Tower Castle, Cryptonia, Ground Plane
Harla reached up to knock at Jasper’s door and hesitated. She fidgeted with the string of her apron. He had seemed a good man, for a human. She knew he could have no understanding of her people’s law. Would he refuse her? She winced at even considering it. She was grateful it had not become necessary during Lord Lerontis’ time—she had seen and heard enough of his behavior to be glad not to have been put in the same position with him. But what else could she do now? The fool Lerontis had cost them so very much. Harla and her kin could not even give up their wages to settle the castle’s debt. That was already being done. She shook her dark head to clear it. She would throw herself at this new lord’s feet—literally, if that is what it took. Even a human could understand that gesture. At last she rapped her thick knuckles against the oaken door.
“Enter.” His voice was not as high as most humans. She lifted the latch and pushed the door in. He sat at his table with many papers laid out on top of it. He was making little marks here and there on the parchments. He looked up when she shut the door and turned to face him again. “Oh, damn!” He dropped his pencil and made an odd gesture, stretching out his left hand to look at the back of his left wrist. He then made a face like he had lost something. “I’m sorry, Cook Harla, I lost track of time with all of this mess to go over.”
“If I am not troubling you, Milord Jasper,” she said, doffing her cap and bobbing her head respectfully. “I can return later—”
“No, no, now is fine.” He smiled and stood to come meet her in the middle of the room. As he drew closer, Harla got a better look at the young man. His beard was thick and brown as she remembered. What she had not noticed before were the red streaks that grew at the corners of his mouth and on the sides of his jaw. Her eyes widened a bit at this. It was rare for Men from Cryptonia to have two-toned beards other than their natural color with a sprinkle of gray or white.
‘Mayhaps he has some elder blood in him,’ she thought to herself.
“Fern told me you wished to speak with me,” he said. “That your people believe it is right that repayment be made quickly and equally.”
“That would be so, Milord.”
“It is good and right that debts be repaid,” he nodded, gesturing her forward to join him at the table. He drew out her chair and waited until she took her seat before returning to his own. “As Calian has made it clear to me, your people have virtually been indentured servants for some time.” She opened her mouth to speak but was not sure what to say. He smiled kindly and waited for her to begin again.
“Aye, Milord, that is true enough,” she said slowly. “Milord Lerontis was…fond of the finer things.” Harla paused to gauge his reaction, and he nodded for her to keep going. “He took without a good exchange.” She shook her head vehemently. “This was not right.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” said Jasper. “As I said in the kitchens, that is not how I plan to run things here.”
“As should be, Milord.” She nodded, smiling broadly. “Truly, my sisters and daughters thank you for your great generosity.”
“But?” Jasper said, sensing it coming.
“There must be equal exchange.” Harla shrugged, spreading her hands.
“Fern explained this to me as well, somewhat,” Jasper said, nodding. Harla blushed. “Is there no other way for you to believe I have been satisfied? Perhaps we could suspend your people’s wages further until the debt has been repaid?”
“No, Milord,” she shook her head again, her curls bouncing. “Repayment would take too long. Respectfully; Milord Jasper might pass on before equal exchange might be paid. No, Lord, it must be this.” She stood and removed her apron.
“Harla, please, a moment,” Jasper said gently, holding up a hand. She halted, frozen in place. She looked worried that he would tell her ‘no’. “I am not refusing you. I have a compromise.” He sat back and indicated her chair. Again, she joined him.
“I saw your people’s beautiful work in the Main Hall and in the Audience Hall. I wish for you to teach me to read and speak dwarvish as payment for your fine forest folk taking better meals. Would this be an equal exchange under your law?”
Harla thought it over for several minutes. She held her elbow in one hand, the other twisting her dark hair between her fingers. At last she began to nod slowly.
“This may be acceptable,” she said slowly. “Human leaders learning dwarf Law is good. Milord will understand and abide by the Law. This also means that Tower history will be known by Lord Jasper.” Harla gestured to him respectfully, her strong stubby fingers much more graceful than he expected. “I will teach, you will learn. Then, the exchange will be equal.”
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“Good.” Jasper nodded, smiling. He held out his hand for shaking. Harla looked at it and then him in confusion. “Oh. You shake it. It’s a human custom where I am from.” He chuckled. She looked at him for another second, gripped his hand in hers and squeezed, giving him three very firm shakes before letting go. Jasper thought she had broken the bones in his hand but tried not to show it. “Good,” he said again, stretching his sore knuckles. Harla nodded shortly and bowed before retrieving her apron.
“We begin lessons after Lord Jasper is fully recovered,” she said confidently. “Until then, we forest folk will not take of Milord’s table.”
“Very well.” He smiled, walking her to the door. “Have a good night, Harla.”
“Peace to you, Fire-Touched,” she said, making another of the dwarves’ strange hand signs, then left.
“That couldn’t be important, could it?” Jasper said to himself, voice dripping in sarcasm before moving back to bed. He climbed in and squirmed down under the covers. “Whatever. That’s something for another day.” He blew out the nearby candle, and the room went dark. Shortly afterward, he drifted off to sleep.
- ??
The Black Keep, several hundred leagues west of the H?lltharian Empire, Ground Plane
King Borik Borgensern stood outside the Black Keep’s inner door. His housecarls were arranged behind him, weapon hilts gripped in their tattooed hands. The Ice Raiders had come a long way to meet the warlock, and they were on edge. It was rare for the northerners to travel so far inland. Rarer still did they trust the word of an outsider, much less a weirding man not of their own tribes.
“Why do you put stock in this?” the King’s son and heir, Karri whispered to his father. “He is a power-hungry deceiver, and we do not know what he wants.”
“That is precisely why we are here,” rumbled the King. “You saw his message, the same as I. The specter spoke truths no one could know, yet he did. His power is obvious.” He raised his weathered arms to gesture at the courtyard around them. “He has raised this tower and the forces surrounding it. It would be foolish to make an enemy of such a man. If there is a chance for our people to gain from joining with him, I will assess that chance and determine our course accordingly.”
“Hmph.” Karri crossed his arms. His long hair was pulled back in a warrior’s braid and white war paint marked his face and arms. Most of the Raiders were similarly garbed. Axes, swords, and fighting knives hung from belts. Karri’s furs whipped in the wind, and he studied the Keep. Guards stood around them near the exits. He was not worried about them—no small group of hirlings from the south could hold the warriors his father had brought with them. He almost wanted them to try, just to show them their place.
As far as most of those who lived among the Middle Mount peaks were concerned, anyone not born to the icy winds and freezing stone of their home was beneath them, especially the non-human races. Karri had to contain his disgust when he had been led through the outer walls by the orcs on guard. Their northern tribes were less bestial and dumb than these southern variants, but to Karri, anything not of his people was hald’arach.
These valley and plains people were soft and deserved to be conquered as they had been in the old days, before the Raiders’ land had been taken and they were pushed further into isolation. Mjodil and Ice Port were the only large cities high in the mountains. None of the lowlanders were willing or wanted to push through the crags of the Middle Mounts to reach them. Karri sneered down his broken nose at the human guards, and the doors creaked open in front of the northerners. Fingers kneaded their weapons and teeth were bared. Borik held up a hand, quelling their agitation. Varrak strode forward and down the steps to halt a few paces from the King and his companions. He raised his cloaked arms in greeting.
“Welcome to the Black Keep,” the warlock rasped, smiling. His lips twitched as they pulled back over his yellowing teeth. His face was pockmarked, and the blood vessels under his nearly transparent skin were visible. “I am honored to receive you.”
“Hmph.” Borik’s fingers rubbed the head of his hand ax. Quick as a flash, the ax was out of its ring and whirling through the air to embed in the ground between Varrak’s feet. He did not flinch. The southern guards lowered their spears at the Raiders, who did not move. They waited to see Varrak’s response. His grin widened. He had not manipulated orc tribes, lords, and the Thieves’ Guild itself to be frightened by a barbarian’s greeting.
“Stop,” he told his guards. With a wave of his hand, the axe pulled itself from the ground, hovered before him, then hurled itself in the same manner at Borik’s own feet. A few of the Raiders growled, but the King smirked. He withdrew the axe from the hard-packed earth and shoved it back in his belt. “A quaint custom from our new friends’ in the icy peaks. He means no disrespect.”
“Rare to see someone south of the mountains who knows our ways,” Borik rumbled in H?lltharian. Despite their distaste for the southerners, most of them spoke the language out of necessity. “What more do you know, I wonder?”
“A great many wonderful and terrible things,” Varrak grinned. He had the charismatic appeal of a corpse left too long on the frozen slopes. “I wish to speak with you about an alliance. And the breaking of an Empire.” King Borik’s stormy eyes narrowed.
“You speak of moving against the H?lltharian whelps so openly?”
“They are weak. They have no great army. Long ago when they drove you into the ice lands, they had a combined, united army to bring to bear.” Several of the Raiders snarled and took a step forward. Their historic defeat was a wound long festering, and honor demanded repayment. Or revenge. Varrak raised a patchy eyebrow, and his grin broadened. “They stand divided. The lords and barons squabble amongst themselves while most of their people are only concerned with putting food on the table. If there is a time, it is now.” Borik mulled this over, stroking his beard.
“Valid arguments. We have heard and seen much from the mountains. The warm bloods think us far-removed, but we are not blind or dumb. We know of their petty politics.” He almost spat the word. “They are weak, but does that mean it is a good time? I am not so sure, and I will not commit my people to a bloody struggle doomed to fail.”
“But you are amiable to a pact?”
“Hmm. You have maps, plans?”
“Indeed, I do, King, and have many allies eager to join in the spoils.” Borik nodded and uncrossed his arms.
“Show me, and we will decide if this is worth sharpening our axes.”
Varrak gave a small bow and gestured for the king to ascend the steps and join him inside. Along with the greedy Thieves, the northerners would be valuable allies.