BECMI Chapter 39 - Outlawed
“They are merely outlaws now, Highness,” the dwarf-priest said with a callous calm into the chilled atmosphere, his hand hard upon his own Axe. “By their own words, they break the laws of the kingdom, place their own good above those of dwarves, and insult your brother’s name. They cannot be trusted in peace or in battle.”
The kneeling dwarves had their own hands going towards their axes, but did not say otherwise.
“And yet, my brother saw fit to not have dwarf kill dwarf, but to send them forth and let them die on the blades of non-dwarves, as they found it so appropriate to do,” Prince Ukker sighed, and even looked over at me, as if I would please just kill them all and take this problem off his hands.
“Well. That’s probably why they are in the Bleaklands. The humans heard the judgment and were waiting for them. They probably ran into the lands of the orcs figuring they’d have a better chance there than the human tribes pissed with them,” I deduced, and saw the dwarves there flush again, try to say something, and their lips clamped shut again. “The Northmen have never had problems with the dwarves, but Dworxen have problems with everyone.
“I have no desire to deal with the bigotry and fear which drives the lot of them. I would leave them behind and if they try to follow, kill them rather than risk them backstabbing the lot of us. I can see the treachery in their hearts, that promises made to non-dwarves are not binding and they believe there is no loss of face or honor to treat them as empty air.
“They are worms without honor, and can die raving in these unchanging chambers as have so many others over the decades. They have no Healers, the Immortals cannot hear them here, and things will find this place, be it they stay or dare the whims of Time, and they will die here or in the past, lost and forgotten forever.”
“As if a mere elven witch could, could, could... a true dwarf without yer, yer, yer...” the leader managed to scoff a bit awkwardly, trailing off and unable to finish or clearly articulate what he was going to say as his lips were tied shut again.
What he intended to say was possible to decipher, but it was a lie, so he couldn’t actually say it, regardless of how his face flushed when he realized it was a lie, he knew it, but he did not want to admit it.
“You’re a maggot of a Six, incompetent by dwarven standards, undisciplined, and unwilling to admit to weakness or lack of ability by pure undeserving ego,” I stated back with icily scathing tones that just ripped into him with my inflections in Dwarvish. “Your soul is bound for Hell and has earned no respect from me whatsoever.
“Your cousins have seen you and heard your sentence, and are content to let you die in obscurity and fear as you go mad from a prison you will only escape in death.”
Men were coming down the upper floor, the sounds of cracking coffins vanishing, and the last few sacks and parcels coming down to stack with clinks on the Disks.
I pointed and swept my hand. The men pushed the Disks away, leaving the two of the dwarves for them.
The Dworxens watched them go with greedy, angry eyes, and the Northmen never turned their backs on them.
The fact they were leaving me alone and didn’t look at all worried about it didn’t escape any of them.
“Your Highness, if you care to join us, we will be hopefully making at least two more jumps towards our goal of freedom this night. We would be happy to have honorable dwarves along to watch our backs until we are dead or free… and I will not let you die.”
“Your Highness, you cannot! This elf, she, she…” the Dworxen leader Doro Mogroffson spluttered, and then his lips were tied shut again and he raised his axe in frustration. “We will still die as dwarves! Die, elf-witch!” he roared, raising his axe and charging at me.
With equally distraught howls, his brethren charged with him, all of them coming towards me.
He was the first to die, as I stepped into the charge, Dread’s point jack-knifed out, and he and his howling jaw impaled themselves on the point so harshly his feet actually left the ground as he was clothes-lined and died almost instantly.
I took a step back as he died, Dread sliding free of the dead dwarf, flicking right to slice through a beard and the throat behind it, then left to drive into the eye of the third dwarf there, likewise stopping him cold and interrupting the charges of those behind him. Then I was stepping forward, Dread spinning and coming across, the ball of its foot crashing into the temple of the fourth dwarf tripping over the dying throat-cut dwarf. Bone cracked, arcane light flared, and his body went flying to the side, neck at an odd angle.
The fifth dwarf behind him impaled himself on Dread’s point, and the sixth screamed as he came into range, axe chopping at me.
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I moved half a step and backfisted his helmed head, arcane fire snapping at the impact.
There was a crunch and crack and he spun away from the impact of my whipping fist. Behind him, the Seventh one choked around Dread’s point in his throat, pushing the Eighth off to the side as his body didn’t move.
Nine and Ten thought they’d be clever and threw their axes at me, doubtless thinking they could stoop and grab them from the fallen.
The axes spun past me, around me, and sped back twice as powerfully as they’d awkwardly come. Both dwarves gaped as the axes buried themselves right in the middle of their faces.
Number Eight was the last one alive, and he actually jerked to a stop when he saw that all his kinfolk were dead and dying on the ground.
He glared at the other dwarves watching this display of their incompetence with hatred and fury, tried to say something, and his words choked in his throat. “Witch!” he snarled, which technically was true, and charged me, not throwing anything.
Dread arced in behind his axe stroke as I moved right past him gracefully, coming in behind me and without me looking sliced through his thick neck with just a slight wink of Arcane Strike triggering. He fell sprawling in front of the dwarven prince, carotid blood pooling on the floor in front of him.
“We will wait ten minutes while you strip them of anything important and useful. When you are done, throw them in the midden located there, which will dispose of their corpses quietly,” I informed the prince as Dread’s artful adamantine Blade closed itself with a click. “I apologize for taking dwarven blood in front of other dwarves.”
The dwarven prince sighed and shook his head. “You only defended yourself, and they were outlaws, Lady Edge. There is no regret to be had them, as the dwarves lost them long ago. A fine display that there is more than magic to be wary of the elves.”
“As you say, Your Highness.” I bowed slightly and turned away. “My magic I save for those worthy of it.”
Thoughtful eyes watched me stroll away, my boots an inch above the bloody ground and not actually touching any of the dead dwarves.
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“That be the most dangerous elfin I have ever seen, Ukker,” Revered Cruxin, the prince’s lifelong advisor and mentor, said softly, watching her go. “She disposed of the vampires which claimed three of us just like that, and the humans didn’t even blink an eye at leaving her with us.”
“Aye, I saw the look on that big blond one’s face. Pitying the Dworxens for what they were stirring up. I imagine she could have slaughtered them even more rapidly than she did the vampires, and instead gave them an honorable death by honest steel they did not earn.” Ukker shook his head. “She also said we are trapped here with no other recourse. Take everything that might be useful from the dead, and then consign them to the midden!” he ordered abruptly, and his waiting men moved hurriedly to strip the dead, take anything that might be handy, and add it to their own Disks of supplies.
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The thirteen dwarves came marching down the steps on time. They were ushered to where they would enter last, mostly because I hadn’t treated their weapons or shields.
“Freedom or Death is our goal, and I will not let you die!” I repeated as I set down the Temporal Beacon and once more released the golden interior to power up and vanish. “Form up! Freedom or Death!”
“FREEDOM OR DEATH!” the Northmen repeated avidly. Hands went on shoulders or grasped belts, and I stepped forwards into the swirling lights to who knew When.
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Two jumps later…
“Highness, join me.”
The gnolls and thouls were being stripped and mostly carted out to the middens to be disposed of, especially given how badly they smelled. The cook team was in the kitchen, with one dwarven volunteer to make sure food that was acceptable to the dwarves was on the menu. I didn’t think it was an issue, dwarves being less than gourmand eaters, but the choices of food were pretty wide, and comfort food was comfort food.
The prince and priest handed off their gear and armor for maintenance by their underlings and joined me at the table, a tankard of ale in each of their hands. They knew the sun was about to come about and the tavern to reset.
“Is what you have seen of us acceptable?” I asked them calmly, my own wine in my hand.
“You fight together like a band that has worked together for weeks or months, rather than a mere day or two, Lady Edge. And please, while we remain committed to the same purpose, it would please me if ye were to call me Ukker.”
I inclined my head to the golden-bearded young dwarf, who carried the air of an experienced officer already, as the dwarves would simply not acknowledge an incompetent war leader, unlike humans. “As you allow.” I noted his aide did not say the same. “As you know, the Inn here will reset and things begin anew.
“Beyond that door, it is now 322 Crowning, in Human terms, seventy years before we first met. The distance we are going back in time seems to be increasing. The Portal will close in minutes, and will re-open at moonrise. We will eat, sleep, maintain our gear, and form up before moonrise to start the process anew.
“But there is a catch to this process that the humans and one hyn among them know, and I am going to reveal that to you and your dwarves as well.”
“Oh? This sounds interesting. What manner of catch?”
“Do you know dwarves are capable of wielding magic?”
I could not have startled them more if I had suddenly turned into a troll. Even Cirruluxul, sitting there on her hoard in the corner, turned her head in surprise.
It was the Revered Cruxin who spoke first. “You must be joking. When the Immortal Clangyr raised the dwarven people from the stone, he made us resistant to magic, not wielders of it! He did not want us dependent on the powers of the arcane to prosper, and unlocked in us the gifts of stone and steel that guide us to this day!” the priest declared firmly.
“I see. And how long ago was this?” I asked him with an assessing gaze.
“Why… our histories go back over two thousand years,” he stated firmly. “Although Rukheim itself was not founded until much later, when the great Dunven left us to fend for ourselves, and establish the kingdom of the Rockborn!”