Icevein: Chapter 41
They feasted, and then the stonehold of Chargrim and Onyx took their rest. Peridot slept soundly enough, and after rising and waking, she brewed peppermint tea and uncovered a dish of uneaten cave bread from the night before. She had just poured herself a steaming mug from the samovar when her father emerged from the inner passage, his eyes bleary red, his shoulders slouched.
“Good waking,” he muttered.
“Good waking,” Peridot answered. She knew her father was prone to staying up for long stretches, and she wondered how much he had actually slept. Chargrim poured himself a mug of tea as well, holding the steaming brew below his nose. The Mine Runner Earwart darted into the chamber, cried, and brushed herself against Chargrim’s leg.
“I’m sorry I spoke of the mountains being mined out, father,” she said.
He looked at her blankly, as if he was trying to translate her words.
“Oh, the Grashal-Indal,” he said after a pause. “No, do not be sorry. It was a point that must be raised, and I’d rather it come from you. It will keep the others from thinking you an echo of my own opinions.”
She nodded, not entirely reassured.
“You know, there is more to wealth than what can be mined. You have read Auntie Tourmaline’s volumes. The songs say that the kings of Ice-Cloak had conquered the Grashal-Indal before the end. The smiths of yore worked Living Steel in those days.”
She knew her father believed Living Steel was real, but that opinion was far from unanimous among the folk. It did not help that the only specimens of Living Steel dwelt under guard in Deep Cut where they could not be handled. Not even the hoard of Chargrim could hope to wrest those relics from Deep Cut.
“The dwarves of yore scribed their histories on stoneand baurithna,” he continued. “Who knows what might be learned?”
“Is such a hope worth a massacre?”
He frowned, then shook his head.
“I half wish I had taken you with me to East Spire,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” he asked.
“For allowing the pack train to go to the humans.”
“Oh, jewel, no. There is nothing you could have done about that. I mean I could have used you at East Spire. I regret restoring the hold of Hardeye. Hardeye was a sensible enough dwarf, but his son Knobchin is less like his father than I had hoped. If I was not worried of causing a stir, I would remove him and place you there to arbitrate.”
After her father was declared Irik-Rhûl of Glint, Hardeye of East Spire had given himself the same title.When the Council of Deep Cut had sent their Jackals to annex East Spire, Hardeye had refused to submit. The jackals killed Hardeye but left the rest of his hold alone. Most of Hardeye’s kin fled, anyway. Deep Cut put a puppet in power as Irik-Rhûl.
When Chargrim sent Sledgefist to break the siege of East Spire after Tonkil’s Rock, they found starvation and disorder. The jackals had slipped away, leaving the colony to its own defense. Her father had found the son of Hardeye and placed him back in his family’s place of honor, with the understanding that East Spire fell under Glint’s protection and not Deep Cut’s. Peridot knew that the young Knobchin had grown stubborn, hence why her father and uncle Sledgefist had visited in person.
“Would it cause such a stir? I hear there is little love for him.”
“Little enough love, it is true, but our folk love the law. The claim did belong to his family. If I removed what authority I had given him, it will only fuel the accusations that we do not heed claim law.”
Movement drew their attention, and they looked up to see Onyx approaching down the passage, her barefoot steps soundless. She wore a long yellow robe tied at the waist. The babe was not with her, and she carried herself with the poise of one who had snuck away from a sleeping child.
“Claim law does not account for how entire colonies see to their affairs,” Peridot said, continuing the conversation. “How much can anyone object over the spears of the wardens?”
“Careful,” Onyx said, arriving at the table. “Warden spears only serve so long as wardens are willing to wield them, and he who takes by the spear can lose by the spear.” She picked up a piece of cave bread, tearing it down the middle. “It is much better to be supported by law than by spear. To our folk, it holds far more power.” She knelt down on a cushion.
“I saw in the ledgers that we have spent far more to support East Spire than we are likely gaining by the trade,” Peridot said, following her mother’s example and settling on a cushion. “Why not leave them to their own affairs?”
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“It is tempting,” Chargrim answered, also giving in and sitting down, though he moved carefully, sticking his leg out in front of him on the rug. “Believe me, it is tempting.”
“Better they look to us than to Deep Cut,” Onyx said.
“I thought Reamer is a friend.”
Chargrim smiled.
“Reamer is a Jackal. Do not trust a jackal.”
“Rothe Stonefoot is a jackal.”
“Was a jackal,” Onyx said.
“I am not saying we make enemies with them,” Chargrim said.
Someone rapped the knocker on the stonehold door. Onyx scrunched her face. Chargrim sighed, clearly unwilling to rise now that he was settled. Peridot saw it and rose, carrying her mug to the door. She opened it and saw Shineboot in the drift.
“Good waking,” he said.
“Come in,” Peridot said, stepping aside.
“Hello Shineboot,” Onyx said as the dwarf entered, but even as she said it she stood and retreated back into the passage. Peridot knew that her mother did not like to be seen in such a casual garment as a robe, even though Shineboot was kin, a cousin of the hold. More than the other Owners, Shineboot was a friend to her father.
“I’m on my way to the workings,” Shineboot said, “but I heard voices.”
“Tea and bread?” Chargrim asked.
Peridot was already pouring Shineboot a mug, and now she handed it over to the dwarf. Shineboot was bald, but his beard was thick and well-oiled, scented with limestone.
“Thank you,” he said, and held it beneath his nose, breathing the aroma, a near ubiquitous practice among dwarves. “So what is it?” he asked.
“Peppermint,” Peridot said. Shineboot chuckled.
“What is it about the Grashal-Indal?” He looked at Chargrim. “You never said.”
“Didn’t I?” Chargrim asked.
“No, and you know it.”
“Perhaps I didn’t say.”
“So what is it?”
Chargrim took a long sip of his tea, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“Perhaps I long for the old days of mining a new claim.”
“If you won’t tell me, at least don’t mock me.”
“I’m sorry,” Chargrim said. “I do not mean to offend.” He paused, then sighed. “It is not to mine. Peridot was right. The Grashal-Indal were delved by our folk for thousands of years. The tales tell of mountain fastnesses and days when dwarven kings waged wars against each other. The Grashal-Indal were full of strongholds made by our forebeards in the height of their power. Made to withstand siege by dwarves.”
“Strongholds,” Shineboot repeated, squinting.
“Ay, yes.”
“So it’s fear, then.”
“And I have all the more reason to fear, thanks to the help of your brother. You forget that it was my fear that kept you all alive.”
“I have not forgotten,” Shineboot said. He stared down at the stone for a time, letting the steam of his tea drift upward before his face. “These strongholds are far away.”
“All the better.”
“I doubt the others will appreciate the risk.”
“Do you?” Chargrim asked.
“You’ve kept us through much,” Shineboot said. “You know that if you send an expedition, Rightauger will go.”
“He is still rash, only a few years past rhundal.”
“He has not yet gone alone into the wilds with a single pack and a cage full of Mine Runners.”
Chargrim smiled and rubbed his forehead.
“Blazes, we were young. And ignorant. How ever we survived, I don’t know.”
“We were also strong,” Shineboot said.
“Strength isn’t enough. You know that.”
“I do.”
Chargrim father ran his fingers through his beard.
“I used to think I could not bear the fear and worry if my son fought alongside the wardens. It would befuddle my thoughts. Thus I argued to spare my own and condemn the sons of others.”
“Guilt is unbecoming, cousin. It is a drift that produces nothing.” Shineboot turned his attention to Peridot with a keen gaze. She felt a flutter of surprise, as if he’d suddenly caught her at something.
“And you, Jewel of Glint,” he said. “Do you think your father will convince the Owners this is the right course of action?”
No, she didn’t think her father would convince them. Not all of them, at least.
“He is the Irik-Rhûl,” she said. Why did he need to convince them?
“Ay, yes,” Shineboot replied. “And will he rule thus?” He looked back at Chargrim, but instead of answering Shineboot, her father spoke to her:
“I could overrule them, ay yes. And some would resent me for it. Resentment is a hard weed to pull. It is much better to persuade. Hobblefoot and your Uncle Greal will be the hardest.”
“I fear so,” Shineboot said.
“I think you’re wrong about Hobblefoot,” Peridot said.
They both looked at her.
“How so?”
“Use the engine.”
“Over hundreds of miles of unknown ground and hills?” Chargrim asked.
“Go east or west of the ridges, on the plains.”
“There will be no going unobserved,” Shineboot said. “His engine is many things, but quiet is not one, and there would be smoke.”
“But it could carry all the supplies, and it is a defense in itself,” Peridot said. She had done what Hobblefoot had asked of her; she had examined the plans for his engine. No one could argue that Hobblefoot wasn’t ingenious. Shineboot and Chargrim were quiet, considering this.
“I cannot linger any more,” Shineboot said at last.
“After the shift bring Hobblefoot,” Chargrim said.
Shineboot nodded, downed the last of his tea, and handed the mug back to Peridot. After she closed the door behind him, Chargrim took a deep breath and released it slowly.
“It is probably best if we bring your brother, as well.”
Onyx stepped from the drift, fully dressed in her usual work attire.
“And you as well, my wif” Chargrim said.
“I will work at my craft,” she said. “I do not want to listen to such planning.”
“You know we must do something,” Chargrim replied. “And Rightauger will not be contained.”
“Ay, yes,” she said. “I still don’t want to listen to it.”
Chargrim nodded.
“As you say.”
Peridot watched her parents in silence. She was still not used to hearing them speak so openly.
“I will have Iolite prepare food and drink for you all,” Onyx said. “You may as well plan doom on a full stomach.”
With that, Onyx passed through the door to the workshop and shut it behind her. Chargrim smiled at Peridot.
“Well,” he said. “I can’t argue with that logic.”
Peridot was just thankful that her mother relied most on Iolite now, leaving Peridot mostly to her own devices. The problem was, Peridot found herself painfully short of devices. She had read her father’s library twice over, even familiarized herself with decades of Glint’s ledgers until her eyes were weary. No wonder her father rubbed his eyes so frequently. She looked forward to the meeting, though it was many hours away.