BECMI Chapter 38 – More Stragglers

I walked up to the doorway there, and knocked politely. “This is the Lady Edge. The vampires who were besieging you have been dealt with. You have no doubt noticed the protective spell you placed upon the door has been unraveled in the crossfire. I politely recommend a leap of faith and not assaulting me as I open it, or I will be quite wroth.” I could hear the whispers on the other side. “That were a bright source of light there, woman!” came the gruff callback in acceptable human Common, and I lifted an eyebrow. More dwarves? “If ye be a vampire, we’ll know when ye cannot cross the door, and ye’ll die where ye stand!” was the solemn promise. Interesting. Had they somehow consecrated the room as an abode within the Inn, and so barred the vampires from passing, even if they could bring down the magic? “A clever ploy,” I agreed calmly, the lock clinking loudly as I opened it from within, and the door swung wide. I was naturally not at all concerned as I swept inside, grand entrances being required. The smell of too many dwarves living in close quarters hit me like a wall, and I covered my nose as I swept out my hand. Magic sparkled and blew through the room in a freshening wind, blowing beards back, wavering the line of grim Rockborn arrayed there to pepper me with axes, and totally clearing up the air in this place. They all stared at me in some disbelief, while I in turn looked over them all, focusing on one fellow with the tri-tool Symbol of Clangyr, and a gold-bearded dwarf in the finest Armor in the group standing next to him. “I imagine that you’ve all been hungering for some of the proper dwarven ale downstairs,” I mentioned, looking over them all, and I was quite sure some of them actually went week in the knees. I Said over my shoulder, Magevoice ringing. “On the way, Lady!” a respectful shout echoed up the corridor behind me, which was also full of men dragging coffins out of the side rooms with crashes and clatters of splintering vampire homes. I met the still-surprised gazes of the dwarves. “We don’t have much time, we can only move during the nights of the full moon. If you wish to join us, and I heavily suggest you do, Rockborn, gather up your things and prepare to abandon this place. We’ll give you one ale, but the real meal waits until the night is done, and we can go no further.” I held out my hand to the officer. “Axes or ales, death or freedom, children of the mountain?” I asked the gold-bearded dwarf loftily. He looked up at me, around at the room he’d been trapped in for far too long, and took my hand. “Lady Edge, I be Ukker Denalan of Rukheim. I be taking fine ale over raising axes to an ally in dishonor!” he stated firmly. “Ye’ll have no trouble from me or mine if yer words be true!” Nope, I didn’t notice the name of the ruling dwarven clan, I did not. “Gather your things and head below. My men should be done with their work inside ten minutes, and we should move out then.” He nodded slowly, looking around at everyone. “Grab what is worth the taking, and be quick!” I stepped back to the doorway as the armed and armored dwarves broke into a frenzied bustle to grab their things and leave the room they’d been trapped in for so long. Behind me, the hallway was filled with the sound of cracking and breaking wood, axes and hammers at work with urgency and energy, all of it being pitched down the midden to vanish in the morning. --- True to my word, the mugs of dwarven ale were out and waiting for them as they came downstairs, along with thick slices of the ham and bread to go with them. The dwarves couldn’t stop themselves from crying out in joy, almost lunging forward to grab up real food and ale. I waited at the side calmly, noting the dwarves carrying an excessive bit of baggage. Loot or rock samples, it didn’t matter. “Two for the dwarves,” I said to Cirruluxul, and not a few dwarves spit out their ale when they realized there was a blue dragon sitting there. Cirru slid over two empty vaguely black translucent edged in black vines and crimson roses from a stack of them that had been trailing our group, without comment. A few others were waiting at the sides of the room, but loaded down with stuff, and one was inheriting more stuff to be gone over in detail later. “They’ll support one ton of weight each. You have to be able to fight. Dump your packs on the and cover them up. No one will touch them. If the dragon can trust us with her hoard, you can trust us,” I informed the dwarves emotionlessly. The dwarves looked at the two other draped with the sheered hide from a manticore’s wings, then at one another, then their officers. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. “Pile it up snug and firm!” Ukker ordered them laconically, remaining majestically unperturbed at everything. There was no complaints from his soldiers as they promptly off-loaded the heavy packs onto the waiting there, and got back to their quick eating and drinking. There was a whole lot of thumping footsteps, jingles of armor, and then shouts of recognition and surprise. Everyone’s heads in the common room turned as the Dworxen dwarves hurried into the room, shields and axes up, once again looking tense and belligerent and about to start a fight… only to find other dwarves there! Ukker and the older priest looked at them in surprise, then over at me, judging the glares they sent my way accurately. “Dworxen,” I informed them, completely unmoved. “The sewage get of the Rockborn.” There was a flicker of understanding in their eyes, even as the first insults arose. “What sons of the mountain are you, to be treating with a death-worshiping elven enchantress, entranced and bound by her voice and unholy eyes!” the spluttering leader of the Dworxens promptly announced, glaring at me, pointing at me viciously as he heaped scorn upon me. “She has Charmed you all, bound you to her will! Turn on her, brothers, and free yourselves from her power! Together we can overcome these filthy humans and overcome this cursed place!” “And you are all now to never, ever utter a lie in our presence again,” I replied in a very, very bored tone. The weight of my words dropped onto the room, a soul-chilling, spirit-cutting pressure that drove the Dworxens right to the ground under the darkness that colored everyone’s vision from above. A soft, mocking laugh, the image of a great black skull suspended against the darkness above, drifting away... A black vine crossed the lips of each and every one of those dwarves now, and they were gargling, trying to say things… and those vines were flaring red, and their lips clamping shut on them as they gurgled. It was the dwarf-priest, at least fifty years older than the captain, who stepped forward. “Stay on your knees until you are given leave to rise. You stand before Ukker Denalan, and he is not pleased with you, The eyes of the dwarves there almost popped. “Prince, Prince Ukker!” the leader finally managed to gasp out, his lips finally parting. Then they clamped shut as his words were shut off again. “Prince Ukker has been missing for near a hundred years!” one of the others managed to gasp out, staring at the gold-bearded dwarf in disbelief. Said Prince glanced at me, noted I looked absolutely as bored as before, and looked back at them. “A century gone now, is it?” he asked, exchanging glances with the dwarf-priest, and then looking up at me. “They obviously have not figured out what is happening. If you are familiar with the span of human years, it is now 393 years after the Crowning of the first Siricilan Emperor.” I paused to let that sink in. “It was 990 years after that event when I entered the Thisbean Inn here.” The soldiers just stared at me, while the Prince and priest closed their eyes and exhaled basically in unison. “454 years on the human calendar,” the dwarf-priest whispered under his breath. “We are indeed moving backwards in time through the Portal, Ukker.” “Aye, graybeard.” Ukker’s eyes were flat and cold, looking at me again. “Name yourselves, cousins. I have no patience for fakery and falsehood on a field of battle, and that is definitely where we are. This elf beside me rescued us from a vampire lord who had been besieging us for most of a moon, and the first thing she did upon freeing us was give us an ale, bread, and meat, and take up the weight of our burdens, while asking nothing but if we wish to get out of here. “You accuse her binding our wills? If that is binding, then mayhap the effete tree ninnies I’ve met in the past should enchant us more often! Now, who are you?” he demanded in iron tones. Rather tellingly, there were two aborted attempts to reply. The very armed and ready dwarves behind their prince noticed it rather easily, you might say. Hargold came to the balcony, looked down, and paused. I looked up, the Northman flashed five fingers, and I nodded. We’d be done shortly. I looked at Sir Horn, made a circling motion, and pointed to the stairs. The Warsherzan nodded, and began to allocate Spears and Shields to run the down, staying between Cirru and any dwarves with ideas, and generally started the withdrawal from here. “I am Doro, son of Mogroff!” the lead dwarf finally managed to gasp out. I noticed the dwarves behind me only tensing up more. “I hear not your clan in your words, Doro Mogroff’s son,” Prince Ukker said stonily. The other’s mouth clamped shut on his instant attempt to blurt out a reply, strangling it in his throat, black vines visibly winding across his lips, such that he actually fell over, clutching at his mouth. “You. Why can he not name your clan?” Prince Ukker pointed to the next one with his gleaming Axe. That one hesitated, seeing his leader still clutching at his face, and then he cast down his eyes in shame. “We are outlawed from Rukheim, and may not claim the name of our clan, Your Highness,” he managed to mumble out with only a little difficulty. “Outlawed for?” Ukker demanded promptly and coldly. The dwarf’s mouth clamped shut on his response. His eyes opened, and he barely kept himself from reaching for his mouth. He visibly tried to calm himself, think of a reply that would be satisfying, and visibly failed again to say anything. Ukker’s dark eyes traveled to the other Dworxen dwarves, settling on one who was defiant and proud. “You. Why were you outlawed from Rukheim?” “We attacked a human merchant caravan that was taking the work of dwarves from Rukheim!” he replied instantly. “We took the goods they were taking away and returned them to the hands of dwarves!” he stated proudly. “For this, we were judged to be brigands and exiled from Rukheim by order of King Gongnir!” he almost spat. “Brigandry to enrich themselves off innocent human merchants dealing in good faith for the fine craftsmanship of the dwarves,” I judged with a slow nod. “Truly a Dworxen dwarf, to think there can be no crimes against non-dwarves.” “My older brother is harsh, but he is not a fool,” Prince Ukker said somewhat sadly, and I guessed that meant his father had not passed before he was trapped by the Inn. “Truly Dworxens, and he almost spits on the name of who was once his king.”