Icevein: Chapter 31
Peridot was not invited to the Owner’s Council the following day, but when her mother returned to the workshop where Peridot and Iolite were busy knitting a complex mesh of fine golden wire, Peridot looked up at her with raised eyebrows.
“Nothing that changes anything,” her mother said in answer, and sat down to work. Onyx said nothing more, but Peridot was used to her reserve. Her mother rarely confided in them unless it was necessary. The council over, Onyx clearly wanted to focus on her craft. The mesh was in the final stages, but it had taken weeks to reach that point.
They had drawn out their ingots of gold with anvil and hammer into a long, thin, pliable strips, then passed them through the series of steel gauge-measures, merely holes with beveled edges. They pulled the gold through the larger gauge-holes with the aid of Hobblefoot’s geared crank, repeating through progressively smaller gauge-holes until the wire was so delicate that only the sensitivity of their hands could draw the gold without risk of breaking.
Drawing the wire was the most painstaking and time-eating part of the process. For weeks, Peridot and Iolite had labored at it, and now they had seven hundred yards of fine flexible gold wire. They had begun knitting it into a fine mesh using needles little different from those used in the knitting of wool, except they were made of soft pinewood rather than metal, as it was easier on the gold. For denser patterns, they sometimes used a loom, but for looser meshes, knitting was superior. This particular piece was a bespoke wedding overlay to be worn by a daughter of the Deep Cut Council atop her wedding vestments. The mesh of golden wire would drape her from head to foot.
They had made such pieces before. The biggest problem with Onyx’s craft was that only the wealthiest dwarves could afford such a work of art and luxury. This piece was to bring an absurd amount of lamp oil, salt, and even human wheat from Deep Cut. The exorbitant weights would likely take over a hundred donkeys to transport. Even the small mesh necklaces they made were treasures, often bearing gems—garnets, lapis, spinel—cut by Onyx’s brother, Greal. Yet even though few had the means to trade for her mother’s masterworks, she continued making them just the same, and her demands were exacting for both herself and her daughters. The chamber was as much hoard and gallery as workshop. Gold and silver meshes, chains, and gemstones glittered on display. Iolite thrived in it. Peridot appreciated the skill and the beauty, but she doubted she would continue in the work after her rhundal, though she did not know what else she would do.
As she knit the wire, her mind dwelt on the arbitration, the complexity of the forces at play, and the ramifications of judgment. Her father and mother had not revealed what the judgment would be, and she tried to imagine all the possibilities and what might result for each course of action. In a way, it was like Ingots. To win, one must think further ahead than the move at hand. It was the same in giving judgment. She had never encountered anything in her life that so arrested her attention, and what’s more, she knew it. Even thinking about it, she felt a thrill of pleasure. Oh, to be clever and wise, and to plum the depths of justice and law.
But arbitration was not a trade or a craft that one could simply choose to ply. Who would come to her for justice? Who would heed her arbitrations? Her father was Irik-Rhûl, and his judgment mattered. She was a gilna, soon to be a dwarf-maid, and the dwarves of the mountain stared at her because they saw her as the means of legacy, future, and wealth. She understood this. In a way, she thought all dwarf-maids understood it. Most dwarf-maids wanted their own hold, their own gilna and gilke. Her mother had accomplished both craft and hold—but she had done it with the aid of fantastic wealth and stubbornness.
Despite her father’s physical weakness, the folk saw him as powerful, and his justice carried weight. He had proved himself for many years, but wealth had made it possible—he was one of the Owners, and chosen by the Owners as Irik-Rhûl. Without gold, there would be no Glint.
Yet even so, neither her mother nor her father displayed their wealth, not truly. Her mother made marvelous creations like the overlay they were knitting, but she rarely ever wore them. Sometimes, Onyx tried to encourage Chargrim to dress in more finery—to wear rings and chains—but he always refused. He did not need them. The folk knew he had wealth, but they esteemed him for his deeds. Even as she thought it, she recalled her father’s words. It was not just his deeds, it was also the idea of the Irik-Rhûl.
But what idea could the folk have of her?
The Judgment Hall was no less full of dwarves on the third day, awaiting the doom pronouncement. Chargrim entered and took his seat. As before, Onyx, Peridot, and Rightauger sat with the other Owners and their older children upon the stone shelf, able to see above the heads of the crowd. The Ridge Wardens took their positions as before, and the Highlodes were brought to the open space on Chargrim’s right. The wardens led in Icevein, this time with his hands bound behind his back and a shuffling gait due to the shortened ankle chains.
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Again, Thrushbeard slammed the haft of the judgment rod against the stone for quiet.
“Sons of the Highlode hold,” Chargrim said. “Do you have any more words before the judgment?”
Tornheft stepped forward to speak.
“Those who were close have ruled. We trust in the wisdom of the Irik-Rhûl to recognize justice even from afar.”
There was a murmur at that. Peridot looked beside her at her mother, but Onyx remained still, staring at the scene from behind her veil. Surely, Tornheft was attempting to undermine the legitimacy of the arbitration, should Chargrim not rule in their favor. The events in question happened beneath the sands, and she wondered if the Council of Deep Cut would be insulted that her father had arbitrated at all.
Whatever her father thought about Tornheft’s words, he did not let on. He merely nodded and looked to Icevein.
“And you, son of Edgefiler?”
Icevein’s deep voice filled the hall.
“Know this, Chargrim of Glint, and all your folk. It matters not what judgment you pass today. The duty of a dwarf to his forebeards is greater than Glint or Deep Cut. If I die, I die for duty.”
Peridot watched the faces of those gathered, and she saw that the folk received Icevein’s words with more favor than the Highlode’s. Most of the folk in Glint left Deep Cut to find better, and many hated the Council. Icevein’s bold defiance and his claim to duty pleased many, for she saw nods and hurried whispers and looks of admiration. Somehow, the brutal killer commanded respect among them, even though he had killed a warden and maimed another.
Chargrim leaned forward.
“Then hear my judgment on this matter, all of you. There are no survivors from the Low Collier hold to bear witness to the slayings. I neither pronounce the Highlode hold guilty, nor the Low Collier hold. Son of Edgefiler, will you accept blood-gold?”
“I will not,” Icevein said, his voice hard.
“Then the matter is beyond judgment. In the claims of Glint and all those under our arbitration, the matter falls to claim law. Blood may be avenged by either the Highlode hold or the Low Collier hold. We will not interfere.”
There was murmuring at this, and Tornheft called out:
“Is this how you insult the Council? And will you not weigh the blood of your warden?”
There was a look of eagerness upon Icevein’s face. It was as if he saw a jewel before him, ready to be grasped. The noise of the crowd rose.
Thrushbeard slammed the iron rod into the stone, and the other wardens stamped in rhythm until the hall quietened.
“I am not finished,” Chargrim said, and now it was his voice that bore an edge. “The Council can have no feud with me. I do not reverse their judgment, but I do not enforce it here. And as for you, Icevein, hear the doom I lay on you.” Chargrim leaned toward the lone dwarf, Treadfoot in hand. “For the slaying of my warden, you are outlawed.”
Icevein’s expression fell, his brows knitting together.
“If my hold is not guilty, by what right did your wardens try to seize me?”
“By the word I gave them. These ridges are under the protection and authority of Glint.”
“You are no Crippled King, though you look it,” Icevein spat. “You cannot gainsay the free rights of a dwarf.”
The hall was silent, now. Peridot could hear her heart beating.
“You have every right to disregard my judgment,” Chargrim answered, his voice loud enough to be heard but quiet enough that all strained after it. “But we shall see who does regard it. You are banished from the mountain and granted three days reprieve so long as you do not seek to enter Glint. After three days, your outlawry begins. If you do harm to any but a Highlode, the Ridge Wardens will hunt you down in blood. You will be taken outside the walls forthwith, and your fate is in your hands.” Chargrim nodded to Thrushbeard, who slammed the rod three times. The wardens stomped in unison, and Chargrim rose, leaving by way of the rear passage.
As soon as he was gone, a group of wardens gathered around Icevein, pulling him toward the front passage and the highadit. The hall erupted in bubbling conversation, and the Highlodes turned to each other, Tornheft and Loafhide speaking fast, faces dark. The younger Highlode neither moved nor spoke.
“Come,” Onyx said, laying a hand on Peridot’s arm. This time, the crowd was not so easily parted; the folk were distracted and hardly noticed Irik-Rhûl’s family, but Thrushbeard saw and arrived with wardens who used long their long staves to force a path for them. There was an air of contention, an edge in the noise of the crowd. Some appeared pleased, but many were clearly upset by the ruling.
They reached the Owner’s Drift and headed straight for the stonehold. Rightauger had not followed Onyx and Peridot, but he was a dwarf now and could do what he wished. Inside the stonehold, Peridot moved toward the samovar. Opening up the base, she blew on the coals, decided it needed more and added a small scoop from a lidded bucket.
“Eager for tea?” Onyx asked.
“I am warming mead for father.”
“Warm it, but do not bring it unless called for.”
Peridot turned.
“Are we not going?”
“This time you will stay here,” Onyx said. She saw Peridot’s look of disappointment. “You may speak with him about the judgment another time.”
“Is something wrong? Have I angered you?”
“No,” her mother said, shaking her head. “No. I simply wish to speak with him alone.”
“Is. . . do you think the judgment poor?”
“No,” Onyx said again. “It was a wise judgment. I knew in advance.”
“But—”
Onyx raised a hand to stop her.
“Not now,” she said. “Do not disturb your father unless called.” With that, Onyx turned and made for the inner passage and toward Chargrim’s chamber.