Chapter 6

Arutha found the days following the attack to be the most harrowing of his short life. During the battle, he had clung to his training, and fear had not found him. However, in the aftermath, it struck home, and the omnipresent dread of further assaults threatened to unman him.

Fortunately, the moredhel had not returned, but their woes were far from over. A snowstorm now threatened to see their end. They had pressed on and barely managed to reach one of the caves that dotted the Grey Towers. Kulgan warned that the storm could last at least two days, leaving them effectively trapped until it passed.

With their baggage train captured, they had run out of provisions and were forced to butcher their horses for sustenance. They began with the injured ones, but once the storm ended, they would need more food – and the remaining horses had nothing to eat either.

The mood was grim, and he found himself wishing Lyam were here. His older brother had a way of lifting spirits, while he himself had often been dubbed 'the little storm cloud' in his youth. His gaze landed on Tanya, the scribe from the keep, tending the fire and distributing makeshift portions of horsemeat.

"Gardan, you mentioned her the other night," Arutha said, gesturing toward the girl. "You said she was wasted as a scribe. What did you mean?"

"I've been a soldier for some time, my prince, and she's as unflappable as they come. I know she's killed more than her fair share of moredhel. The men spoke of seeing her handiwork – often just moments before they or their mounts would've been cut down by those sons of hell. She's deadly accurate with that sling, never loses her cool, and always keeps busy in useful ways. It's like she was born for this." Gardan's voice was steady, but a clear note of admiration colored his tone as he spoke of the young girl.

If he's impressed, she must be something.

Gardan was one of the largest men in Crydee and among their most formidable fighters. His voice carried when he chose, and he knew more about weaponry than anyone else. While Swordmaster Fannon might have been superior in pure swordplay, Gardan could kill with a dozen different weapons, or with his bare hands.

He watched as she handed portions to Pug and Tomas, who had only recently woken. They were worse off than anyone except the wounded. Fortunately, neither showed signs of frostbite; their condition was merely the result of sheer exhaustion from the cold, wretched march to the cave. They ate with gusto, but then the prince noticed Tanya stiffen.

"Foes!" the girl from Crydee cried out.

Arutha whirled around as the men scanned the mouth of the cave. An arrow thudded against a hastily raised shield, and those on guard readied their weapons. A howling cry echoed through the air, and a blue-green-tinged creature with a curved sword rushed forward. The goblin, there could be no mistaking it, charged at one of the soldiers. Arutha drew his blade and struck, stabbing the creature in the side before it could reach its target. It collapsed to the ground, and the Crydee soldier drove his weapon into it once more for good measure.

Around the cave others fought the goblins, and in a matter of seconds they were all dead. His father sheathed his sword.

"Only a half dozen," Arutha said. "I've never heard of goblins attacking armed men unless the advantage was theirs. This was suicide."

"My lord, look here," came Kulgan's call as he knelt over the body of a goblin.

Arutha noted that the goblin had been wounded before, the injury perhaps three days old. Other goblins bore similar wounds, not from this battle, and all appeared gaunt – though Arutha couldn't say if that was typical for their kind.

"Hopeless madness," Arutha commented.

Kulgan replied to him, "Yes, Highness; madness. They were battle weary, freezing, and starved. The smell of cooking meat must have driven them mad. From their appearance I'd say they've not eaten in some time."

Discussion over who they had been fighting was cut off when one of the guards said they heard additional movement in the trees. Arutha glanced and saw Tanya had a stone now in her sling.

"Get ready!" his father called out.

Every man in the cave quickly readied his weapon, but no attack came. Instead, the sound of a single pair of footsteps echoed through the cave. These were not the soft steps of someone attempting stealth; they were deliberate, unmistakable to Arutha's ears.

Out of the dark, a cloaked figure of about five feet high appeared.

"Who passes this night?" his father challenged.

The hood was pulled back, revealing a metal helm sitting over a shock of thick brown hair. Heavy brows of brown-red hair came together at a point above a large hooked nose.

A dwarf!

Dwarves were friends with the Kingdom of the Isles, and more importantly Crydee itself. The figure motioned behind him and several more dwarves entered the cave.

Tomas called from the back, "They're dwarves!"

The dwarf fixed Tomas with a wry gaze, saying, "What were you expecting, boy? Some pretty dryad come to fetch you away?"

Arutha's face curved into a slight smile for the first time in days. The other men laughed, most likely more from the release of nervous tension than from genuine humor at the dwarf's joke. The lead dwarf stepped further into the firelight.

"From your tabard, I see you are men of Crydee." He struck his chest and said, formally, "I am Dolgan, chief of the village of Caldara and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people." Less formally, he continued, "Now, what in the name of the gods brings such a sorry-looking party of tall folk to this cold, forlorn place?"

***

I listened as the Duke and Dolgan spoke. The hot loaves of dwarven trail bread, honey baked into the crust, were delightful. The smoked fish was also quite a boon, far more preferable than horseflesh.

There were over three dozen dwarves accompanying the dwarven chieftain. I made note of Dolgan's sons, Weylin and Udell. Whether leadership passed by inheritance or otherwise, knowing the potential movers and shakers on a first-name basis was always advantageous.

Upon hearing the Duke's tale, Dolgan's face grew thoughtful.

"These are strange tidings, but they explain away some mysteries we have been tussling with for some time now."

"What mysteries?" Borric asked.

Dolgan pointed out of the cave mouth.

"As we told you, we've had to patrol the area hereabouts. This is a new thing, for in years past the lands along the borders of our mines and farms have been free from trouble."

This made sense to me. The dwarves seemed highly capable, and goblins stood little chance against a disciplined dwarven force. If I were to draw an analogy, the dwarves were akin to the infantry under Lieutenant Tospan's command in my Kampfgruppe, while the goblins reminded me of Dacian conscripts.

"Occasionally a band of especially bold bandits or moredhel, the ones you call the Dark Brothers, or a more than usually stupid tribe of goblins troubles us for a time. But for the most part things remained pretty peaceful, but not as of late."

Dolgan puffed from his pipe.

"About a month ago, we began to see signs of large movements of moredhel and goblins from their villages to the north of ours. We sent some lads to investigate. They found entire villages abandoned, both goblin and moredhel. Some sacked; some just empty."

Dolgan went on to explain how the dwarven villages themselves are on the higher meadows and plateaus, but the herds they keep are in the lower meadows for grazing, necessitating that they be guarded from intrusion by the evident displacement.

"Most likely your messengers didn't reach our villages because of the large number of moredhel and goblins fleeing the mountains down into the forests. Now we've some gleaning of what is the cause." Dolgan finished.

The Duke nodded. "The Tsurani."

"Then they're up there in strength," Arutha commented.

Dolgan nodded, "Aye, Prince. They're up there, and in strength." Dolgan concluded. "Despite their other grievous faults, the moredhel are not without skill in warcraft. The dwarven folk are not counted the finest warriors in the West for naught, but we lack numbers to dispose of our more troublesome neighbors."

It didn't sound like he was boasting either. The elves had demonstrated incredible grace in their movements and lived far longer than humans, which would give them time to perfect their skills. Were the dwarves even better in battle? Or did Dolgan discount the elves because he had never faced them in battle? Unlike the stories from my first and second world, there was no account of animosity between dwarves and elves in this world.

They talked more and estimations for the number of troops it would take to dislodge so many moredhel and goblins ranged from as little as 5,000 to upwards of a minimum of 10,000 per Dolgan's estimation. A truly sickening number given the low populations of the Duchy of Crydee in comparison. Borric was kind enough to supply the more precise numbers.

Borric leaned forward, a bit of a haunted look in his eye.

"I've fifteen hundred men in Crydee, counting those in the frontier garrisons along the boundary. I can call another eight hundred or a thousand each from the garrisons at Carse and Tulan, though to do so would strip them fully. The levies from the villages and towns number at best a thousand, and most would be old veterans from the siege at Carse or young boys without skills."

Arutha gave voice to my own concerns. "Forty-five hundred at the outside, a full third unproven, against an army of ten thousand."

At least 10,000, we were talking about minimums needed to dislodge, not maximums. We have no real intel!

"Then I'm thinking," said Dolgan, "you'd best send word to your older son and your vassal barons, telling them to stay safely behind the walls of your castles, and get yourself to Krondor. It will take all the Armies of the West to withstand these newcomers this spring."

Borric agreed, "To call the Armies of the West to arms, I must reach Krondor."

Dolgan's countenance seemed to take a grimmer cast. "The South Pass is closed, and your human ships' masters have too much sense to brave the Straits of Darkness in winter. But there is another way, though it is a difficult path."

I saw Weylin stiffen. "Father, you don't mean Mac Mordain Cadal?"

"Aye, I do." He turned back to the rest of us. "Mac Mordain Cadal is an abandoned mine of my grandfather, and his father before him. We have dug many miles of tunnels under the mountain, and some connect with the ancient passages, one of which traverses completely under the mountain and out the other side just a day's away from the road to Borden."

The dwarf chieftain looked Borric, then Arutha, in the eyes. "It will take at least two days to pass through, and there may be dangers. There are dark and queer tales. Some dwarves have gone searching for ancient treasures and the like; most return, but some do not. Once upon a path, a dwarf can never lose his way back, so they were not lost in their searching."

I wondered if this was more boasting or some form of highly specialized eidetic memory. I wonder if they would let me test…

Focus Tanya.

I missed a bit of the conversation, but Dolgan was explaining that it was necessary for him to accompany us or we would never find our way. He turned to his sons.

"Udell, you take half the company and one of the mules, and the Duke's men too ill or wounded to continue. Make for the castle at Crydee. There's an ink horn and quill, wrapped in parchment, somewhere in our baggage; find it for his lordship, so he may instruct his men. Weylin, take the others of our kin back to Caldara, then send word to the other villages before the winter blizzards strike. Come spring, the dwarves of the Grey Towers go to war."

Huh. That was awfully quick of them. Imagine if the Empire had such steadfast allies instead of pathetically lukewarm ones like Ildoa. I wasn't the only one surprised by the pronouncement, so Dolgan explained.

"The dwarves will stand with your Kingdom, Your Lordship. You have long been a friend to us, trading fairly and giving aid when asked. My people have long memories, those who came before you were quite different."

Arutha nodded and said, "And what of Stone Mountain?"

Dolgan laughed. "Old Harthorn and his clans would be sorely troubled should a good fight come and they were not invited. I'll send runners to Stone Mountain as well."

The picture was starting to become less grim. Through the power of commerce and diplomacy, Duke Borric had secured potent allies against the threat to his demesne. I also smelled an opportunity to learn more. There were no tales of dwarven magicians, but there were tales of enchanted dwarven weaponry. With the discussion over, and most looking to get some relatively stress-free rest, I made a beeline for Weylin. It was time to learn more about the dwarves. No stone would go unturned on my mission of finding a way to use magic, no matter how unlikely.

***

"Dwarf magicians? No cannae say I heard anything of the like. Our forge masters on occasion create weapons and armor that are magical, but it is not done with strange words or the wiggling of fingers, or however you human magic practitioners do."

Weylin was cordial enough, but sadly, it was not looking to be too fruitful for my wish to obtain some means of wielding magic.

"When something grand is created, far beyond what the metal and flames should produce, the smith'll need rest. We dwarves are renowned for our endurance, so it's no' often we'd be knocked on our backs for a few days just from a few hours of forging."

Oh, now that is interesting. Kulgan faces exhaustion after using too much magic. This seems like some sort of instinctual use of magic, possibly entering into a flow state of work. And given that thinking about the state you're in when you're in a flow state while accomplishing something takes you out of it, it would make sense that the dwarves never uncovered the structure behind how they used magic.

"Does that happen often?"

"No, 'tis quite rare," he replied.

I questioned him a bit more about dwarven society. Overall, they weren't much different from humans, except that their sense of community seemed tighter-knit. Dwarves did go off into abandoned mines and explore underneath the earth, but the idea of a dwarf moving permanently from their home community to elsewhere had baffled Weylin when I probed more about his society.

As everyone from Crydee was now asleep, it was time for me to do so as well. Now I was well-fed, with safety and warmth acquired. Events had taken a turn for the better. The situation was far from ideal, but it was far better than it had been a few hours ago.

I gathered my blankets, and Pug sat up and asked, "Can't sleep either? I'm so weary, but I just keep thinking about the Dark Brotherhood and how close we came to dying."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, that was harrowing. I was just chatting with one of the dwarves. I think it would be interesting to visit their villages. They seem to like us well enough, and I bet our smiths could learn from them."

Pug looked at me with some confusion, but then his face smoothed over. "Oh… yeah, that would be good." He smiled, "You're right, best to keep our minds off what just happened. That's a good idea Tanya. I'll think back to one of Kulgan's lectures, that'll probably help me get some rest. Good night."

The next day, we entered Mac Mordain Cadal. I bid farewell to Weylin and the other dwarves; only Dolgan would be journeying with us into the mines. The pace we set was rather fierce, and Pug openly pushed Kulgan to call for a rest, but the stubborn old magician refused. When they arrived at the entrance, they briefly rested, and Gardan had torches lit.

"Keep alert," Dolgan warned, "for only the gods know what is living in these tunnels. We hopefully will not be troubled, but it is best to be cautious."

The tunnels were damp and varied in width and height. For once, I was glad of my own diminutive stature as a guard cursed after bumping his head on a rock. The flickering shadows were irritating and kept me on edge.

"I'd not want to stay down here; I've lost all sense of direction," Tomas muttered.

As an Imperial Mage, directional sense had become instinctual. Operating in the 3D battle-space of the skies had made two-dimensional thinking come easily. These mines challenged that greatly and were also three-dimensional, as we had changed our elevation at multiple intervals. I suspected I could still retrace my steps, but we were only hours into the journey, and it would soon become increasingly difficult to do so.

We came to a rest and consumed a brief meal of dried meat and biscuits. The large area we were in was devoid of anything but space and a dozen tunnels leading in all directions.

"What place is this?" Tomas asked Dolgan after swallowing one of the biscuits.

The dwarf annoyingly puffed on his pipe. "It is a glory hole, laddie. When my people mined this area, we fashioned many such places. When great runs of iron, gold, silver, and other metals would come together, many tunnels would be joined. And as metals were taken out, these caverns would be formed."

"Where do they lead to?" I inquired.

"Depends. Some are dead-ends due to cave-ins. Some of our mining efforts required great care, and to support the integrity of the area, some were even deliberately brought down. Through that tunnel there," he pointed, "ye can take another side tunnel, follow it up, and ye'd reach Mac Owyn Dur, where several of my folk would be askin' how ye managed to gain entrance to their gold mine!"

We continued our journey, and I could tell we were going deeper and deeper underground. Pug and Tomas, who were normally quite talkative, had retreated into near silence, as had most of the rest of the guards. There was an oppressive air that caused me to strain my hearing. Feelings of foreboding were often just nervous reactions to pressure changes, things like indigestion, or tricks of the light. However… sometimes our subconscious could pick up something and put our bodies on guard without us being aware of what the cause was. Such was the case here.

We ended up camping for the night and I prodded Dolgan for additional details on ongoing mining operations.

"Your people herd grazing animals for food, dairy products, and meat, however you also have access to rich veins of minerals. Have you considered increasing the amount you trade? Or possibly looking to import human shepherds to divvy up the labor in ways that aim to benefit the natural abilities of each group?"

Dolgan eyed me. "An interesting idea, but we dwarves are an independent lot. We aren't all alike either. Many dwarves are at home in mines like this, but others crave the sunlight, wind, and enjoy workin' with the animals. Ye folk from Crydee are a respectable bunch, but not all humans are like that. We'd have to worry about thieven' and the like – I don't see much gain for all of that."

Hmm, he made some good points. As a proponent of markets operating efficiently, the division of labor and comparative advantage were concepts I cherished. For example, if a dwarf could labor for a day and produce 5 units of value herding, his opportunity cost would be the units of value from mining. Based on the value of precious metals in comparison to food products, I could guess conservatively that a dwarf mining would gain 15 units of value. Even if the imported people from the Kingdom couldn't work as hard herding as the dwarves, it would still be advantageous to free up more dwarven labor for mining. Concerns regarding criminality as well as job preferences could negate many of the gains, so it was by no means a sure thing.

I am getting ahead of myself; it sounds like there will be a war to win before I can even think about improving these rudimentary economies.

My rest was interrupted by Pug crying out in his sleep from a nightmare. It was troublesome but not unexpected, given the shocks he had received. Every person handled the stress of combat and a desperate retreat differently. I was never one to provide others with direct comfort. Giving a speech among my assembled troops? Yes, I could do that. Being a sounding board for an officer to express their frustrations? Sure. Consoling a scared boy who had just witnessed dozens of people killed and was now lying upon stone in an abandoned mine that had even veterans jumping at shadows? Yeah, not in my wheelhouse. I turned over and went back to sleep.