Icevein: Chapter 48
They reached the door to the Rhûl’s Holt just as Sledgefist came barreling down the drift, his face red, his brows furrowed in anger. The wardens opened the door and Onyx and Peridot stepped aside to let him barge through.
“We ought to kill every last one of them!” Sledgefist shouted. “And outlaw the Lowpleats and every one of their train!” He started to pace before the desk. Peridot and Onyx entered the holt and closed the door. Chargrim had already seated himself at his desk and was riffling through papers. He looked little less angry than his brother. In truth, they looked remarkably alike; Peridot had never noticed the familial resemblance so keenly, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing them both so angry. “If we let them go, they’ll have mapped out the route!” Sledgefist went on. “They must know how close they are. What else did that fool kulkur tell them?” Sledgefist stopped his pacing, alarm smoothing his forehead. “They might have told them about the expedition.”
“They wouldn’t know about the expedition,” Chargrim answered. He had found a bottle of ink and a bronze pen. “They left for Laith much too soon for that.”
Sledgefist appeared relieved and continued pacing.
“That doesn’t change we should kill them, Char. Not send them words on paper!”
“If we kill them, the humans will know we did it, and Serapathwill be all the more eager for retaliation. Trade will be impossible.”
“I thought you didn’t want trade, anyway!”
“I prefer it to war. Trade is inevitable. I just didn’t want it yet. I need more time, but the Lowpleats forced my hand. Trade might slow war or whet their appetite. We can never win a war against the humans, only battles, and our task is to make battles few and far between.”
Chargrim paused his speech, scratching at the paper with his pen. He glanced up at Peridot. “Have one of the wardens fetch Farhear.”
Peridot obeyed, cracking the door and leaning out into the drift to make the request. Sledefist threw himself down into a chair. Onyx continued to stand to the side, watching.
“It feels cowardly, to let them go.”
“We must put our feelings aside, for the sake of the folk,” Chargrim answered.
“The idiots. I don’t like it.”
“Perhaps this will make you feel better, but you must breathe no word to anyone.” Chargrim continued writing even as he spoke, not looking up.
“None,” Sledgefist answered, leaning forward as if expecting a whisper, though Chargrim spoke loud enough for all in the chamber to hear:
“I am herein professing the earnest desire to open peaceable trade relations with Serapath, but I am also warning that such trade must be conducted north of the Brown Hills, because the dwarves of Deep Cut have great hatred for the humans, and indeed, they have also threatened the Red Ridges. I will insist that trade cannot be conducted in the Ridges, themselves, for it is our law that only our own folk may tread here.”
“Is there such a law?” Sledgefist asked.
“No, of course not. No one knew of the Red Ridges when claim law was conceived.”
“Ah, right.”
“I am writing that we wish to establish a depot near their border. I will ask that messengers upon horseback be dispatched without delay, this very night, to carry word back to Serapath, but the rest of the humans must be feasted for days. A week, if we can convince them, and when they leave, I will tell them to beware of Deep Cut Jackals on the return journey.”
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“You will speak with the humans yourself?”
“No. I will tell them it is not custom for the Irik-Rhûl to negotiate directly with emissaries. I will send Farhear to speak for me.”
“Reamer will be furious to hear that you have aided them.”
“He will not be furious when he receives the message I will dispatch to him tonight.”
“What?”
“I am going to inform Reamer of the situation. Hopefully he can react in time, if we delay the rest of the horsemen long enough.”
“He will attack them as they return beyond the Brown Hills.”
“Ay, yes. That is the hope, if he can manage it in time. It is best if a few survive to return.”
Sledgefist shook his head.
“These machinations are not to my liking. Better to be direct and kill them ourselves.”
“I want you to gather your Hammers and hold them in reserve in case it does come to blows,” Chargrim answered. “But keep them out of sight of the horsemen. I fear some of yours will be too eager.”
“Ay, eager is right,” Sledgefist said, standing back up.
“Why have them killed if you don’t wish war?”
“Deep Cut is already at war with them. Let them think us fractured. Let them wonder, or try to turn us against each other. They will waste time.”
“Eh,” Sledgefist said, not hiding the look of disgust on his face. “I will gather my Hammers.” He turned and left, pushing the door open and swinging it closed with force behind him.
“Your plan is complicated,” Onyx said once Sledgefist was gone. “There are many ways it may go wrong.”
“It has gone wrong already,” Chargrim answered, finally looking up from his writing. “If I do not tell Reamer and give him opportunity, he will take it poorly. Either that we did not strike them, or that we seek friendship with them. I will blame hospitality for now. If we slay the humans ourselves, we gain little and may lose much.”
“It would protect knowledge of the High Way.”
“Unless they have already sent a rider back.”
“And if we gamble on peace? Many of the folk wish to trade with the humans,” Onyx said. “Deep Cut continues to sell dearly, and the humans have an abundance.”
“Deep Cut has no choice but to sell dearly,” Chargrim answered. “They half depend on us, now.”
“Could we not use that? Unite our folk?”
“Ay, yes, we could. But we would only inherit Reamer’s problems or have the Jackals to face. And the law. . . Who would support it? No, it is Serapath that is our true enemy, or whoever comes next. They are fleeting.”
“These things are beyond the power of an Irik-Rhûl,” Onyx said. “Serapathis a king. To contend with a king, you must be a king. The folk cannot circumvent you like this. Not without danger we cannot countenance.”
“Such a thing is done through blood. I cannot enslave this folk to me.”
“Even if it means the destruction of the folk?”
“The law is the only thing that comforts me in my sleep. If I err now, I err within the law, and the folk are still free.”
“Or they are dead.”
Chargrim gazed steadily at his wif.
“This is no Kara-Indal, my jewel.”
“It took a dragon to lay them low.”
“Us.”
Onyx shrugged.
“We are what we inherit.”
Chargrim pressed his lips together but answered nothing. Onyx started toward the rear passage to the stonehold. “I fear Iolite may neglect the babe,” she said, and left the chamber.
Chargrim leaned forward, rubbing his leg. Peridot approached the table and sat down, avoiding the chair that her uncle had used as if his presence lingered.
“Well,” her father said, looking at her. “What do you think?”
“I do not think she is wrong.”
Chargrim glanced toward the rear passage.
“Your mother? No. She is not wrong. It is not right or wrong. She is only willing.”
“I would be willing,” Peridot answered.
“Ay, yes.” Chargrim peered across the table at her, his eyes narrow. “You are like her in that.”
The door opened, pulled outward by one of the warden guards, and Farhear hurried in.
“Come in,” Chargrim said to the dwarf who already hurried to the table. “I need this translated, and any changes made to account for their customs.”
Farhear pulled Sledgefist’s abandoned chair near to the table and took the sheet from Chargrim, his eyes scanning the hurried scrawls.
“I understand your purpose, I think,” he said at last, “but we will have to change it. They will not understand if I translate it directly.”
“Walk me through it,” Chargrim replied.
Peridot sat and listened as Farhear explained the difficulty of translating dhar idiom into the Laithan tongue, and the proper etiquette for a human missive, though the old dwarf admitted he had never dealt with court politics. Even as she listened to the matter at hand, her mind returned to her mother’s words.
It took a king to contend with a king.