Grudgebearer (39 page)

Rae'en shifted, looking past Draekar at the land beyond South Gate. A breeze swept along the tunnel carrying with it the scent of grass and rich fields; not a smell she associated with Dwarven construction.

“I heard there was some excitement at the Arena?” Draekar asked, following her gaze.

Why ask how something went, when you really mean “May I please see it?”
Rae'en thought at her Overwatches.

Draekar eyed her expectantly.

“We won.”

“Excellent.” Frowning, Draekar slung his warpick back onto his back.

Kholster's expression remained frozen—unreadable. Rae'en tried to guess whether he was pleased with her decision not to share the memory.

On his best days, her father could be maddening in his refusal to comment on the decisions of those under his command. She knew why and tried to keep it in mind as it applied to her and those she kholstered: He was First of One Hundred. Faint praise could be misconstrued. An alternate point of view could be seen a condemnation. She would hear from him later, she felt sure, but here . . .

“Are we clear to proceed?” Kholster interrupted.

“Of course,” Draekar answered.

“Kholster Rae'en,” Kholster turned to her, and Rae'en knew she had missed something other than the oath. The feeling swelled up over her.
Was it something in one of Draekar's subordinates' free time? Another oath? A—
“At your discretion.”

And then she understood. “You have done well, Draekar. I commend you and your hundred on their faithful service. I hope you will be pleased with your next rotation. Am I right,” she reached out for the details of what Draekar had shared with her, the bare metal information which remained even after their warpicks parted, “in thinking you were hoping for Castleguard rather than home?”

Draekar's frown vanished. “Yes, kholster Rae'en.”

“We'll see what we can do,” she mimicked the even tone her father used when he didn't see why he couldn't arrange something but wanted all the facts first. It was a promising tone, but not a promise. “Carry on.”

Twenty Aern saluted as Rae'en and her father entered the massive gate. She walked into its shadow trying not to compare it to her memories of the exhibition, of the water rising up around her, of sinking to the floor of the Arena with her lungs filling with water.

I am not being swallowed up
, she told herself. And once she was in the tunnel itself, her body agreed and the momentary panic bled away. She had made her home in tunnels far smaller. Once inside this one, she marveled that she had ever let herself fear it.

CHAPTER 36

CROSSING THE BRIDGE

A loud metallic peal rang throughout the courtyard as Kholster head-butted the elderly Dwarf. Rae'en's eyes widened as she watched the Dwarf's eyes glaze over. She hoped he wasn't going to pass out. The other Dwarves standing nearby, guards of some kind she surmised, blanched but fought to control their expressions.

They wore heavy breastplates and helms. Each also bore a shield on his back and a sword scabbarded on his left side. She'd expected them to all have long beards and axes or mattocks—maybe a pickaxe or two—but only four of the seven guards had long beards. Two of the remaining guards had short jaw-hugging beards like the one her father often kept—and had nearly regrown—the last was smooth-shaven. An inner struggle played out in the eyes of those guards as they fought the urge to reach out and assist the older, unarmored Dwarf.

Rae'en had never seen a Dwarf dressed like him. He wore a sleeveless burgundy shirt with platinum buttons up the front, its thin collar folded up against his neck. His bare arms revealed intricate tattoos done in shades of purple, blue, and gold which seemed of some significance, but if they had ever borne a resemblance to the runic markings her uncle's people used, it was too distant for her to recognize. The thick leather belt at his waist seemed to have little to do with holding up the plaid pants he wore, though the oversized bone-steel buckle was worked with the same patterns as his arms, so maybe it served a similar purpose. The boots she recognized. The same thick-soled work boots worn by her uncle back home.

What a strange Dwarf
, she thought to herself.
I wonder if he knows he's bleeding.

Blood an only slightly darker red than a human's trickled across the lines on his forehead. Not the dark, almost black of Glinfolgo's miners, nor the near orange of Aern blood. Her uncle had once told her the color in blood came from the mineral traces within it, the red color of human blood from iron, the near black of mining Dwarves from the overabundance of the same, and an Aern's orange blood from the near-complete lack of it.

When she'd asked why there was such a difference, Glinfolgo had been unwilling to share.
Dwarves and their secrets . . .

After crossing to the Dwarven side of the bridge, Rae'en and Kholster had walked out into an open expanse of land which hardly seemed any different than the countryside beyond the walls of the Guild City, except that the grass was more lush and the trees she could see to her far left and right were of a more uniform height and obviously well-tended and carefully trimmed. She hoped to catch sight of one of the famous Bridgeland trams which hauled cargo along the Western and Eastern walls, but they'd used the pedestrian South Gate, so all she could see was the occasional flutter of one of the Bridgeflies, the steam-driven dragonfly-shaped craft used to scout the walls and occasionally move troops or cargo rapidly from one gate to another.

Rae'en had hoped they might get to ride in one, but instead they'd come to a stop in a courtyard about fifty steps outside the South Gate tunnel, where statues of Jun (as an anvil) and Torgrimm (as a single twisted symbol of infinity wrought in metal) stood across from a representation of Aldo (as an open book). Arced stone benches formed a triangular arrangement around the fountain, and Rae'en wondered if the water was supposed to represent Queelay or if it was just water.

Up ahead, beyond the Dwarves and the fountain, loomed a village with squat-domed buildings all of wonderful white stone. Obelisks made of the same stone provided direction as the large central road upon which they had walked out of South Gate diverged. Looking back over her shoulder, Rae'en spotted more guards back along the wall and thought she spied a recessed stair from which additional guards probably stood ready to emerge.

On a normal day, Rae'en imagined the place busy with the hustle and bustle of visitors, constant traffic which their simple arrival had brought to a complete standstill—at least at this gate.

Maybe the increase in traffic before and after make up for it
, she thought,
people wanting to spot the great “Kholster Bloodmane.”
She grinned at the thought, then covered it up quickly as she caught the smooth-shaven guard frowning at her.

The elderly Dwarf swayed slightly and coughed, clearing his throat. A light breeze picked up as if by design, the air smelling sweet. It didn't smell of the sea like she'd expected; then again she guessed they were awfully high above the sea itself.

Was it two thousand hands high
, she thought at Kazan,
or three thousand?

The Dwarf shook his head as if to clear it, eyes brightening, then going dull again.

Of all the cultural “Prove you're really an Aern” tests Rae'en had encountered, only the Dwarves had chosen one which involved physical discomfort for both parties. So many humans wanted an Aern to cut himself to reveal the bone metal within and a good flow of the orange blood which seemed to so easily amaze them. Kholster narrowed his gaze, concern showing on his face when the Dwarf wobbled.

“Karl?” He put a steadying hand on the Dwarf's armored shoulder.

“I swear your skull gets harder with age,” the Dwarf said, waving him away.

Of course our bones get harder with age
, Rae'en thought to her absent Overwatches.
What does he think would happen? They'd get brittle?

Of course, there was no answer. Rae'en wondered if the information would all be delivered to them in a rush once they were back within range or if they were just lost thoughts. She waited for her father to confirm Karl's suspicions, but he did not clarify, so she didn't either.

At her father's age, his bone-steel was notoriously hard to work with, requiring heat approaching draconic levels of intensity to melt and shape. Fortunately, Dwarves didn't require a full-force head butt, just enough to hear the sound of the Aern's skull ringing. That was one thing the bridge Dwarves had in common with the Dwarves back home: they loved the sound of ringing metal, bone-steel in particular.

Are they weaker than the Dwarves back home?
she asked her Overwatches.
They look weaker.

Karl steadied himself. His tanned skin was a near-human shade rather than the mineral hues of home. Karl's hair was odd, too . . . a light chestnut which reminded Rae'en of human hair. She wondered if it was flammable like human hair. And further pondered why no one ever picked that test for an Aern.

Hair inflammability. Surely it would be much more comfortable for everyone involved.
Maybe it's too easy to fake
, she thought, and it wasn't as if Aern hair wouldn't burn, it just took more heat than it did to burn human hair. Cadence had burned Kholster's hair off pretty easily . . . and probably there were alchemists who could do the same sort of thing.

Several spells too
, she imagined.

Karl, the elderly Dwarf, swayed on his feet again, then, seeming to master himself at last, smoothed the front of his burgundy tunic, resting his hand on the broad bone-steel buckle which graced his thick leather belt and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Welcome to the Great Junland Bridge, Kholster of the Aern,” The elder Dwarf announced. “You are our welcome guest . . . ah . . .” he stumbled over the word as if just remembering her, “You and your daughter are our welcome guests. I greet you . . . eh . . . both . . . on behalf of my fellow servants of Jun.”

“Thank you, Foreman Karl,” Kholster said as the two of them clasped forearms. “Your head is hard and your works are an honor to Jun. I come in peace to your people and seek passage to North Gate where I shall continue on to Oot that I might fulfill an oath there.”

“We would not hinder you,” Karl said with the air of someone reciting a script he knew well and considered important, but one he wanted to get out of the way so the real conversation could begin. “But if you would like to grace us with your presence for a time, there are many matters we would like to discuss and many inventions we would like to share.”

“Kholster Rae'en?” Rae'en jumped at the unexpected transfer of command, heart quickening. Foreman Karl? FOREMAN Karl? Her father was handing her command in the midst of a conversation with the Dwarf responsible for kholstering the whole of the Junland Bridge! She wondered how many Dwarves made their homes there and how many humans, gnomes, and manitou besides called the bridge their home and, this Dwarf, therefore, their kholster.

Something mischievous glinted in the old Dwarf's eyes. He covered it well, but she'd spent too much time around mine Dwarves to miss the look even on a bridge Dwarf.

“I'm sure we could spare you a few days, Foreman Karl, if the matters you wish to discuss cannot wait for our return trip.”

Karl's eyes lit up at the word “days.”

“Of course,” Rae'en continued, “we would need to prevail upon your hospitality and complete our journey across your fair domain underland.”

Karl's expression darkened.

That old Dwarf wants to maximize the number of assassination attempts
, Rae'en bristled inwardly.
Can you believe him
? she thought to her Overwatches.

“Underland?” Karl asked, stricken.

“As I'm sure you are aware, Foreman Karl,” Rae'en said as diplomatically as she could manage, “it is the common practice for assassins funded by Castleguard, the Guild Cities, and various other nations to attempt to kill my father on his sojourn to Oot. Historically, Bridgeland has been the focus of such attacks, as the Aern are unlikely to invade Bridgeland because of our friendship. I'm told there is some small amount of gambling involved.”

“Gambling, you say?” Karl blinked. “In my kingdom? Are you quite sure?”

Kholster snorted at that.

“Kholster doesn't mind,” Rae'en bulled on, “a certain amount of it. After all, he is one of the Armored and cannot die unless he allows himself to do so. As a result, I'm told most of the betting now has to do with how many attempts there will be, how quickly the assassins will be dispatched, and how long the journey from South Gate to North Gate will take to be completed.” Rae'en smiled brightly.

“It's all in good fun from our perspective, but I'm further informed most bets have an underland route nullifier. While we'd hate to break the game, only an underland route would allow us sufficient time to enjoy your Dwarven hospitality at this point.”