“Some old folks often said that a good reason is needed to celebrate. This is often taken with a pinch of salt, as most people I have seen in my life, no matter where, like taking even the slightest excuse to pull off a celebration, as long as it means they can have fun and enjoy the party.” - Saying attributed to the Silver Maiden.

“A toast! A toast to the tall lasses!” yelled Angron as he raised a large stone mug full of ale as high as his burly arm could reach. Some of the ale spilled out and splashed on his face but the already half-drunken dwarf clearly didn’t give as much as a damn about it. Instead he tilted the mug over and spilled the rest of its contents into his open mouth from the height.

Aideen’s group had traveled the rest of the way – only a short three hours – to Orsginnad with the convoy they rescued from the bandits. Around half the bandits had gotten away into the side tunnel they emerged from, but they also brought over two dozen captives to the cavern city with them.

Aideen and Rhys managed to save those who had been lying down in pools of blood, even if it was a close call for some of them and they would still need to recuperate for days to recover fully. Many of those were from the convoy guards who were taken down by surprise from the bandits’ opening salvo, but a few were bandits as well and were handed over to the local authorities together with the rest.

Meanwhile, the grateful members of the convoy guard team invited Aideen’s group to a local tavern to celebrate. They celebrated not only their survival but also the capture of the bandits, since more likely than not, such bandits had some sort of bounty attached to their capture or killing. It was a very welcome bonus for the guards since Aideen’s group had generously given them the credit for the capture, and they didn’t fail their job of guarding the convoy either, which pleased their employers despite the delay caused by the incident.

“Beg yer pardon for Angron there,” said the leader of the guard contingent who was named Ivar to Rhys. “Kind of hard for us dwarves to tell lads from lasses when it comes to other races sometimes, especially elves like you.”

“Apology accepted, and don’t worry, the problem’s mutual, to be honest. I still find it hard to tell your kind’s men from the women and vice versa too,” admitted Rhys. Men of elvish descent tended to have a more androgynous look and since most elves leaned to a slenderness in build, it was far from rare for their men to be mistaken for women.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Did you find out who those bandits are and what they were after?” asked Celia out of curiosity to the dwarf in turn. They had been warned about bandit activity and prepared to deal with them, but ended up finding a local dwarven convoy being attacked instead, which went against their expectations. “I thought banditry was rare between fellow dwarves.”

“It is! That’s the thing. If these fellas are who we think they are, though, I can guess why they hit our convoy in particular,” said Ivar with a shake of his head, seeming exasperated at the idea of fellow dwarves turning to banditry against their own people. “Oh, there’s Head Constable Ruben, maybe he can tell us more about them. Head Constable! Over here!”

“Oy, yo there, Ivar ye old mole!” said the Head Constable, an older dwarf with graying hair as he walked over. “Yer guess be right, them bandits be Snorri’s folk. No real surprise to anyone, ah guess, eh? We knew they’d be trouble after the prince they backed didn’t make it up the throne.”

“Snorri?” asked Rhys as he heard the unfamiliar name.

“Ah, old clan leader from near the central caverns, one of the stubborn conservative sorts. He backed the Sixth Prince hard back then so he lost a lot of his influence and wealth when the Third Prince instead became our King,” explained Ivar with a nod. The political situation of the Kingdom Down Under had a rather tumultuous period prior to the succession because the successor was undecided at the time.

The main contenders were the Third Prince who advocated for more open and friendly relations and the Sixth Prince who had a more militaristic outlook and advocated conquest. Many of the more traditional and conservative dwarves backed the latter, but his expansionist and aggressive agenda also alienated quite a few of them as they were seen to be excessive. As a result, the Third Prince ended up becoming the successor in the end.

“The house we work for made its money mostly from trade with our neighbors, lad,” explained Ivar further since Rhys hadn’t made the connection he was implying at. “Much like many of the more… conservative ilk, Snorri’s folk hate foreigners, very badly. They see the money we make by dealing with foreigners as dirty money, which is why they targeted us, you see.”

“I see what you mean,” said Celia as Rhys nodded at the explanation. “I guess had your convoy not been there, we would have been their target instead, since they hate foreigners so much,” she added with a shake of her head. “Not like we can pretend to be dwarves anyway, and besides, we’re here in sort of an official capacity anyway.”

“They’ve caused trouble before, yeah, but they’re usually not stupid enough to attack a formal delegation,” said Ivar with a raised eyebrow. “Mind you, most delegations I knew of tend to have a lot more than just six people, though I guess if you count the undead you do have a lot more people with you. Fitting, I guess.”

“And to be honest, after seeing what they could do, I kind of get why you don’t have more with you. Not like you need more hands anyway.”