Chapter 67: Hostages
After a time, Yorvig, Hobblefoot, Warmcoat, and Shineboot joined the feast in Hobblefoot's hold. Warmcoat and Shineboot sent for their wifs. Warmcoat had a gilke of two years as well. Khlif had been asleep when Hobblefoot arrived, as he oversaw the mining on the opposing shift, but Onyx had told Greal and Greal had gone to rouse him. They returned with their spouses as well. Soon the hold that Yorvig had dug for Hobblefoot was full of the squeals of babes and the laughter and speech of old friends. Warmcoat’s gilke climbed up on Onyx’s lap and kept pulling at her necklaces. Hobblefoot, Greal, and Warmcoat were blessed that the wombs of their wifs had already opened. They were doted on, those three gilke.
The chamber filled with Hill-Smoke as the dwarves lit pipes, the fragrant smoke mixing with smells of meat and mead. It had been too long since they had all been together, even those who remained at Glint. Yorvig missed Sledgefist, but he was glad that Onyx was sitting next to Hobblefoot’s wif Spinel, talking about something in friendly tones at least. Sledgefist had stayed with his wif in Glint for three seasons after marriage. Onyx and Sledgefist's wif could hardly be in the same chamber, and in the end Sledgefist had gone to establish the southern outpost.
That might explain why Hobblefoot had not stopped in there first on his way.
Those had been lonely years for Yorvig, cooped up in his chamber, listening to reports from rinlen of mines, herders, gardeners, cooks, smiths, and a score of other dwarves who moved throughout the honeycombed ridge. Gold-mining had sunk half a mile east, deep into the rock. They had cut through to the back of the ridge as they mined out the veins, but the bulk of the ore led them deeper east and down. Now, the back of the ridge was cut with new terraces of crops, and a fortified adit there let the gardeners and herders come and go.
Yorvig looked up from his meal and saw Thrushbeard leaning into the packed feasting chamber. He nodded toward the drift when he caught Yorvig’s eye.
Yorvig excused himself, but the conversation barely faltered as he stepped into the drift and the low glow of the blue-green miner’s eye. There were four Ridge Wardens flanking the chamber door, helm and mail donned, rectangular shields and spears ready.
“There is a double guard on all three adits,” Thrushbeard said. “And at the river gate.”
“And the new arrivals?”
“Five we have yet to find. The others we have brought to Wardenhold. We are questioning them.”
“No violence,” Yorvig said.
“Of course.”
“I was thinking—look at their hands. See if their calluses match their trades. Your Wardens have different calluses than miners. We should expect it to be the same for Jackals.”
“A wise thought,” Thrushbeard said. “We will check.”
“Did these five missing come together?”
“By three and two. They claimed to be miners. We are searching the deep delvings, now.”
“Check for any who have not been working, or haven’t sworn as kulhan, but have been trading for food. Also see if any of the newcomers have seemed incompetent at their labor.”
“It will be done. Do you wish to see them?”
“Not tonight. Keep them together, feed them, and give them my apologies.”
Thrushbeard nodded.