The Road to Menidurtoc

"There will be more this time," Iedrid informed his family. They had gathered in their home while waiting for him to return with news. Now the four of them, his wife, daughter, and father-in-law,  sat around the table together discussing what was to come while late afternoon sunbeams danced on the wood and plaster walls of their humble home.

"How many more?" his wife, Keothieg, asked.

"Enough that the goblins are willing to move in the open, confident that we don’t dare to assail them," he responded, "and I fear they are right."

"How will they be stopped then?" Keothieg's father, Eldieg, asked.

"I think the plan is to stand against them once they have reached our fortifications nearer the town," Iedrid replied.

Eldieg was troubled. "That's too close."

"I agree," said Iedrid, "That's why I think it's best that Keothieg takes Keothrid and heads east."

Keothieg gave her husband a stern look. "I will not abandon my home to be looted. If you're not fleeing then I too will stay."

"But it's dange-"

Keothieg interrupted him, "I'm staying." With that she left the circle and climbed into the loft. Keothrid watched her mother go with wide concerned eyes.

Iedrid lowered his gaze. After several long seconds he let out a sigh and looked from his daughter to Eldieg. "You will take her then."

"I assumed it would come to that, but I you must know that I'm not as quick as I once was."

"The inevitability of age, but we both know that there's still some strength left in you."

"Perhaps, but I haven't put it to the test in a long time." Both men fell into grim silence. Iedrid looked down at his hands folded on the table in front of him, while Eldieg turned to look out the window.

Keothrid interrupted their revery, "Why can't we all flee together?"

Iedrid smiled a thin smile at her, "There's no need for that, daughter. Once we've turned away this rabble your mother and I will send for you."

"Then why must I flee at all?"

He considered her for a moment, wondering what would be appropriate to tell a child. "Precaution," was all he ended up muttering.

Keothieg returned from the loft carrying sundry items. "Don't worry about packing, I've taken care of that."

"I've got your cloaks and blankets to keep you warm," she said producing each item in turn, "Here I've packed a flint and knife so you can make a fire. There's enough food here to last about five days for the two of you."

Eldieg was satisfied with the inventory. "When should we leave?" he asked Iedrid.

"Within the hour. It will probably be dark before you reach Menidurtoc, but the goblins will be upon us before long. You cannot wait."

"So soon?" Keothrid exclaimed.

"Yes dearest," Iedrid said comfortingly, "but you won't be gone long. Do not fear."

Keothieg busied herself making a meal so that the travelers could start with something warm in their bellies. Keothrid helped in an attempt to stay near her mother for as long as possible.

The family ate a simple meal of hot oat porridge with leeks. The two travelers donned their cloaks and packs, but were reluctant to leave. They shuffled about and dragged their feet but they could not stop time, and soon enough there was no more time to waste.

Before they could leave, however, Keothieg brought out a long wool cloth wrapped bundle.

"I can't believe I nearly forgot this. I should have gathered it up earlier with everything else. Here," she said as she removed the cloth cover, "Your sword and buckler."

The old blade was austere and plain, two edged with parallel sides and an unadorned, functional cross guard. The leather of the grip still held fast but was beginning to show its age, and the wheel pommel was marred by small black spots that needed to be buffed out. It was a simple tool in an even simpler scabbard. The small domed buckler hung off the sword's grip by its handle. Eldieg reached out, as though to grab the scabbard, but instead pushed it toward his daughter.

"You take them. Your need may be greater than ours, and your ability to wield them is undoubtedly so."

"We can't be certain on either account. Besides, I've never learned the sword, and I have my knife," she said fiercely while gesturing to the substantial curved blade suspended in a scabbard from the belt around her waist.

"At least take the buckler, then. I cannot leave feeling that I've left you here defenseless."

"I don't really know what good it'll be," she retorted, but regardless she slid the buckler off the grip of her father's sword and again thrust it out for him to take.

Taking his sword, Eldieg attached the scabbard to his belt. The familiar weight tugged at his waist and for a fluttering moment almost he imagined himself young again, ready to see the next horizon, the next challenge. Keothrid's eyes met his and immediately he returned to the present. He was being sent away by his children to watch after their child. Other people would do the fighting this day, and he would just be getting in the way.

Keothrid and Eldieg stepped over the threshold and he turned back to bid his children farewell. Keothrid said nothing, electing instead to examine her shoes.

"Well, until we meet again, then," he said.

"Exactly," Iedrid replied.

Keothieg stepped out and embraced her father. "Make sure neither of you are hurt. I'll give you a thorough scolding if either of you are," she said into his ear. She held out her hand to her daughter, but Keothrid was too busy drawing in the dirt with her toes to notice.

"Ah, well," Keothieg said dismissively taking a step back toward the house, "See you two soon."

Eldieg nodded and, tapping Keothrid on the shoulder, headed away from the house toward the lane with his granddaughter in tow. It was late Autumn. Most of the leaves had already fallen and a cold breeze whipped about their faces adding a red glow to their cheeks. The dark overcast sky glowed slightly in the southwest from the evening sun.

The road ran ahead of them, to the east, into forested hilly terrain that was flanked on the north by high mountains. That forest had once been considered impenetrable, wild, and lawless. Generations of pioneers had managed to tame the surrounding area and carve out a space for themselves. Along the road, at least their route would be safe enough, but the forest was large. Untamed areas still remained.

They walked at a steady pace for about an hour. The road was unusually quiet. On a normal day, one could expect to run into people coming and going on this or that business, but today the few people they did see all seemed to be going. These other people were all able to walk faster than Keothrid and Eldieg. Some passed without seeming to notice the two at all, while others would look at them in concern, but then hurry on ahead casting a furtive glance behind.

Soon the land began climbing upward and the two found themselves on the steps of the hills. Continuing to climb they crested the top of a ridge. Looking back to the west they could clearly see over the steeply peaked roofs of their homes a line of villagers standing shield to shield with spears held high before an army of discordant goblins. Sunlight glared off from the villagers’ helm and harness as the goblins rushed against the wall of wood and steel. The writhing mass of goblins clashed against the line, and the spear points flashed red in the setting sun as they plunged down to repel the charge. There was a brief, intense moment as the opposing sides commenced the labor of death against each other before the goblins were repelled. Injured and dying men were dragged away behind the line, and the gaps were filled with grim efficiency. Spears again held ready, the villagers braced themselves against a second blow. The two lines engaged again, and again the villagers’ points glittered grimly as they inflicted wounds upon their foes. This time, however, the line wavered and bowed in the center, but with much labor the villagers were able to collapse around the knot of goblins that was pushing forward and repel the onslaught. Again the two lines separated, and again the wounded and dying were moved back and others moved in to fill their places. The villager’s line had grown thin and ragged, however, and Eldieg and Keothrid, watching, knew what must come next.

Again the goblins surged forward, pushing with the weight of their many bodies against the villagers’ shields. For the last time the the men’s spears delivered their deadly touch, but there were too few to repel the many goblins. A man’s shield shattered and he fell to a thrust from a goblin sword. There was no other to fill the gap; the line broke in one place, then another. Soon the villagers found themselves in a desperate melee and their swords could be seen flashing about in deadly arcs from behind their thick shields. They fought for several minutes longer, but their doom was already written. They were surrounded and enveloped by goblins. The battle was lost.

Their foes defeated, the goblins set about rummaging through the belongings of the fallen. They took the coats of mail and weapons, leaving the bodies in disorderly bloody heaps. A large party of the goblins had drifted across the field and started stalking between the houses, and before long they began smashing in doors and windows searching for loot and slaves. Soon pillars of smoke could be seen rising above the tops of the houses, and flames followed not long after.

Keothrid watched. Her face was drawn and pallid, and her eyes were wide. Eldieg rested his hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t try to pull away or run.

Sorrow, regret, and shame flooded through Eldieg. “Come on now, ielith,” he said, giving Keothrid a little tug. “We must run from here. There will be time for grief later.”

Keothrid looked up at her grandfather, and he couldn’t see any sadness or grief on her small face. Just an anger that gave him a moment’s pause.

The two turned away and Eldieg escorted his granddaughter away from the ridge toward the forest. Snow began to fall just as they reached the cover of its leafless branches. The setting sun tinted the dim clouds with a red blush. The twisting canopy of branches blocked the last remaining feeble light, and the two travelers were left in twilight. The path was barely discernable.

It ran steadily uphill. On the right hand, the land rose steeply and on the left it plunged down into a tangled thicket and before rising up again to another hill. The falling snow gathered on the branches of the trees and together they worked to mute any sounds other than the traveler’s footfalls and the occasional creak of a branch. The cold air felt fresh in their nostrils and they blew out small streamers of mist that coiled about their faces. Keothrid pulled her orange hood closer to her cheeks that blushed from the cold.

A path opened up to their left that led down into the thicketed area and Eldieg came to stop. Looking behind he saw their footprints cleanly laid out in the freshly fallen snow. In the thicker trees there would be less snow on the ground, and they would leave less sign of their passing. On the other hand, the other path was more difficult, with more rising and falling portions, and didn’t lead to anywhere safe very quickly. Staying on the main, well groomed, path seemed like the better choice, but Eldieg’s feet instinctively carried him down the path into the thicker trees. Eldieg glanced at his granddaughter, but she was too busy trying not to slip down the path to offer any opinion on his choice.

The bottom of the descent was guarded by thin low hanging branches. They pushed their way through as twigs swished about, threatening to snap at them for the disturbance. As Eldieg had suspected, there was less snow here, and they left little sign of their passing except for the swishing of the trees and bushes. The ground was basically level with a slight upward incline as it ran parallel and underneath the main path, but soon it hit the hill on their left and started to wind up its slope.

They climbed up onto the side of the hill. There was little cover here other than some overgrown grass and scrubby bushes. The snow had stopped at some point while they were pushing through the thicket, and the moon and stars began to show themselves through cracks in the cloud cover.

As they ascended Keothrid had begun to pull ahead, and Eldieg was running out of breath. His legs were tiring quickly with the steep climbs and drops, and his granddaughter was often forced to wait for him. His old body just didn’t have strength left in it to keep up with her youthful energy.

The path took them along the southern slope of the hill for a time before another bone of the hill split it further to the left away from the main path. More trees grew alongside their track and they were soon under their protective cover.

Almost immediately after reaching the trees, they saw a glowing patch of light moving up the main path from behind them. As it drew nearer, it became obvious that it was a group of people carrying torches, and from the stilted, wildly pitching sounds that came across the thicket between them, it was obvious that it was a group of goblins. The two of them could not see any individuals in the trees, but the glow that their lights cast was passing quickly by. Much more quickly than either of them could have traveled. Eldieg said a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god had guided him off the main path.

Keothrid watched the glowing patch move by with an increasingly dour expression. As soon as the goblins had rounded a corner and their torches flickered out of sight, Eldieg tapped his grandchild on the shoulder and silently indicated that they should keep moving. She nodded stiffly.

The night was growing very cold, but not so cold that the constant motion and warm clothes they wore could not hold it at bay.

The ridge continued to split their path away from the path that the goblins were following, and Eldieg began to relax. The goblins had passed them by, and if they walked through the night they would reach the town, Menidurtoc, nestled in the hills at the feet of the mountains. It was defended by a reinforced stockade with enough men to repel any siege that the goblins could muster. Another year, maybe two, and their little village could have been just as well defended…

Garbled voices that pitched spastically up and down drifted across the wind, breaking Eldieg from his thoughts. Looking behind, he saw two goblin forms silhouetted by the torch they carried against the empty hillside he and Keothrid had just left.

The frosty night chilled Eldieg’s blood. Goblins, while smaller than humans, were sturdy and closely acquainted with darkness, which allowed them to cover long distances at night. Given his old age and his granddaughter’s small size, they would be quickly outpaced. If caught, he would probably be immediately murdered and she be taken slave as a trophy.

He grabbed her shoulder, “Go down the path a short way and hide in a spot where you can see me. If things go poorly, run, and don’t stop running until you reach Menidurtoc.” She made a shocked nod at him, and trudged quickly down the path before lodging herself under some densely growing bushes.

Eldieg swiftly ducked behind an ancient beech tree, its gnarled roots and trunk hiding him from the light of the approaching goblins. He unclasped his cloak and swiftly wrapped it around his left arm. He silently slid his sword from its unadorned leather scabbard. The sound of the goblins’ talking grew louder, and their light began to bounce about, casting shadows of branches and twigs about them. The voices grew louder and louder, until it seemed they must be right beside him.

Eldieg waited until the goblins came into sight around the side of the tree’s roots before he struck. Holding his sword above his left shoulder he stepped into striking distance behind one of the goblins while simultaneously cutting at its neck. The goblin’s decapitated body slumped lifelessly to the forest floor.

Eldieg stepped again to bring himself into distance with the other goblin before it had time to react, but his forearm flinched and he was unable to recover his blade quickly enough. This resulted in an off balance, wild blow that the goblin easily deflected with the torch.

The goblin drew its short, broad bladed weapon from its scabbard. Only its true edge was sharpened, but it had a deadly triangular tip. The guard had no cross; the grip was enclosed by a simple bar that swept down from the true edge to the pommel. The sword slashed out at Eldieg as it came free of the scabbard, but he escaped injury by slipping back and disengaging from the bind with the goblin’s torch.

The goblin held its sword over its right shoulder with the tip pointing back and upward and brought it down in a heavy sweeping cut for Eldieg’s shoulder, using the torch to protect its extended arm. Eldieg deflected the sword with his cloak wrapped arm, opening a tiny gap between the torch and the sword’s guard. He whipped his blade through, severing the goblin’s hand. It and the sword it still grasped toppled to the side. Immobilized by shock, the goblin wailed loudly and pitifully for the brief moment it took for Eldieg to silence it by cutting its throat.

Eldieg sighed and his relaxing body slumped, the exertion and stress taking its toll. He leaned over one of the fallen goblins and used its yellow linen tunic to clean his blade before returning it to the sheath. Unwrapping the cloak from his arm, Eldieg noted the gash where the cloak had met the goblin blade before throwing it back across his shoulders. Holes in cloaks were easier to fix than holes in arms.

He stumbled, suddenly feeling very tired, down the path to where Keothrid was hiding, “Come out, ielith, we have to hurry faster now.” The goblin’s dying cry would have echoed through the hills, and it was likely that others had heard. Eldieg didn’t want to wait and find out if they had.

Keothrid pulled herself out of her place between the low branches of the bushes, and primly brushed off the snow that clung to her clothes. She looked back at the dead goblins with grim satisfaction that didn’t match her face. “I’m proud to be your granddaughter,” she plainly stated to Eldieg.

Eldieg felt both glad and concerned.

For the time being, however, there was nothing to do but move, so they mustered their strength and started moving down the trail as quickly as their legs would carry them. At times they were able to move at a distance covering jog, but often the moonlight was blocked by trees and they were forced to move more cautiously. Injury from an unseen obstacle could mean death.

They traveled onward toward Menidurtoc in constant fear of a goblins. Often Eldieg would think he had heard some sign of pursuit and would pull them to the side of the path to listen. There they would wait for several long minutes, trying not to breathe too loudly despite their forced pace, before setting out again. They repeated this process many times. There was never any sign of goblins.

Coming around a corner, they saw an orange glow in the sky coming from in front of them. At first Eldieg thought that it was the rising sun, but that shouldn’t happen for a couple more hours unless he was completely mistaken.

“What is that Grandpa?”

He simply shook his head in reply: he didn’t know. Keothrid cast her eyes around above her, and, choosing the thickest tree, walked over to it and began to climb. “I can see what it is from up higher.”

Eldieg wanted to object, but he was too tired to argue.

The little girl scampered expertly through the branches. Tree climbing was one of her favorite pastimes, but she wasn’t usually allowed to climb as high as she would need to to be able to see over the plants blocking their view.  Disturbed snow fluttered down and cold branches creaked as she climbed, but her light weight allowed her to take many routes that would have been impossible for a larger person. Before too long she was high enough to see what was making the glow.

“It’s campfires Grandpa! There are so many campfires!”

“Can you see the town?” He called up to her.

“Yes! It’s over next to the mountains. The fires are between us and there,” was her reply.

Eldieg suddenly felt the entire night’s efforts weigh him down. They had been cut off, beaten in the race. A goblin war band now stood between them and safety. “Alright, ielith, that will do. Come down.”

A few moments and many rustling branches later, Keothrid dropped to the ground. “What do we do grandpa?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Eldieg said, twining his fingers into his grey mane of hair, “We can’t go back, and forward is blocked.”

“I don’t want to stay here and wait,” Keothrid said.

“Neither do I, ielith, but that leaves us only one option. We must head into the mountains.”

Keothrid simply nodded at that plan. Eldieg wondered if she understood what that could mean. The temperature in the hills would never be called warm, but it was a manageable kind of cold. The cold in the mountains was relentless and the deep shifting snow could bury their corpses until spring.

Regardless, it was the only plan they had.

They continued down the path. Eldieg had spent much time in his younger years exploring the many paths that crisscrossed these foothills, and not far from where they were another track would lead them up a canyon. Once they reached the top of that canyon, they could make choices about what to do next.

After about another hour of walking they found the trail and turned onto it. The path grew more steep as they climbed, and hulking shadows of the mountains loomed overhead in the darkness. The snow grew thicker too, at times obscuring the path. If not for Eldieg’s memories of the area they could have easily gotten lost. The air became colder, and they huddled up more tightly in their cloaks.

Away in the east the sky began to shine a dull grey. The false dawn was had come, and the world began to lighten around the two travelers. They were now able to make out that they were walking north,  up the crease between two peaks, and the path had taken them up the eastern face of the one on their left. To the south they could see their footprints descending to the hill forest that they had left behind, and in front of them were only fir trees, peaks, and drifts of snow. On all sides large cliffs of twisted granite curled skyward.

Eldieg stopped for a moment to catch his breath in the freezing air, taking a moment to take in the massive landscape. He cast his gaze down the canyon back the way they came, and continued out across the valley.

Something moving below snapped his attention back to the path they had come up. Several small figures were moving at a fast walk up the snowy trail. In the predawn light, they looked like the shadows of ants against the white snow, but they were unmistakably goblins. What was worse, they could just as easily see him silhouetted against the white backdrop as he could see them. Even as he watched, one of the figures gestured toward him. Goblin voices raised a hungry cry that reverberated up to where he stood.

Eldieg grabbed his grandchild’s arm and started churning up the trail as fast as he could. He knew that they couldn’t outrun the goblins; he was too old, and Keothrid was too small. As he hurriedly shuffled up the trail, tugging at a surprised Keothrid, he searched for a place to hide. On their left, a barren slope shot steeply upward before becoming a straight cliff a few hundred feet above them. On the right, the mountain fell away into the crevice between the two peaks just as steeply. Below there were some trees and brush, but they were being hunted. In such a tight space they’d be found quickly, even if they could descend without harming themselves.

Glancing back again, he counted four goblins. Too many to ambush with any expectation of success, and there could be more that he couldn’t see. The only option for now seemed to be run.  Keothrid slipped on the ice, letting out a curse that someone her age shouldn’t know. The goblins were going to overtake them, there was just no way to prevent it.

Regardless, they hurried as quickly as they could. For about half an hour they pushed up the mountain in the snow. Ahead they saw that what appeared to be the top a ridge, and they hurried toward it. It turned out to be a flat high meadow area that was supported by the meeting of multiple mountains. Above their heads peaks rose in every direction, and all paths (excepting the one they had just followed) lead upwards. Dark fir forests lined the whole area and many of the trails vanished under their boughs. They shuffled doggedly along the way that provided the shortest route to tree cover, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the snow.

Suddenly the goblins were upon them. Before they could reach the protection of the trees, the goblins came running up the trail breathing hard out their oversized nostrils. They howled with sinister pleasure upon catching their quarry out in the open, shouting something indecipherable, but obviously fowl, in their goblin language.

Eldieg simultaneously drew his sword and pushed Keothrid behind him, turning to face the goblins. They raced across the flat snowy meadow, spreading out to box the old man and his granddaughter in. The two of them backed toward the treeline and the goblins started to tighten in around them.

One of the goblins lunged forward with its blade, testing Eldieg’s defense. He deftly rebatted the blow, but was unable to riposte, because he had to immediately turn to move an attack from another goblin off line.

The goblins were surprised by this old man’s agility, and collectively flinched. In that brief tempo, Eldieg began moving his sword in wide sweeping motions. It wasn’t enough to break the defense of any one goblin and disable it, but he could threaten them all and scare them from coming into distance until he could find a chance to attack. The whole while he continued to shepherd Keothrid back toward the treeline.

One goblin moved to cut off their path to the trees, and Eldieg’s sword came swirling in toward its head and neck, forcing it to skip away. Another made a move toward Keothrid and nearly lost its hand for the effort.

Eldieg’s blade continued to whirl. The goblins’ faces twisted grotesquely in the dim morning light, their eyes wide with fear, anger, and bloodlust. The four of them snarled at him, showing their beast-like incisors.

One of them made a cut at Eldieg’s forward leg. He slipped it back, but his foot hit a root or rock hidden under the snow. He transferred his weight to the other leg, and it gave out. The hours of flight through the hills and mountains, all the energy spent trying not to slip in the snow had finally caught up with him, and he fell to the ground. He fell on his left side, looking up at the goblins now surrounding him.

The nearest goblin stepped forward with a triumphant howl, and swung its blade down at him. Suddenly, Keothrid appeared next to him, holding his sword with both her small hands above her head in a hanging guard that deflected the goblin’s sword to the side. She staggered to the side a few steps from the force of the blow and fell on her bottom.

With a spray of blood, one of the goblins collapsed, and another was thrown into the other two. A dwarf wearing a woolen cape and a fur lined hood laid into the goblins with a hammer mounted on the end of a pole. The fist sized piece of metal whirled and one goblin’s skull collapsed. Another tried to stand, but the dwarf hooked its knee with the spike on the back of the hammer before ramming the pointed butt end of the shaft through its stomach.

The last goblin had been able to avoid being knocked over and tried to escape. The dwarf proved to be too fast and the reach of his poleaxe too long, however, and the soon there were four goblin corpses littering the ground of the clearing. It had taken the dwarf only a few seconds to decimate all of them.

The dwarf took a moment to clean his poleaxe of the blood and gore, while Keothrid helped her grandfather to his feet. She handed him his sword, and he dried it on his cloak before returning it to its sheath.

Eldieg and the dwarf stood face to face in the cold mountain snow, goblin gore spread out around them. The dwarf wore simple clothing under his cape, a belted tunic that went to its knees and trousers with thick shoes. That all served be even more starkly contrasted with the brilliantly golden chain he wore around his neck that held a single a large emerald that caught the morning light and threw it about in impossible green patterns. His beard was trimmed just above where the gem sat, seemingly, to avoid blocking it from view.

The dwarf spoke first, “I hate goblins.”

“We appreciate that,” Eldieg replied, his voice more ragged than he remembered it being.

The dwarf stood with butt of his poleaxe stuck firmly in the snow in front of him. “What’s brought an old man and a child to these mountains at such a time as this?”

“Our home was destroyed by goblins, and they chased us here,” Keothrid said. Eldieg nodded in agreement before adding, “There’s a warband threatening to attack Menidurtoc, so we couldn’t go that way.”

The dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully before coming to a decision. “Durist at your service,” he said with small bow, and then waited expectantly.

It took Eldieg half a beat to understand. “Eldieg,” he started with a slight nod of the head, “and Keothrid,” he added, awkwardly gesturing at his granddaughter, “at yours.”

“I think you had better stay at my home for a while,” Durist said, “I’m starting to think it’s the only safe place for you two around here.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

They were interrupted by goblin voices echoing up the canyon. They gave each other a slight concerned look before Durist pointed them toward one of the many mountain trails and led them down it.

Soon they were under thick cover of tree branches that blocked most of the snow from reaching the forest floor. The path forked and branched so many times that it would be very difficult for any pursuit to guess exactly which way they had gone, and Durist even took the trouble to remove evidence of their passing and occasionally create a false lead.

The goblin voices became more and more distant as they walked deeper into the mountains until they couldn’t be heard at all.

“How much further is it?” Eldieg asked. Keothrid was visibly exhausted, and he was also finding it difficult to continue to put one foot in front of the other.

Abruptly the trees ended, giving way to a vast snow field that sloped gently away up toward a ridge about half a mile away. A branch of the ridge ran down past where they stood, creating a wall of stone and earth that cradled the area.

“Just on the other side of that snow, on the mountainside there.”

Eldieg felt a small knot of despair growing in him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk across that depth of snow for long. It was nearly as deep as he was tall.

Durist interrupted his thoughts. “Luckily for you,” he said, “I’ve made a tunnel.”

To the right, the dwarf tucked his hand into a small crevice while simultaneously pushing into the cliffside beside them. To their surprise, the stone gave way, creating a portal that led into unknown darkness. Keothrid scowled at the thought of going in, but they didn’t have any other options. Either trust this dwarf, or die from exposure in the highland cold.

They decided to trust Durist.

The tunnel was cut directly into rock, reinforced at weaker points by stone buttresses. It was tall enough for Eldieg to stand up straight, but only just barely; he had to duck several times to avoid hitting his head on a protruding crag. Durist lit the way with a simple oil lamp that he had stored by the door when he had exited.

“I dug this tunnel a few years back when I got sick of scrambling through that snow all winter,” he informed them, “Where I put the door never gets as much piled up for some reason, so I just dug it to there. It's been very useful.”

Eldieg listened silently to the dwarf’s good natured prattling, but he mostly just felt the pain in his whole body. Their flight, his struggles against the goblins, and the cold mountain ascent had taken a hard toll. Just a few more steps, though, and he could rest.

The tunnel ended abruptly at a wooden door wedge firmly in the stone. “Here we are!” Durist proclaimed.

Opening the door they were greeted by a room full of sundry goods anyone would need. Against one wall a pile of firewood had been neatly arranged, an oven for smoking meat stood next to a pile of roughly tanned pelts, and half finished projects and tools were tucked here and there on various work surfaces. At the far side of the room a staircase had been carved into the rock and a wooden railing erected along the side.

“This is where I keep my necessities and such. You'll find a warm fire and blanket upstairs.”

They followed him upstairs to another room about the same size that had a stove that was open on the sides which was heating the room with some low burning coals. The dwarf’s bed was also there, as well as a workbench that held a pile of glittering stones next to tools of curious design.

“Do you cut gems then?” Eldieg asked.

“Yes,” Durist said, “I trade for uncut stones or find them on the ground. It's not as hard as you might think. Anyway, then I sell the jewels for supplies. It's been enough for me.”

Durist gathered some blankets and furs off from his bed and set them in front of the stove.

“I don’t usually have guests, so you’ll have to share,” he said, “but I can keep the fire burning a bit brighter tonight.”

Eldieg calculated uncomfortably. He was grateful for the hospitality, but he knew they would probably need to stay longer. With their home destroyed and the lowland area threatened by goblin warbands they would need help, and Durist was the only person they had come across that could help them.

“Ah, well,” Durist said, coming to the same conclusion, “I guess if you’re going to be staying a bit longer we can work something out. It could be nice to have some help around here!”

Eldieg gave the shorter person a grateful bow and a pat on the shoulder, but he was so tired, he couldn’t think of the proper words. The warm fire and blankets piled in front of it called to him, and his aching bones were drawn in.

Before long he and Keothrid were bundled up next to each other, finally able to sleep after their trial. Durist tidied a few things up, scratched his beard, and wondered how exactly he was going to take care of these two stray humans.

In the end he simply shrugged, he would find a way.

The Making of Durist

Content, Durist scanned the surrounding mountainous fells. Some people called this land a waste. Durist, he called it a home. He walked along the high ridge near his abode, and reveled in the loneliness.

He had left the mountain home, vowing never to return, and gone looking for this place. It had taken him months of searching. First he had thought to settle down in a delightfully boulder-some hilly forest, but a war had driven a large group of refugees into hiding there. Next, he had tried to restore an abandoned dwarven village near Loch Durim, but it turned out there was a reason it was abandoned. Several reasons.

Durist shuddered at the memory. He habitually patted the front of his coat, feeling for the familiar bulk tucked in an inner pocket. Still there. Durist relaxed.

He took note of the sun. It was nearing mid day, and there was still something he had to do. He turned his feet back toward his home, and began to descend the rocky path. All around him monolithic pillars of granite and basalt climbed skyward forming harsh toothed patterns against the sky. Nothing grew here, it was too high. Durist breathed deeply the thin cool air as he navigated the rugged terrain.

He hadn't followed any particular path on that day, and Durist found that he was a bit disoriented. He wove between the many boulders until he came upon a rockslide that he recognized. Rocks tumbled, bouncing this and that way as he made his way down. At the bottom of the slide Durist was in familiar territory. He headed toward a cliff face, winding between the enormous rocks, and was soon in sight of his home.

It was burrowed into the rock, overlooking a high scrubby meadow. Down there he kept his sheep and goats. He grew a little flax for rope and fabric and a little mountain barley to use as animal feed for the winters. It wasn't a very large farm, but he was only one dwarf--he didn't need a lot. Yesterday he had set snares lower down, and tomorrow he would go see if they had profited him anything. Today was for other things.

The door to his home fit snugly in the frame he had carved out of the rock, and it swung open without a sound or sticking. It was the little details that made a craftsdwarf, and he took pride in even the smallest work.

It was dark in his house. Durist went over to his stove and struck a fire in it. The stove was made of stone, open on the sides to let light out with columns supporting an iron slab set across the top. It was a compromise between heating and lighting, but Durist wasn't much of a cook anyway.

From the stove Durist lit a candle and took it over to his work bench. Sitting down, he picked up his tools, and went to work. He worked slowly and deliberately, often taking time to sit back and observe his progress from many different angles. It didn't matter how long it took, he had the time.

Slow and methodical, Durist continued, relaxing as he worked. His hands and eyes busied themselves, and soon his mind was wandering freely.

***

The Mountain Home was glorious. Durist had lived there his whole life, but he rarely went into the heart of the fortress city. However, every time he did he was filled with wonder, awe, and pride to be a part of so great a people. Great veins of quartz refracted dazzlingly all about him, lit by bright torches set high in the tunnel walls.

He walked one of the central thoroughfares through the central hall. On either side dwarves from Homes throughout the world hawked their wonderful wares to passers by. Today these were the object of his attention. Today Durist was after something exceptional, something rich and intricate. Something fit for a thegn.

After a bit of walking (and a fair amount of gawking), Durist found what he was looking for. Above a cart hung the grey and white banner of the Rockbiter clan, that dour race renowned throughout the whole world for their goldworks. The dwarf sitting next to the cart regarded Durist flatly with dark eyes beneath thick dark brows as he approached. Durist met his stare, and the dwarf gave him a long look up and down.

“Laddie, this cart is too expensive for you,” the dwarf said flatly, “Now tell you what. My cousin runs a cart specializing in silver and iron works one street over. Tell him that Thrili sent you, and he’ll fetch you a deal.”

“Well I-” Durist stammered taken aback, “I can determine what I can afford, thank you very much!”

The dwarf glowered. “Suite yourself,” he said, and turned his dark gaze elsewhere, pointedly ignoring Durist.

Durist inspected each of the items on display. He saw golden rings that were actually several rings interlocking in intricate ways, a bracelet made from gold so white that it stung his eyes to look directly at it, and a rose gold brooch that looked so much like an actual rose that he had to touch it to be sure it was actually made of metal.

“Hands off the merchandise, lad,” Thrili interjected into Durist’s revery. Durist snapped his hand back in surprise.

“Sorry, yes, well. You wouldn’t happen to have any chains. You know, like a necklace,” Durist inquired.

Thrili smirked, “I think I have a few.”

Thrili reached into his cart, and folded a display shelf out so that it covered the items that were previously on display. Attached to this display were more golden chains than Durist had ever seen before in his life, and they all glistened in the torchlight.

“Amazing,” Durist muttered, awestruck. His fingers started to twitch and something stirred inside him, his dwarven instincts drawn to the beauty of craftsmanship.

“Remember, hands off,” Thrili grunted.

Durist shook himself, startled. “I know that! They’re just the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen…” Durist lost himself in his amazement again.

Scowling, Thrili shook his head and returned to his seat next to the cart.

Durist stared in wonder at the treasures piled before him. Anything from this cart would be more than sufficient, but how does one choose between one wonder and another?  His eyes moved slowly from one end of the stack to the other, and towards the end he found it. As soon as Durist laid eyes on the geometrically shaped chain with a large blue gem pendant he knew it was the one. It was exactly what he had imagined. Well, except that the gem was blue.

“How much for this one here?” Durist asked the taciturn merchant.

“That one? 65 gold grains. Lowest price,” Thrili replied.

“Surely you can sell it lower. You have a huge stock here. You can’t possibly sell it all at that price.”

“60 gold grains. No lower,” Thrili turned away from Durist to indicate that the conversation was over.

Durist’s heart fell. He had only 50 gold grains to his name. That was a small and miraculous fortune considering that  he and his brother, Duri, had been born the poorest of peasants. Durist started to look at other chains, ones that would be more affordable. He didn’t need that chain. It had the wrong color stone after all.

“What if I wanted just the chain, without the stone?” Durist found himself asking.

Thrili gave him an incredulous look, “That’s a king’s sapphire cut by Thronin Irongrips himself! The whole piece exists for the sapphire. It would be pointless without it.”

Durist returned the look calmly, “I don’t see anyone else here. I’m your only customer. I wager the only one in a while, what with your attitude.”

“45 gold grains. And don’t you dare ask for less, or I shall have you horse whipped.”

“It’s a deal.”

Durist dug into his wallet to count out the proper payment as Thrili climbed into the cart. He lifted the necklace from the display board, and took it to a workbench in the back of the cart.

“A crime, that’s what this is. I’m a criminal to do this,” Thrili muttered to himself as he removed the gem.

Shortly after Durist finished counting his money, Thrili turned and half heartedly held out the chain. Durist held his money out for the other dwarf to take. Thrili grimaced and swallowed hard as he extended his hand to take the money. Durist dropped the coins into Thrili’s palm, and grabbed the chain before the dwarf had the chance to change his mind.

“Thanks very much!” Durist said. Thrili didn’t reply. He just counted the money, and waved Durist off irritably without looking at him.

Durist wrapped the chain carefully around his hand, and then slipped it inside his coat. Without a gem the chain wasn’t much use. Luckily, Durist knew how to handle that. He headed back down the thoroughfare, the quartz veins casting their crystalline light about him. As he walked he passed many amazing products and even more glorious wealthy dwarves sifting through them. Eventually he reached the inner gate of the Mountain Home, and exited out to the poorer parts that he was more accustomed to.

As soon as he passed the brilliantly armored guards, the apparent wealth dropped immediately. The hall was still large, but it was not vast. Crystals still sparkled in the torchlight, but they were not perfectly cut to cast that light throughout the hall. There were still merchants with wares to buy, but instead of silver, gold, and gems there was pewter, brass, and glass. The dwarves here were right and upstanding citizens, but they couldn’t compare in splendor with the people and works from the inner hall.

Taking the first left, Durist passed down a side passage which ended at an intersection with another, somewhat smaller tunnel. This road had come to be called Craftsdwarves’ Lane, and it was where the dwarves could barter for various raw materials.

Durist walked along passing stores, each of them small caves carved back into the side of the hall, full of thread and cloth, stone and brick, and even one peculiar old fellow selling piles of raw ore. At nearly the end of the tunnel Durist found what he was looking for. Here Genrik the miner had his cart full of uncut gems. A treasure trove of potential if you had the eye for it.

As it turns out, Durist had a very good eye for it.

“Good evening Genrik! How are you doing friend?” Durist greeted the old miner as he drew near.

Genrik smiled at him broadly, “Why if it isn’t master Durist! I feel like its been ages since I’ve seen you or Duri,” Genrik’s face grew more somber, “I wish I could say that things are going well, but that wouldn’t be quite true.”

“Why?” Durist inquired with polite concern.

“Oh, it’s nothing...” Genrik began to politely reply before interrupting himself and blurting, “Have you ever heard of the goblin king’s blood mines?”

Durist indicated that he had, although he wished he hadn’t. Horrible dark places where goblins tortured humans, elves, and especially dwarves into tunneling endlessly deep to pacify their boundless greed. Durist had heard accounts of slaves being worked until they collapsed, never to rise again. Stories of entire caverns full of emaciated rotting corpses abounded.

The miner continued, “There’s word going round that somebody’s smuggling gems to the Mountain Home from the blood mines, and selling them rough for minimal prices. Honest dwarves can’t compete. I might have to go into something else soon.” Genrik grew distant for a moment, thinking, “I guess I could sell ore like Ognir over there.” He gestured indicating the peculiar dwarf across the tunnel. The dwarf was burrowing through a pile of rocks to pull out a very specific one which he then struck with a mallet.

Durist felt concerned, “Surely it’s not that bad yet, is it? I mean, you still have friends. You still have Duri and me.”

Genrik smiled wanly, “Good intentions are nice and all, but your brother hasn’t bought from me in months.”

“Really?” Durist asked, genuinely surprised. “He never mentioned that to me. I’ll talk to him as soon as I get back. I’ll set this straight, Genrik,” Durist promised in all earnestness.

“I’d appreciate that, Durist,” Genrik said, but he didn’t look relieved. If anything he’d grown cloudy and distant. Durist stood there racking his brains for a solution, but Genrik soon interrupted him. “Anyway, enough of my troubles. If you’ve come to see me personally there must be something specific you’re after,” Genrik said expectantly.

“Always the astute one,” Durist said before adopting a conspiratorial tone, “Today I need something special.” He pulled the pendant necklace out of his pocket and showed it to the old miner. Genrik stroked his voluminous mustaches and beard. It must be stated that this was actually quite a large gesture as his beard reached down past his belt.

“This is for Duri’s elevation party, I imagine? You’ll be the fanciest looking dwarf those bumpkins have ever seen!” Genrik said enthusiastically.

“Not quite, Genrik,” Durist informed him, “It’s a gift for Duri, something to wear once he’s become a thegn. Something he doesn’t have to be ashamed of.”

“Of course, of course,” Genrik replied before turning to burrow through an impossibly large number of small chests of drawers. “Ah! Got it. This one was quite the find.” He held up a huge rough emerald, beaming. Light refracted effortlessly through the brightly green pure crystal.

Durist’s fingers twitched for a second time that day, “Oh, Genrik. That is amazing, but I don’t think I can afford it!”

Genrik looked at the gem, then at Durist, considering, “You know, usually I’d charge around eight grains for a gem like this,” Genrik said, deliberating, “But for a valued associate like you and your brother, I think I might be able to go for half that price.”

Durist’s fingers were twitching uncontrollably at that offer. It was too good to be true, “What’s the catch?” He said, just making sure to cover his bases.

“No catch! Well, nothing serious. Just make sure to mention to Duri the excellent deal I gave you.”

“I will definitely do that,” Durist reassured the other dwarf. He handed over all of his remaining gold pieces except for one. Genrik dropped the emerald into Durist’s twitching hand. Its weight pressed against his palm, and Durist felt a surge of excitement. As a gem cutter he had waited for this moment: the opportunity to create a perfect work of art on the perfect canvas.

The perfect gem, to go in the perfect setting, all leading toward tomorrow, a most perfect day in which all of his dreams would be fulfilled. Durist couldn’t contain his excitement, and shivered from happiness.

“Genrik, you are a god. I will make sure that you are rewarded,” Durist proclaimed as he practically skipped away from the store.

“Well, it was good to see you too. G’bye!” Genrik replied, looking pleased with himself.

Durist walked down the tunnel toward the end, now headed out of the merchant’s district. He had one more stop to make before he found his way home. Turning down another tunnel and then another, he walked toward the warren that the dwarves called home. Close to the inner city the dwellings were large and ornamental. These were often constructed around large central caverns, and had balconies where their owners could sit and watch the people below. As he headed further out the dwellings became more modest, just a few rooms carved back into the side of a tunnel. Solid little homes for solid little people.

Durist hurried his footsteps as he drew nearer to his destination. He wasn’t feeling nervous, exactly, but he was growing more anxious as he went. He had been looking forward to this moment for many months now, and to think that it was finally here. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared, but in matters of romance one never really is.

A lump formed in his throat as he approached the door. It stood ominously before him, aged and slightly warped, the portal to his future. Swallowing hard, he rapped his knuckles on the old wood, the paint having long since chipped off.

Durist waited, the sound of the knocking echoing in his mind. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves as the seconds slowly floated by. He waited for few rapid heartbeats before raising his hand to knock again. It was unnecessary, however, because at that exact second the door swung open. Looking at him through the doorway was a portly dwarf, well dressed in the traditional way.

“Durist, at your service, Master Migni,” he said with a slight bow, “I’ve come to call on Ms. Milni.”

The dwarf smiled a small but genuine smile, “No need to be so formal Durist, we are friends!” Migni extended a hand in greeting, “What exactly are you planning to do with my daughter, eh?” he continued. Durist knew that he wasn’t entirely forward, but it was obvious enough that he was smitten with Migni’s daughter.

Durist tapped his nose, conspiratorially, “For today, I’m going to ask her to be my guest for Duri’s ceremony tomorrow. After that, we’ll see.”

“We’ll see, indeed!” Migni snorted, “I am looking forward  to tomorrow. It will be very rewarding to be the first to greet Duri into the council of thegns, and as his brother and partner I wouldn’t hesitate to extend the same hospitality to you.”

“That is very kind of you, Master Migni,” Durist replied, “I am hoping that, for me, many new opportunities will open that previously seemed out of reach.”

Silence hung in the air for a brief second as Migni considered that statement. “New opportunities, indeed,” he mused, “Yes, I agree.”

A small weight lifted from Durist’s shoulders, “I’m glad you think so.”

“Hmmm, I guess there’s nothing for it,” Migni mused to himself before inviting Durist inside. “Let me go fetch Milni for you then so you can get this tedious business over with.”

Migni ushered Durist inside, and showed him into a small sitting room adjacent to the entryway. Durist sat down in a comfortable if plain chair, which was a fair description of the entire room.  A fire burned in the hearth to one side, casting a dim light causing many shadows to jump and dance about on the walls. Simple decorative stonework accented by heavy wooden trim and furniture in traditional dwarven style were the only decorations.

Soon a door behind Durist opened. He stood up politely, and turned to greet who was entering the room. Migni had cracked the door and sidled inside. His gentle eyes settled on Durist.

“My daughter, Milni, at your service,” he stated before stepping to one side.

Milni stepped into the room. She wore a light dress that was laced tight through her torso with a neckline that was just deep enough.  Her waist length golden hair was left to fall where it would except for a braid that kept it from falling on her face. She looked at Durist with her clear blue eyes that reflected the firelight in a way Durist had never been able to replicate with any gem cut.

Durist did his best not to stare, but with Milni that was always a challenge for him. Her presence made him feel simultaneously envigorated and terrified. He did his best to prevent his feelings from getting the best of him.

Gathering himself Durist spoke first, “Good evening Milni. You’re looking well.”

“Looking well and feeling well aren’t really the same thing,” she chided as she stepped next to him, “Luckily, you tend to make me feel quite well. What are we up to today?”

She stood as close to Durist as propriety allowed, and she filled his senses. For the moment he drifted in a cloud of sensations: the sight of her eyes as she smiled at him, her scent, the sound of her voice.

A long second passed before he managed to formulate an answer, “Right! I thought that we could take a walk down to the pond. It’s quite lovely at this time.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. She looked at her father, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Migni started as his attention was pulled from some far off place, “Mind? No, I don’t mind. Just don’t be out too long. We have plans to take care of still today.”

Durist politely offered her his elbow, and she lightly rested her slender fingers on his forearm. He then guided her out into the street and started walking through the tunnel, making his way toward the pond. Migni shut the door softly behind them.

It wasn’t far to the pond, and for a moment they walked in silence. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth the only things that would come out would be nonsense about how he thought she was wonderful. That would just be embarrassing for everyone involved.

Luckily, Milni broke the silence, “I hear that business is going well for you and your brother lately.”

“Oh, it is,” Durist replied, glad for the escape, “Duri has managed to impress the baron, who has accepted his bid to become a thegn.”

“I heard about that,” she said, interested, “If  he becomes thegn, what will that make you?”

“Well, I’ll take over the gem business from Duri so that he can perform his new duties,” he explained, “Like you said, things are going very well, and with help from Duri’s new position, I will have a strong bid for the next seat that becomes available.”

“Oh really?” she asked him. She pondered something silently for a brief moment, then continued, “When you’re settled, where do you think you’ll decide to live? I’ve noticed a couple of very pleasant houses not far from here.”

“Well, I feel like that’s jumping things a bit,” Durist replied. He had honestly never thought about that, he figured it would be decided when necessary.

“Maybe,” she said looking up at him with a mysterious smile. She squeezed his arm lightly. The touch filled Durist with a warm feeling that radiated out from his arm. He found himself smiling back at her.

They had reached the pond. Light streamed in from a series of holes in the roof. These shafts would lead to the outside, and used ingeniously crafted crystals to guide light back down into this chamber. Beneath the shafts was a large vein of crystal that rose out of the center of a body of water. This crystal was cut such that when it caught the light from above it cast it about, filling the chamber with speckled dots of multicolored light.

Milni giggled with delight at the phenomena, and pulled Durist right up to the edge of the water where she found a rounded boulder to perch upon. Other dwarves went about their business nearby. One dwarf whose once dark beard was almost not entirely white sat by the side of the pond, propped against rock, watching the lights dance about on the ceiling. A younger dwarfess wearing a green hood waded about whipping a fishing line out across the top of the water. A couple of children were blowing vigorously on the sails of small wooden boats they had probably crafted themselves.

“It is beautiful,” Milni breathed, “I’ve never been here when the light was coming in.”

“It only happens at certain times of day, and it lasts longer depending on the season,” Durist explained, “Luckily, today there will be light for a few hours.”

Milni moved over, making a space for Durist on her seat. They sat together watching the multicolored lights slowly swirl about the cavern. Durist decided that now would be as good a time as ever.

“Milni,” he started, “I was wondering if you would be my guest tomorrow at Duri’s elevation ceremony.”

Milni gave him a sly look, “And why would I do that?”

Durist’s heart sank. “Well… I,” he tried to come up with a way to save his dignity.

“I mean, you haven’t asked me to go with you, so it would be strange to just show up,” she interrupted him before he could say anything embarrassing.

“Oh, hahahaha,” Durist forced a laugh, trying to get his nerves back in order, “In that case, will you go with me?”

Her response was instant, “Of course!”

Durist sighed inwardly. This woman could be confusing, but he felt like it would be worth the effort.

They spent the next couple of hours talking by the edge of the crystal pool. She asked him about his ambitions, and he got lost talking about his quest for the perfectly cut gem. He asked her about her hopes for the future, and she told him about the comfortable household she envisioned and how she would manage it. Eventually, the light began to fade, and so Durist decided to walk Milni home.

“Milni,” Durist said as they drew near to her door, “I was thinking that maybe I could start to see you more often. Not just for tomorrow, I mean.” They had reached her door, and Milni had reached out to put her hand on the handle.

She gave him an indiscernible look. “I would like that, but Durist,” she said kindly, “Don’t over think things too much. I like being with you, let’s just leave it at that for now.”

Durist looked at her, a little dumbfounded. She liked him.

“Right,” was all he managed to say in response.

“Good,” she said, “See you tomorrow then.” She opened the door to go inside, and slipped inside. She continued to look at Durist as she shut the door, and gave him a reserved little smile before shutting the door.

Durist flushed as he realized that he must have been staring. It was just so hard not to.

Regardless, things had gone about as well as he could have hoped, and he practically floated the rest of the way home. His mind was so full of her looks, smiles, and touches that he was surprised when he found himself outside of the small burrow that he shared with his brother. He grabbed the handle to the door, and it swung open effortlessly without a sound.

Durist and Duri were not wealthy dwarves, not yet at least. The door opened directly into a small dining hall, and the stove was located on the opposite wall. Other than that there were four small rooms. One was used for storing various objects that were useful in any home. The largest of the three contained Durist’s bed, belongings and workspace. Duri had a similar bedroom, and he had also repurposed their sitting room into an office to use for managing their business. Durist entered their home, and was greeted by a call from the office.

“I was wondering when you’d get home. Did you get lost?” Duri called to him from the office. He shifted in his seat at the desk so he could look directly at Durist.

“I had a few errands to run,” Durist said, entering the office, “I also stopped by and talked a bit with Milni.”

“Milni, huh?” Duri set some papers down on the desk, interested, “I’m surprised that miser of a father of hers let you anywhere near her.”

“Admittedly, he did seem very interested in your upcoming promotion,” Durist said, “All the same, Milni will be my guest tomorrow.”

“That is amazing!” Duri said with a bark of laughter, “You’ll be such an odd looking couple. She’s so fabulous, and you’re, well, you’re just Durist.”

Durist pretended to laugh along. He didn’t exactly appreciate those kinds of comments.

Duri stood and guided his brother back to the dining table in the hall. “Anyway, I made some dinner. I left enough for you warming on the stove.”

Durist hadn’t eaten since much earlier that day, and greedily walked over to the stove. “What do we have tonight?” he asked.

Duri shrugged a little, “Nothing fancy.”

Durist looked into the pot simmering on the stove. It was filled with a light brown stew with what appeared to be fish and mushrooms. A peasant’s meal, really, but it was filling. Good soul food. Durist filled a bowl and brought it over to a seat at the table. Duri sat down opposite him.

“So what other errands were you up to?” Duri asked. Durist was busy shoving stew into his mouth with one hand, but with the other he reached for his pocket to retrieve the gold chain and emerald to show to his brother.

A sharp wrapping came from the door. “Hold that thought,” Duri said before rising to see who was calling. Durist continued to slurp down stew as a red bearded dwarf entered the room. He began to say something, but on seeing Durist closed his mouth. Duri shot a glance at his brother and then guided the newcomer into the office, shutting the door behind them.

Durist released his treasures back into his coat pocket with a sigh. He was so proud of his finds, he had wanted to show them off. This was probably for the best, however, the gem should be cut and set into the pendant before being shown. It would have greater impact that way.

Durist finished the stew, washed his bowl, and set it out to dry. Duri was right, he had been out rather late. It would take many hours to get the gem cut into a shape worthy to be mounted in the chain, and Durist wanted to present his  brother with the gift as soon as he could.

Entering his room, Durist went over to his workbench. After placing the uncut emerald in the workspace he lit a few candles and aligned a few mirrors until the gem was brilliantly illuminated. Magnifying glass in hand Durist gave the stone a thorough inspection. With expert eyes he peered into the depths of the crystal. As far as he could tell, it was perfectly clear without a single inclusion in sight, and the color was the perfect pristine green. Durist stared at the flawless gem in awe for several minutes, searching its depths for any sign of imperfection. He found none.

All that remained now was to perform the perfect cut. Durist swept aside various other gems and their associated work orders to provide himself with enough room to work, and pulled out a vice of curious operation that he would use to hold the emerald as he worked.

The door to Durist’s room slammed open behind him. Shocked out of his revery, he clenched the stone against his chest as he shakily turned to see who had barged in. Two dwarves wearing the red painted breastplates of the civil legion and carrying wicked looking pole axes stormed into his room. Durist stared in astonishment as they took positions on either side of his doorway, and a third dwarf entered. The last carried no weapon, but in the crook of his arm he held a red plumed helm that marked him as a sheriff.

“Durist, son of Urist,” the dwarf holding the plumed helmet stated gravely, “you are being apprehended under suspicion of being instrumental in crimes against the Mountain Home. Namely, you have been implicated as an accomplice in illicit trade with declared enemies of the state as well as supporting, participating, furthering, and otherwise sustaining the illegal and apprehensible trade of free peoples into forced servitude.”

“Wait-” Durist stuttered, “Now hold on right here! I’ve done no such thing!”

“Regardless, this warrant calls for your arrest,” the sheriff continued while flourishing a document under Durist’s nose, “You’ll have to come with me, if you please.”

Durist was too shocked to resist, and he let himself be lead dumbfounded out of the burrow. He shot looks all about as he went, looking for a sign of Duri, but his brother was nowhere to be found.

That night Durist was alone and miserable, locked away in a small private cell. His mind spun as he thought of what he could have possibly done to end up in this situation. Maybe the merchant who had sold him the chain had been crooked? Had Genrik turned to illegal activities since they had last met? He cast about in his mind, looking for pieces that would fit into place, but he couldn’t find anything that lined up.

In the morning one of the civil legion dwarves brought him breakfast that he readily accepted. Durist spent the next several hours sitting in the cell, wondering if he could find a way to get out in time to attend Duri’s ceremony with Milni. Why hadn’t someone come looking for him by now? Duri, at least, should be wondering where he’d gone.

He didn’t have to wait long to discover why Duri hadn’t been looking for him. Around noon, a group of militia dwarves brought another prisoner in, and placed him in the opposite cell. Durist gazed through the barred door at his brother, a sinking feeling permeating his soul.

Duri appeared to have received rougher handling than Durist had. There were bruises on his face and a long shallow gash from his forehead down across one cheek that was slowly oozing blood.

“Excuse me, sir,” Durist called out to one of the militia dwarves, “What happened to him? Why is he bleeding?”

The militia dwarf glanced at Durist, “He ran. Tried to fight.” He gave Durist a very straight look, “You don’t fight the Civil Legion.” With that the dwarf left, leaving the brothers alone.

“Duri,” Durist said, trying to get his brother’s attention, “What’s going on? Why are we in here?”

Duri lay on his side in the cell with his back toward Durist. “Leave me alone Durist,” he said without moving to look at Durist.

“Why did you run? Did you know they were coming?” Durist’s anxiety spluttered out uninhibited, “What are we doing here? Why did you fight?”

Duri sat up, and turned toward Durist. His face was dark and his eyes were sunken from pain and fatigue. “Be still Durist!” he said sharply before turning his back and lying back down again.

Durist sat back on the cot in his cell, his mind freshly agitated. His thoughts spun from theory to theory, but nothing satisfied. Nothing made sense.

Hours passed before the silence was broken by the sheriff entering the cell block.

“There will be a hearing for the two of you tomorrow morning. You will be escorted there by members of the Civic Legion, and legal counsel will be provided,” he stated blandly before leaving just as suddenly as he had come.

Boredom started to set in as Durist waited. He would try to distract himself by thinking about various pleasant things, but it didn’t help. All of his dreams had been wrapped up in the gem business that he and his brother had been partners in. It seemed now that was in jeopardy, and his pondering only increased his anxiety.

He slumped as he realized that he was not going to be able to see Milni today. Today was supposed to be a day of triumph, the culmination of all their labors. Instead he sat alone in prison while his brother ignored him.

Eventually the next day came. Durist didn’t know at exactly what time the guard came to escort them out, but based on his weariness he guessed it was quite early. They were guided through the dim tunnels of the Mountain Home until they stood before the Cavern of Justice. The Cavern was located at the end of a large tunnel that bulged out to form a square. Looking about Durist saw many bureaucratic type dwarves going about their own business, arguing with each other as they went.

Unlike the majority of dwarven structures, the Cavern was not burrowed out of the mountain stone, but was instead a naturally occurring pocket that had been discovered millennia earlier when the first dwarves had settled. The shape of the cave could still be seen, but had been covered by a structure made from large stone blocks bound together by huge bars of blackened iron. It was an imposing place, and Durist had luckily never had a reason to enter it before.

Before the Cavern’s wide double doors there were many stairs set about in a semicircle that led to a veranda. Large granite pillars with smoothed straight sides supported a balcony where various dwarves stood talking or simply taking a moment’s repose. A dwarf of the Civil Legion stood perfectly still before each of the pillars, facing outwards. Durist felt simultaneously awed by the perfect order, and petrified for those who disturbed it.

Durist, his brother, and the militia dwarves passed through the doors, and found themselves inside of the structure that was built over the mouth of the Cavern. A short passage ran forward from the entrance and ended before two towering stone doors. To the left and right ran hallways with portals on either side with staircases leading upward at each end.

After waiting in one of those side rooms, they were ushered through the large doors into the Cavern. The first thing Durist noticed as he came through the doors was the observation balcony fixed directly above him. It was supported by pillars and lined with  red clad militia bearing spears, much as the balcony on the outside had been.

Durist was toward the back of the pack. At the front of the group was the sheriff who had arrested them, and following him was Duri. Next came another militia dwarf, and then Durist. In the back was another militia dwarf who had the unpleasant habit of prodding Durist in the back whenever he slowed the slightest bit.

The group walked down the aisle that ran through the center of the Cavern, toward the front. Durist could only see a few dwarves sitting on the benches that lined the walls, but couldn’t look back to see if anyone was seated on the balcony.

The Cavern was a large hollow made of volcanic rock. It was mostly empty, and the ground had been smoothed and straightened many years ago by industrious dwarven hands. The exception to this was a large black stalagmite that stood in the center of the room. The top of it had been cut off to create a flat surface that could be reached by spiralling stairs that had been cut to wrap around it. Looking up Durist saw that the accompanying stalactite, like a large pointing stone finger, still remained.

The militia dwarves led them to the foot of the stalagmite. “This is where we leave you,” The sheriff said, “Get on up there so the Most Senior can get a good look at you.”

Duri mounted the steps without a sound, his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. Durist followed him, looking from the guards to the top of the platform. Looking, honestly, for a way out. Together they climbed the spiralling stair. Durist felt naked as it wrapped around the stalagmite. He was forced to face every direction of the room, and likewise have his back to every direction as well before he reached the top.

Once they reached the top, they were greeted by a bustling dwarf with a short steely beard. “How do you do, how do you do, Bodir at your service,” he said while brusquely shaking their hands. Durist nodded vaguely at him, but to be honest he was quite distracted.

“Alright, just for your information,” said Bodir, “The Most Senior will soon take his seat in the High Box up there, and begin the hearing. You do know what you’re being examined for, yes?”

Durist attempted to say “No,” but before he could Duri blurted out, “Aye,” with a thick voice.

“Perfect,” Bodir replied before turning to look forward while idly flipping through some notes.

Duri turned his head toward his brother. Duri stood with his back straight but his eyes downcast. His characteristic pride buoyed him up even as the weight of the situation dragged at him like a weight on a mighty chain. "I am sorry Durist," he said, "I've made a mistake."

Before any more could be said the air cracked with the booming sound of iron striking stone.

"The Most Senior has come!" a crier called out. An elderly, snow bearded dwarf had entered and stood on a balcony situated high on the back wall of the Cavern. He did not take his seat, but instead stood gripping the rail with a tight grip. His gaze locked on the two brothers far below and his eyes blazed like burning ingots of iron. A younger dwarf came up to him and gestured to the seat.

"I shall not sit!" the old dwarf cried out unexpectedly. "I find it intolerable that I must be hear out traitors such as these. Much better to lay hands on them and beat them, I say!" He raised his fist in anger and brought them down forcefully upon the railing.

"Hear me, sons of Urist! You are today accused of having dealings with those greatest enemies of our people, the goblins of the Blood Pits, of trading to them secrets and goods of our people, and of leading unknowing dwarves into bondage in exchange for material wealth. Do you deny it!?"

Durist, who had been listening with growing incredulity and despair stepped forward and shouted, a bit louder than intended, "Yes!" But Duri caught his arm and pulled him back. Bodir looked at him cross wise from under raised eyebrows.

"No," Duri spoke lowly but clearly and the others in the room leaned in to hear him. "I do not deny it. All these things did I do, it cannot be kept a secret any longer."

Durist turned, aghast, to face his brother. Duri glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and raising his eyes to meet with the steely gaze of the Most Senior spoke defiantly, "What else could I have done? We, like all of you, have dreams. My brother and I have grown together sharing them, cherishing them, trying to make them real."

Duri sighed.

"But unlike all of you fine people, we did not have means. I provided the materials and Durist would create jewelry from them. He has great skill, no doubt, but the prices were just too high, our volume too low. One day I realized that I could either tell Durist that we would have to abandon our dreams or find some other way to make them real. I chose to find a way."

Durist stood beside his brother, listening to the speech while staring at his thumbs. If he had known, if he had better craftsdwarfship, if he could have helped... A thousand ifs scattered through his mind, a thousand scenarios that ended differently than the one that actually played out.

"It was my decision," Duri continued, "I alone had these dealings. I am certain that as you continue this investigation you'll find Durist has only ever been a craftsdwarf."

Duri had concluded talking, and let himself slump back to his downcast posture. The High Senior's agate eyes shifted from one brother to the other and eventually landed on Bodir. The lawyer simply raised his hands in resignation, the evidence and testimonies spoke for themselves.

"Very well," the old dwarf said, "seeing as how we are all in agreement. Duri, you are found guilty of treason against the Mountain Home for which the only admissible punishment is execution."

Duri slumped further, but showed no sign of alarm or surprise. Durist felt sick.

"Durist," continued the judge, "your innocence will be determined following further review. Until then," he finished and swept out of the Cavern, robes flowing behind him.

Members of the Civil Legion came and escorted the brothers out before Durist could find the words he wanted to say to Duri. They were led out of the hall and taken in separate directions. Durist watched as Duri was led into a foreboding tunnel near the Cavern. It was the last time he would see his brother alive.

Durist was taken back to the jail where he'd been kept for the last two nights. Three days of meetings, hearings, and despair passed as he waited. It was determined that Duri's testimony had been accurate and that Durist had never been involved in anything treasonous or illegal, and so he was sent home with his coat.

Arriving at the door to the house he had shared with Duri, he stopped and stared at the wooden door. It's slightly splintering planks stoically withstood his gaze until something caught his eye. The corners of a couple of letters could be seen sticking out from under the door. Stooping, he pulled them out. One was addressed to Duri and dated from about a week prior, the other was a small piece of stationery folded and sealed with a simple stamp. His name, written in a feminine hand, plainly marked the front. He broke the seal and looked at its contents.

It was from Milni. Her father had found out about his imminent release earlier than even Durist and she had written expressing her concern. She said she wished to be of service in any way he could think of.

Holding the letter in his hand, shame welled up from deep within him. Who was Durist son of Urist? A penniless rock scratcher with a broken miner for a father and a traitor for a brother. He was worse than nobody. He was tarnished, the name of his family pitted and corroded beyond repair. Milni was kind and well intentioned, but he had nothing that could tempt her.

He tucked the letters away in his coat pocket and to his surprise discovered the emerald that he had purchased on that day that seemed so far off now. He felt the distance between himself and the hopeful dwarf he had been less than a week before and sorrow overcame him. Groping blindly at the door he wept as he stumbled to his room.

Briefly he considered throwing himself down on his bed and never leaving it again, but instead he gathered his most essential gem cutting tools and a pack of food and clothes. Walking back outside the house, he softly closed the door, and turning, walked away without looking back.

***

Durist put down his work, he had finished.

His reminiscing had made him sombre, but not sad. At first he had been sad, sorry for himself and the unfairness of it all. He had wept bitter tears for many nights, but no longer. There was nothing left to be sad about. The life he had had was past, with no hope of recovery. He had lost much, but he still had time left to live. He would make what he could of it.

Reaching inside his coat Durist withdrew the golden chain that he had purchased for Duri those long months ago. It was still just as brilliant a work of craftsdwarfship as Durist had ever seen, but its beauty was tinged with bitter memories. Sighing, he set it on his workbench, and prepared the settings in the pendant to accept a stone.

Durist picked up the immaculately cut emerald he had been working on. He had gone very slow, taking particular care every step of the way. The result was a gem, the likes of which he had never before experienced. He turned the emerald about, giving it one last inspection. The crystal gathered the light from the candle on the workbench and scattered it about, causing green patches of light to dance about on Durist, the workbench, and walls.

Carefully, Durist put the emerald into the pendant and placed the settings. He spent several minutes fussing over it, working the stone this way and that to be sure that it was set perfectly in the pendant. Finally satisfied, he set the necklace on the workbench, admiring his handiwork.

Taking the necklace in hand Durist stood and walked to the door. He stepped outside and looked down into the scrubby meadow where he kept his animals. He let his eyes follow the craggy mountain tops as he gazed out into the distance.

Deliberately, Durist raised the necklace over his head, and placed it upon his shoulders. The green gem, the same color as his clan heraldry, blazed brightly in the evening sun. Durist shrugged his shoulders, and the pendant, a piece fit for a thegn, settled into place.