The Mine Lord: A Dwarven Survival Base-Builder

Voices woke Gretti, and he rolled out of his alcove. He had fallen asleep with his axe clutched to his chest. The adit door was locked and braced, but he still slept light. He recognized the voices. It was Bluebrowand Shimmer approaching from outside. They reached the door before he did and knocked. Gretti opened the slat and peered out.

“It’s alright,” Bluebrow said. “We’re alone. Oin-nam.” It meant Narrow-Vein in dhar, the name of the drift where Bluebrow had lived in Deep Cut. It served as a password of sorts for them.

Gretti lifted the bar from across the door and drew the bolt and latch. Bluebrow and Shimmer both wore heavy packs, and they slid them off once inside. They had left weeks ago laden with iron. Gretti had remained behind at the sluice claim; it was too risky for him to venture close to Glint.

“Were they still buying?” Gretti asked.

“Ay, yes,” Bluebrow answered. “And the price went up!”

“Up?”

“I do not lie. Four-and-a-half for a ton-weight.”

“What could they need so much iron for?”

“Some rail system, is what the folk were saying.”

“Smoke from the foundries rises like a pillar above Glint,” Shimmer said. “We saw it from leagues away.”

“And there is other news,” Bluebrow said. The change of tone alerted Gretti.

“The Highlodes?” he asked, his pulse quickening.

“A troop set out for the working in the north.”

“They went.”

“Ay, yes.”

“All three?”

Bluebrow nodded.

“Why?”

“There was talk of a trading post on the northern slopes.”

“But why did the Highlodes join them? Why leave Glint?”

“Chargrim offered gold in payment,” Bluebrow said. “Thrice as much as kulhan wages.”

“Why? Why pay so much to build a post?”

Bluebrow shrugged. It made little sense to Gretti.

“How long ago did they leave?” Gretti asked.

“That is the bad news. It has been two months.”

“Two months? They left in the winter?”

“Just before the flow of sap.”

Gretti turned and pulled his pack from a shelf. He had to go. The Highlodes were on the surface.

“They left with Hammers and Wardens. Scores of them. Chargrim’s son leads them.”

“Shit on them,” Gretti growled, stuffing his few possessions into the sack. Something strange was afoot. He strapped his weapons belt around his waist, lSWN with daggers and hand-axes collected from the slain, and he took down the crossbow and its sheaf of bolts.

“I figured it wouldn’t matter to you,” Bluebrow said, looking resigned.

Gretti paused, turned to the older dwarf, and extended his hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “If ever I can repay you, I will.” Bluebrow grasped his forearm.

“Kill them.”

Gretti nodded. He clasped arms with Shimmer as well, and not long after, he left the claim.

Peridot knelt on a cushion in the hold, watching as her youngest brother clacked blocks together. The blocks were made of different materials, two of each—copper, bronze, iron, limestone, sandstone, granite, maple, pine, and so on. A gilke or gilna was considered a babe until at least five years old, when speech usually became more fluent. This little one had a long way to go. Peridot was fascinated by his learning. She was watching him while Iolite and her mother worked, and for his part, he was exploring the blocks. He did the same with each one. First, he picked it up and turned it all around in his hands, feeling all the surfaces. Then he smelled and licked it, then he held up the wet surface to catch the lamplight. Last, he picked up another block and smacked the two together, listening. He did this with each block, until he identified its match and set them aside. Once all the blocks were matched, he jumbled them into a pile and started over.

He had done this for at least two hours while Peridot sat and sipped cup after cup of peppermint tea. She had seen this kind of play in her other younger brothers, but it was fascinating each time. While no one taught them, this testing was so common among gilke and gilna that it was referred to as telgo-na-kob, “licking the blocks,” and to suggest someone “never licked the blocks” insinuated stupidity.

Though he could not yet sing the words, the little gilke began to hum one of the old sing-song rhymes. It was a dandling chant for bouncing a babe upon the knee, and so almost all gilke and gilna knew it by heart early on. Already, the gilke was singing while he worked. In later years, he would be able to pronounce the words:

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Black Mountain Silver Hair,

oldest of the old.

Quartz-Rhime and Iron Deep,

northern winds enfold.

Spired Rock and Red Vein

Kara-Indal holds,

Ridges and Morning Stone,

The Southern Kingdoms bold.

The door to the hold jerked open and her father entered with the exaggerated limp he got when he was trying to walk quickly. Peridot could tell in an instant that something was wrong. His face was flushed, his brow wrinkled, and when he spoke, his tone was stern:

“Come. Now.”

Peridot set aside her mug and reached for the babe to take him to the workshop.

“Iolite!” Chargrim shouted.

A moment later, Iolite appeared at the door, eyes wide, and Onyx followed.

“Watch the babe,” Chargrim commanded her.

“What is happening?” Onyx asked.

“The Lowpleatpack train has returned and brought humans into the ridges.”

“What?”

“If I am to leave the hold, I must prepare,” Peridot said.

“Then hurry,” her father said. “The folk are already gathering in the Judgment Hall.”

He turned and left the hold.

“Iolite, see to the babe,” Onyx said, rushing toward the inner passage. Peridot followed. With her mother’s help, she donned her finery with speed, and Onyx put on a long yellow outer robe with a blue-and-silver full veil. Together, they hurried out of the Owners Drift. Wardens waited for them in the drift and escorted them to the Judgment Hall, making way among the folk who streamed into the hold. There was a hubbub of excitement and confusion, everyone speaking at once, though they hushed as Peridot and Onyx passed by. Word of humans had clearly spread like fire on a mountainside, drawing the folk together at the Judgment Hall. Peridot wasn’t sure if they had been summoned, or if the gathering was by instinct.

The wardens used their long staves to keep a space open in the center. Lowpleat and Prase stood at the edge near one of the wardens. They stared fixedly ahead, not lifting their eyes to meet Peridot’s gaze.

Chargrim sat upon the judgment seat with Treadfoot in his hand. The wardens led Peridot and Onyx to the shelf of rock and took up positions on the lower level in front of them. No one sat near them on the shelf, though the hall was filling quickly. Onyx and Peridot had barely settled before a group of Ridge Wardens led by Thrushbeard pushed through the crowd. In their midst was a dwarf dressed in traveling clothes. Peridot did not recognize him.

The wardens with the staves pressed the crowd back a few more feet. Thrushbeard took the iron rod from one of the wardens at the foot of the dais.He cracked the iron into the stone three times, and the voices hushed.

“The Lowpleat pack train has brought humans into the ridges!” Thrushbeard shouted, his voice filling the hall. Peridot had seen him serve as Warden of Arbitration many times, but she had never heard such menace in his voice. It was clear he took this personally.

“Lay not the blame with us!” Lowpleat cried. One of the wardens raised his staff and allowed the clothier through. “We gave no such command. We only sent to trade!” This last was spoken directly at the stranger that the wardens had led into the center.

“Longhoof,” Thrushbeard said. “You were rinlen of the pack train.”

“Ay, yes,” the stranger answered. “I beg the Irik-Rhûl give me leave to speak my defense.” He held out beseeching palms.

Thrushbeard looked to Chargrim.

“Speak,” said Chargrim.

Peridot was confused. Where were the humans? How many were there? Was there war? Why was this dealt with first in the Judgment Hall? Her father had offered little to grant understanding.

“We reached the border of Laith in the dying of summer,” Longhoof said. “There we were met by horsemen. We were brought to Thioneunder guard, and taken to audience with the Rhûl of that city. Our goods were taken, and we were kept under guard. The Rhûl told us that their king woulddecide our fate. We were treated well. Fed, and even given new clothes made to fit us.”

The dwarf spoke in such a way that Peridot suspected he had practiced this speech. She couldn’t blame him; only a fool would have neglected to prepare.

“We lacked nothing, but the weeks wore on. It was in the eleventh month when an ambassador from Serapath came to the city and held audience with us. He told us that the king accepted our gifts, and that he wished to send gifts in return, along with emissaries to negotiate the opening of trade routes. I told the ambassador that I did not have the authority to bring anyone to the Irik-Rhûl. He demanded to know what Chargrim meant by sending an emissary without authority, and I tried to explain, but the man said that if I had no authority to grant passage, then I had no authority to refuse Serapath passage, and he dismissed us. They kept us until Spring, and we ate and drank well in their Rhûl’s hall, and when we left, it was with a troop of riders and emissaries, as well as many gifts from the king and grain in great store. They gave me no choice in the matter. They only said that as they had given hospitality to us, so the king asked hospitality from Chargrim of Glint.”

Chargrim looked to Thrushbeard.

“And the humans now?”

“They came by the High Way, avoiding Sledge Rock. One hundred riders of horses as well as their yowgan. We stopped them eight miles from here, at the junction of the Tonkil and Red Streak trails.”

Her father was livid, she could tell. His face was flushed, but not from drink, and his knuckles were pale where his hand clutched Treadfoot. Nevertheless, his tone was cold and even.

“This foolishness has brought humans to our doorstep. Human warriors on horses, spying out the routes of the Ridges. They have even come by the High Way.”

Peridot didn’t realize horses could come by the High Way, not that she’d ever seen a horse. She knew the pack trains managed the route, but it was more difficult.

“There should never be a human who leaves the Red Ridges,” someone said. Peridot turned and saw Sledgefist step through the ring of wardens, his armor gleaming. Two of his Hammers had accompanied him into the hall. “Delay them for a day, and we will have enough Hammers and Wardens at hand to make sure none escape.”

“You cannot kill them!” Lowpleat said. “They bring gifts in exchange for the goods we sent, and they gave hospitality to our train. Hospitality must be returned!”

“They were not my kulhan given hospitality, but I am the Irik-Rhûl of Glint, and no human will spy our valley nor the gates of my halls.”

“And what would Serapath think if his emissaries do not return?”

“Let them learn to fear us!” Sledgefist shouted. “Let the Red Ridges be a place of red blood for humans.”

“We have the chance to trade,” Lowpleat shouted back. “He said he wants to trade. But you would bring war on our beards! We are folk of Glint. The honor of the claim is at stake, and that honor is ours.”

“So, you would have your rights to send to human kings as a free dwarf, but you would demand my hospitality, and the hospitality of the Owners of this Claim, to a troop of human warriors that your rinlen has led back here?”

“These are the laws of our folk.”

“These are interpretations that favor you,” Chargrim answered. Lowpleat did not respond to that, and a silence fell in the hall. Her father stared above the heads of the folk, as if seeing through the stone into some world of consequences.

“The humans will come no closer to Glint,” he said at last. “They will be feasted and sent home. We will not strike the first blow. Neither will we allow them to gaze upon our halls.”

“They will not hand over their gifts except to the Irik-Rhûl, himself,” Longhoof said.

“Then they keep their gifts. They will not see my face.”

“Serapath will be insulted,” Lowpleat said.

“I will send a message in the writing of their own tongue to be taken to their king, but the humans will not spy our halls. They will come no farther.” Chargrim paused, and Peridot thought he would say something more. She knew him well enough to see the signs of some inner debate on his face, though whatever it was, he held it close. “I will take council with the Owners.” He stood abruptly and left the hall, followed by a pair of Ridge Wardens. Thrushbeard slammed the rod down upon the stone threetimes. Peridot and Onyx stood and hurried after Chargrim, also accompanied by their guard of Ridge Wardens. Peridot avoided looking at Prase or Lowpleat.

What foolishness they had wrought.