent.” Harald forced himself to voice the truth. “It’s one thing to hack an unarmed monster apart in the dungeon, it’s another to fight an experienced raider dressed in full plate and bearing a tower shield.”
“Fair. That’s why she’s been focusing her lessons on dueling, and not monster butchery. But it’s my opinion that you’re both ready for more. I think we’re done with the Iron Levels. The first 12 are good practice, but you need to start fighting intelligent opponents. Once we recover Nessa, I think it’s time we hit the 13th Level.”
Sam leaned forward, eyes shining. “The 13th?”
“That’s the goblin level, right?” Harald glanced back and forth. “It’s supposed to be… tricky.”
“Oh, it’s tricky.” Vic smiled lazily. “But nothing we can’t handle. Still, it’ll be a novel experience for you to fight enemies who use basic strategies and throw javelins. It’s one thing to just lop off outstretched hands, another to have to deal with terrain and ambushes. It’ll be fun. You’ll love it. Probably.”
“Absolutely,” said Sam, nodding sharply. “I’m ready.”
“You’re adorable,” said Vic.
“How about I talk with Kársek,” said Harald, rising to his feet, “and then we do some training, Sam?”
“I brought my training gear.”
“Good.” He walked to the back door then turned with a smile. “And by the way? You look great in that outfit. Really sharp.”
“You think?” She beamed even as she blushed.
“Hey,” called out Vic, voice forlorn as Harald walked away. “What about my vest?”
Kársek had wandered down to the ornamental pool and was gazing into its emerald depths when Harald approached. He turned, hands linked behind his back, then took in the entirety of the garden with a sweep of his gaze. “This must have been beautiful, once.”
“Once,” agreed Harald. “But it’ll all be gone, soon. In a little over a month the city is taking it from me.”
Kársek frowned. “Why?”
“I owe too much money. Debts that I can’t hope to repay.”
“Like my life debt to you.”
“About that.” Harald moved over to the swing seat and sat. “I already told you that I’m not accepting a life oath from you.”
“Correct.”
“Then…?” Harald studied the stout young dwarf. “What would satisfy your obligation to me?”
Kársek frowned down at the grass. “I do not wish to return to my clan. I left hurriedly, and Frejka’s death weighs heavily on me. One day, perhaps, but only when I can demonstrate that my departure led to my eventual prosperity.”
Harald nodded, listening.
“I am moderately talented in the ways of Vein Whispering,” continued Kársek, “and am a Level 1 Earth Shaper.” He glanced up from beneath his bushy brows. “Perhaps I could be of use in the dungeon?”
“I… I don’t know what that means. Vein Whispering?”
Kársek nodded briskly. “Dwarven magic is distinct from all other forms. In the halls of Dumrûn, the great Forge Fathers use the Earthblood to fashion Artifacts of terrible power—”
“I’m sorry, Earthblood?”
Kársek frowned. “The… energy that swells up from the depths. The magic of the earth. The essence of stone and rock, metal and gem, coal and fire. The deeper one goes, the more powerful it is. In Dumrûn, the greatest forges and anvils are located caverns of magma, miles below ground, where the Earthblood is so rich that legendary Artifacts can be created.”
“I see.” Harald thought he did, but knew he probably didn’t. “I saw a Deathforge Legion led by an Anvil King enter the dungeon yesterday. They had incredible looking Artifacts.”
Kársek’s expression turned wistful. “I’m… I’m glad I didn’t witness that. Frejka went forth to watch, but for me, it was too… painful.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am a Tinker Dwarf, which means I shall never know the glories of Dumrûn and its ways. Instead, like others of my kind, I have grown adept at Vein Whispering. Earthblood rises even to the very surface of the world. I can sense its presence, here and there, insufficient to craft with, but enough to manipulate the rocks, to work small tricks and stratagems.”
“And this allows you to…?”
Kársek gazed about the garden, expression speculative, and then wagged his head from side to side, as if reaching a compromise. He took a deep breath, extended his hand, and then his whole body tensed.
A moment later a patch of earth exploded upward, leaving a pot-sized whole behind. The dirt and soil pattered down onto the grass and overgrown bushes, and all was still.
Kársek’s smile was chagrined. “There’s not much Earthblood here. But in other parts of the city it grows rich, and in the dungeons especially so. I can raise blocks of stone from the floor or pull them out of the walls for cover; I can create gaps underfoot in front of charging enemies, or part walls so that we may cross through them. That is what my class allows. As an Earth Mover, I have control over the environment.”
Harald nodded. “And as you grow more powerful, you’ll be able to make bigger walls? Things like that?”
“Earth Mover is a humble class, but my honor has never needed a greater,” said Kársek. “But now, owing a life-oath, I hope to become a Stone Shaper, allowing me to fashion armor and weapons from living rock, and one day, if I am blessed and my need be true, become an Earth Sovereign. This would allow me to make stone golems, to alter entire landscapes, and even summon earth elementals to my aid.”
“Damn,” said Harald, impressed. “That sounds incredible. But hold on. How do your people level, seeing as the Fallen Angel is here in Flutic? Is there another divinity under Dumrûn?”
Kársek smiled, eyes gleaming. “We dwarves do not use scales to level as others do. We can absorb them for healing, yes, but they don’t add to our power. Instead, we grow by absorbing the essence from the Earthblood we channel. The more we use, the more it infuses us, and the more powerful it becomes.”
“Oh… so it’s just a case of practicing?”
“It’s not quite that simple. The rate of advancement depends on the density and purity of the Earthblood, the amount of time that a dwarf can spend channeling it, their natural propensity for the art, and the power of their class. Some dwarves, like Frejka, can barely sense Earthblood no matter how rich it is. Others, like myself, have some talent for it, and can call the power to us, like a volcano calls magma from the depths.”
Harald absorbed all this, nodding slowly, and considered the earnest dwarf. Kársek stood, resolute and composed, his features fierce and made wild by his bristling brows and tousled golden hair, but his gaze was measured, his intensity deep.
“I’ll have to speak with the others,” he said at last. “But I think we could really benefit from your help. Until at least you feel as if your debt to me is repaid.”
Kársek bowed stiffly at the waist. “Thank you for considering my offer.”
Harald grinned. “Of course. In the meantime, consider this your home. There’s a lot going on right now, but nothing you need to concern yourself with just yet. Enjoy my hospitality while I can offer it.”
“Thank you.” The dwarf looked around the wild garden.
“Yes?” prompted Harald.
“I…” Kársek sounded unsure of himself for the first time. “I enjoy landscaping and tending to gardens. If it doesn’t upset you, seeing as I have some free time, I would enjoy working on your property until you and your crew reach a decision.”
“You don’t have to do gardening.”
“I understand.” Kársek smiled. “But I derive deep satisfaction from tearing out weeds, clearing flowerbeds, mowing grass, and bringing order to chaos. Life is too…” He waved one hand abstractedly. “Complex and unpredictable to respond to intentions alone. Gardens, however, reward effort and care. But only if it does not dismay you.”
“We won’t be here for much longer,” said Harald sadly.
“Sometimes a practice is its own pursuit.”
“Then sure.” Harald rose from the swing seat. “Though I can’t promise the garden tools are in good condition. Our old gardener, Mickle, used to take excellent care of everything, but he’s been gone six years now.” Harald paused. “Damn, I guess it’s been closer to eight. Here. I take you to his shed.”
The gardening shed was hidden behind the old stables, and so covered in vines that it appeared more of an odd bird’s nest than anything else. With much effort Harald wrenched the door open, and peered into the dusty murk with a frown. “We can fetch a lantern.”
“There is no need.” Kársek stepped into the doorway. “We dwarves have excellent vision in all but true darkness. I can see well enough. The tools are indeed hung up in admirable neatness. I believe there is much here for me to work with.”
“Great. Thank you.” Harald stepped back. “Then I’ll bring your offer to the others, and tell you what they think as soon as we reach a decision.”
Kársek gave him a distracted nod, then ducked his head under a wooden vine and stepped cautiously into the gloom beyond.
Harald stood there for a few moments, listening as Kársek set about taking down tools and muttering to himself, then walked away with a smile.
Earthblood.
The world was full of never ending wonders.