The Fall of Dorkhun (13 page)

“We’ll watch them like a mother with her newborn,” the second blacksmith said. “My papaw and daddy used to tell me stories about the skills of the elders, but I always thought them just legends passed down.”

“Know what you mean,” the other said. “I heard the same, but we always had to make things so fast we never got to focus on craft. Do you mind if we show them to some others?”

“Not at all,” Roskin said.

“Just make sure no one walks away with them,” Krondious added, pointing at each of them. “If my master doesn’t get them back, you’ll answer to me.”

The two blacksmiths smiled to ease his mind, but when Krondious’s expression didn’t change, both stammered they would make sure the axes were returned. Then, as if to prove it, they placed them inside a safe and locked it. Roskin thanked them and handed each a couple of gold coins as a good faith down payment, and the blacksmiths shook his hand and returned the thanks.

“Can you have my weapons ready by tomorrow for the ceremony?” Roskin asked.

“Of course, my lord,” the first smith said. “And we’ll let your friends take a couple of axes to have something to carry, too.”

“That’s much appreciated,” Roskin said. Then he turned to his friends. “Let’s go and let them get to work.”

The three dwarves left, and Roskin led them to the temporary palace where servants were busy packing for the trip to Dorkhun. Lunch time was near, so they went to the dining room to find what had been prepared. Captain Roighwheil sat alone in a corner, staring at his food and moving it around the plate with his fork. Roskin led Bordorn and Krondious to a table on the other side of the room and then excused himself to speak with the captain. The two dwarves barely noticed him leaving as a servant brought the first course.

Roskin extended his hand to the captain, and the dwarf stood and shook it firmly. The captain had always had one of the strongest grips Roskin had ever known. His son was nearly Roskin’s age, and the two had spent many hours boxing and wrestling as they grew up. Now, the son served in the elite guard, which had been stationed at the gate from the beginning of the war. The unit had seen more fighting than any and had also suffered far more casualties. The son had been wounded twice, neither time seriously, but the strain of worry showed around Captain Roighwheil’s eyes and in the gray now streaking his beard.

“May I join you?” Roskin asked.

“Of course, my lord,” the captain said, returning to his seat.

“Please, sir, I’m just Roskin,” the heir responded, sitting beside him. “I’m glad your son is safe.”

“Thanks. It’s good you’re back, too.”

Roskin looked around the room to see if anyone was close and, pleased that they had privacy, leaned closer.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Anything you need.”

“It’s Master Sondious. He’s up to something.”

Captain Roighwheil nodded.

“I heard about the two of you trying to delay the war.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” the captain said, looking away.

“No, Captain. You served the kingdom well. My father is grateful.”

The captain looked back at him, tears filling his tired eyes.

“I also heard how you saved him from the ogres.”

“Just doing my duty.”

“Now, I need you to do something else, and it could be just as dangerous.”

Captain Roighwheil nodded again.

“Leave for Dorkhun after we finish this meal and find out what Master Sondious is planning. I have a very bad feeling, and I don’t want my father to walk into some kind of ambush.”

“Do you really think he would betray your father like that?” the captain asked, tightening his jaw.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“He’s not been the same since they hurt him,” the captain said, his voice distant.

“He trusts you. Whatever he’s planning, pretend to go along. I’ll make sure my father knows who you really serve. You’ll be protected.”

“Once I know something, I’ll send a runner. I serve this kingdom. I serve your family.”

After they said farewell, Roskin returned to Krondious and Bordorn, who were already on the third course and nearly ready for the fourth. Roskin teased them about the empty plates, and both returned the jests with jokes about Roskin worrying more about diplomacy than his friends. Roskin took his seat and ate a bite of the small salad waiting for him as the first course. The tender greens were covered in finely grated cheese and an oil and vinegar dressing. Something in the freshness of the salad reminded Roskin of Kwarck, and he thought about the hermit. The harvest was near, so he would probably be cleaning out his stalls.

From deep inside, a warm feeling came, and for just a moment, he was back on the farm, watching Kwarck and Crushaw have their lunches. The two old men looked content, as if the hardships of life were far away. A voice whispered inside Roskin’s mind to stay strong, that he was ready for his next challenge. Then, just as quickly, the vision and the voice were gone, and Roskin was back at the table.

“Where’d you go, Pepper Beard?”

“Just daydreaming.”

“You weren’t with us, that’s for sure.”

“You okay?” Krondious asked.

“I’m fine. Really. Let’s finish eating so we can prepare for tomorrow. My father wants us to rehearse a couple of times before we meet with the ogres.”

“You’re the one who’s behind,” Bordorn chuckled. “Don’t rush us.”

“I’m not very hungry,” Roskin said, pushing the salad bowl away. “Let’s go.”

They left the dining hall and went to the king’s chamber. The king was busy at his table, signing documents and sending runners to different parts of the kingdom with news the war was over. Each township was asked to send food to replenish the stores emptied for the truce. The gold and gems had come from Kraganere’s personal treasure, not the kingdom’s, so none of the citizens were asked to bear that burden, too. He looked up at the three dwarves and waved for them to have a seat and wait.

Roskin sat in a chair against the wall, and his friends took seats against the wall perpendicular to him. Bordorn entertained Krondious with stories about Roskin’s temper as a youth, and the king interrupted a few times to add details the Ghaldeon had forgotten. Krondious laughed heartily, but Roskin blushed, seeing his own foolishness. He now understood why he had been like that, partially from being pampered but also from having his fighting skills stifled by the peacefulness of his kingdom. Instead of being properly trained, he had been asked to repress who he was, but Crushaw and Molgheon had taught him much about self-control, a must if a warrior wants to live long. Now, part of him wished he could go back and apologize for his ridiculous tantrums.

His mind drifted to his mother. He hadn’t thought about her since his birthday, which he’d spent marching across the plains, and on that day, for the first time in his life, he hadn’t wondered if she was going to show up and surprise him. Seeing her in the forest, whether or not it was real, had eased much of his hurt. He understood where she was and why she had to be there, and that gave him comfort. Like before in the dining room, a warm feeling enveloped him and he found himself looking at her as she tended to the vegetables in her garden high in the trees. She looked up from a tomato plant and smiled at him, and also like before, a voice whispered inside his head that she loved him very much. He concentrated on her image and thought “I love you, too.” She smiled even more broadly, and her fierce eyes filled with moisture.

Then, without warning, he was back in his father’s chamber, and Bordorn was still telling stories from childhood. His father was hard at work on official documents, and attendants came and went from the room, delivering finished papers to the appropriate runners. Roskin watched his father, noticing the seriousness with which he conducted kingly business. Roskin had rarely gotten to see his father work, only the occasional trip to council meetings to observe routine matters.

There were many similarities between how his father behaved and how Crushaw had led the army of freed slaves. When he spoke, there was no trace of doubt, but he didn’t come across as threatening or bullying. He was simply in charge, and when he told someone to do something, there was no room given for debate. His mannerisms were also similar, like how he held his shoulders and how his face contorted as he concentrated on what was before him. Roskin smiled, realizing that like the old general his father was a good leader.

King Kraganere finished signing the last document and handed it to the attendant across the table. He explained where it needed to go, and the attendant hustled from the room with the sealed paper. The king stood, stretched, and asked if Roskin and the others were ready to practice for the ceremony. The three dwarves stood, and the king called to the hallway for another attendant. He asked the young dwarf to gather his generals and staff, and the attendant excused herself. Roskin asked if he could speak to his father in private, and Bordorn and Krondious followed her into the hallway. Roskin closed the door and turned to face his father.

“What’s on your mind, son?”

“I need to explain something,” Roskin said, crossing the room. “You and I must be the only ones who know this.”

The king adjusted in his seat, concern on his face.

“I asked Captain Roighwheil to return to Dorkhun and spy on Master Sondious.”

The king studied his son’s face but remained quiet.

“He’s up to something. We need to know what before we get there. Please, don’t be mad.”

“No, you’re right. I should’ve done that myself.”

“The captain should be on his way already. We should know something in a few days.”

The king slumped onto his chair and buried his face in his hands. Roskin walked over and gently touched his father’s shoulder, and the king reached up and grasped his son’s hand.

“He’s my best friend, Roskin. How’d it come to this?”

“When I was a slave, I tried to escape. I killed a Tredjard to do it. I didn’t even think twice. I saw a chance to get away, and nothing else mattered. Maybe, when the ogres had Master Sondious, something inside him snapped like that, and he hasn’t come back yet.”

“He’ll never come back, Roskin. My friend is gone. I don’t know this dwarf.”

“He trusts the captain.”

“Yes, that was a smart choice.”

“Let’s practice this ceremony and get ready for tomorrow. Like you said, we’ll deal with Master Sondious when we get back to Dorkhun.”

The king nodded and stood. The two dwarves left the room and found the others in the hallway. The attendant had returned with the generals and the other attendants she had hand picked for the ceremony. She moved close to the king and whispered to him that she couldn’t find Captain Roighwheil, and he whispered back that the captain had been summoned to Dorkhun for a personal matter. Then, the king announced to the gathering to follow him to the courtyard where they would rehearse where to stand and how to behave during the truce ceremony. As the group filed down the hallway, Roskin followed at the rear. Bordorn had befriended a couple of the attendants and walked with them, but Krondious waited for Roskin and stayed near as they made their way to the front of the house.

***

The Kiredurks stood in well-formed lines along a ridge to the north of the gate. Even a few hundred yards away, the stench of the dead was pungent. The first line contained King Kraganere, Roskin, Krondious, Bordorn, and the generals. The second and third lines were infantry, stretching twice as wide as the front, the fourth and fifth crossbow archers, and the final the attendants. The wagons of food and gold were already on a path that led down the ridge and into the ogres’ camp. The king had decided not to include mules to pull the wagons, figuring the ogres could provide their own beasts of burden, so the wagons sat unhitched, guarded by the elite unit.

Across from them and a dozen yards down the ridge, the ogres stood in their lines, facing the dwarves and waiting. Roskin scanned their lines and found Vishghu, who stood in the second row near the center. He hadn’t been certain she would be there but was glad to see her, even under these circumstances. He wanted to speak to her and couldn’t reconcile that just a few months before they had fought together but now stood across from each other like enemies. He owed her his life and vowed one day to see that she was honored.

His father touched his elbow, and the two dwarves, king and heir, walked forward from the lines. Two ogres also walked to meet them. Roskin was dressed in new clothes tailored to fit his thinner frame. His sword was sheathed on his belt, and his axes, freshly polished and glinting in the morning light, were on his back. His father wore his best armor, also polished and shimmering, and carried his most elaborate battle axe. The two ogres wore their thickest furs and carried ornate clubs. As rehearsed, Roskin and his father stopped a few feet away and placed their weapons on the ground before moving closer. The ogres hesitated but then laid their clubs on the still dew-damp grass.

Once all four were within arm’s reach, the king spoke, going through the usual diplomatic etiquette, and the ogre across from him responded in kind. Roskin stood still and silent. Now that he was a little closer, he made eye contact with Vishghu and nodded. She returned the gesture, but neither smiled for fear of offending someone on the other side. Nonetheless, Roskin saw on her face that they were still friends, and that was enough. Once the king and the head matriarch had gone through the tactful routine, Roskin handed his father the final draft of the truce accord that had been signed by both king and heir. The king handed it to the matriarch, and she glanced over it to make sure nothing had been changed. Satisfied, she handed to the copy that had been sent to her earlier and contained her signature.