Chapter 11
Sons of the Mountain
Arkh Vesun, Mount Vesu, Barklai Mountains
As a people dwelling within the embrace of the Earth Mother, the Dwerkhar were not fond of the Light above, but there was a time when they feared it. Long ago, in the age of legends, there was a great war between the Dwerkhar and their enemies above and below. The war raged on for two hundred years, carving deep scars in the land. This angered the daughters of the Earth Mother and so they rose up to punish the warring tribes. Not only the warriors but all their kind were cursed to remain within the depths of the earth, for if they saw the light of the sun again, they would be turned to stone.
Because the Dwerkhar were not so fond of the Light above, the curse was more of an inconvenience than a dread punishment, but it was nevertheless a yoke on their necks and in time a hero arose to free them from the curse. The warrior-king Vesu was unlike any Dwerkh who came before and any who came after. A Dwerkh of any worth could claim mastery in at least one of the arts prized by their people, but Vesu was a genius who mastered them all and was skilled in magic as well, a rare gift among the Dwerkhar that was rarely used for good. Rather than use these talents for his own gain, Vesu devoted himself to the well-being of his people and in his greatest feat, he subdued the daughters of the Earth Mother and compelled them to lift the curse on the Dwerkhar. No more would the Dwerkhar need to fear the Light above and they could move about freely above and below as they would. This alone was more than enough to win Vesu the crown and have their city bear his name ever since.
Of the kings who followed Vesu, many took his name, but none could match his deeds. Some did well to do honor to their namesake, but others did not. How else could the current King be described? King Vesu IX was an embarrassment to the Dwerkhar of Arkh Vesun and a shame to the memory of their greatest hero whose name he dishonored. The King was so massively fat that he could barely fit on the throne and lethargic as a slug in winter. If there was a time he was any other way, Barthrud could not remember it.
Barthrud was the King's seneschal and overboss of the mines. He managed the King's holdings and all the kingdom's mining operations. Except in times of war, he was second to the King in terms of authority. In theory, the chamberlain and the chancellor were above him, but the chamberlain's authority did not extend beyond the palace grounds and the chancellor was nothing more than a figurehead. The kingdom's resources were in Barthrud's hands, so he was the one with real power, or at least that was what he told himself.
It was a wasted effort, he knew, but he was delivering his monthly report to the King. It was more for the sake of following the forms of courtly protocol, one of the few areas where the chamberlain had much influence. A more active sort of ruler would be invested in the state of his domain, but the King cared for little beyond the state of his next meal. Barthrud was not even certain the King was awake as his eyes were concealed by his shaggy eyebrows.
"The Margu Number Four has gone completely dry," Barthrud said. "We've started sixteen new exploratory tunnels, but so far nothing of note. At this rate, we may have to abandon Margu and redirect the miners to Kholu and Barda."
"Margu is the holy mountain," the chamberlain said. "Its gold is the finest in the land. What will we do for coin?"
"Six thousand years of excavation seems to be all the blessing she had," Barthrud replied. "Until we find a new gold vein, we could debase any new coins we mint, but any Dwerkh who would be fooled by that should be run out of the city. We should think about new excavations. The humans have apparently found gold in Vadu. We could always drive them out if we want a new war."
"There are worse reasons to start a war," Khotar the First Warlord said. He laughed. "It'll be good sport putting those skinny wights to flight."
"Good sport until they send their armies here," the chamberlain said. "They outnumber us at least ten to one, maybe even a hundred to one. If the humans come at us with all their strength, we will not be able to overcome them."
"Nonsense," Khotar balked. "Have you ever seen the way they stumble about on the rocks? We bloody them good, then draw them underground to their grave. It couldn't be easier."
"If it is so easy, why has it not been done before?" the chamberlain asked pointedly.
"Because thin-blooded cowards such as yourself have been holding our warriors back," Khotar said. "Instead of keeping us chained like dogs, let us loose and you will see what we can do."
"Even if you fought as well as you boast, the Grub-folk will not sit still. We will be fighting a war on two fronts."
Khotar thumped his chest proudly and said, "Let the Grub-folk come. We can make a grand slaughter of them and the humans both."
"Or they make a slaughter of us. And even if we do triumph, at what cost? We do not breed like the Grub-folk or even the humans. We cannot recover our losses easily."
"Is that beard real?" Khotar sneered. "I can't believe it is, 'cause clearly you've got no stones."
"I will not stand for such insults!" the chamberlain shouted. His voice cracked as he did, which only served to make him look weaker.
"Then take up your weapon of choice and defend your honor!" Khotar shouted back. "That is, assuming you've got any weapons to choose from."
Barthrud intervened at last, saying, "Enough. We're not going to start a war with the humans unless we know there is enough gain to be had."
"Is not blood and glory gain enough?" Khotar asked.
"No," Barthrud replied bluntly. "Glory counts for nothing if no one is left to sing of it, but take heart, Khotar Khotrakni, we've been encountering the Grub-folk in the Maidu Number Three. Your warriors can get blooded there."
"Not much sport in Grub-folk," Khotar sniffed, "but we'll take what sport we can get."
The King's head drooped, prompting the chamberlain to go to his side, then turn to the others and say, "His Majesty is tired. We shall reconvene another time. You are dismissed, Lord Barthrud, Lord Khotar."
Barthrud saw no reason to argue the point, so he gave a curt bow and left. Once he was out of the throne room, Khotar came up alongside him.
"Why do we lower our heads to that useless lump and his catamite?" he asked.
Barthrud stifled a low chuckle and quipped, "The honored Lord Chamberlain would need bones of iron to survive being the King's catamite."
Khotar laughed heartily at this. Barthrud thought it might serve to distract him, but as soon as Khotar was done laughing, he promptly returned to the subject.
"I'll have a clear answer from you this time, Barthrud Modrakni," he said. "That fat pile of offal isn't worthy to foul the throne with his giant arse or take the name of Vesu, so why do we bear it?"
"Do you know how much it cost us the last time there was a war for the throne?" Barthrud asked. "We could not bear it again. It would be the end of Arkh Vesun. We have stability now, time to build our strength. Between the humans and the Grub-folk, we have enemies enough. We don't need to be fighting among ourselves."
"Who says we need to fight?" Khotar asked. "Who would fight for that overgrown slug?"
"Not many, perhaps, but what about afterwards? Who would be King next? You?"
"Why not? We haven't had a good warrior-king in over thirty years."
"And you should remember well what happened to Old Modnar. Besides, I can think of at least a dozen others with steel and gold enough to challenge you for the throne."
"Like you, Barthrud Modrakni?"
"What do I want with the throne?" Barthrud scoffed. "An empty chair..."
"Not if your arse is sitting in it," Khotar replied.
"Well, my arse is one you don't have to worry about, Khotar Khotrakni."
"Then I would have your support?"
Barthrud had to carefully choose his next words lest they be weighed against him.
"You do not have my support... and neither do you have my opposition. What I will give you is counsel. If you're seriously considering treason, think first of the good of this city and its people."
"It sounds like you're counseling cowardice."
"I'm counseling prudence," Barthrud said pointedly, "which sounds like cowardice to blundering dumb oxen."
"A dumb ox will smash through all sorts of delicate crafts."
"And it'll fall into a pit and break its neck because it's too stupid and blind to see where it's going."
"You can't evade this with clever words forever, Barthrud Modrakni. When things start happening, you won't have much time to pick sides. It would be better for you if you pick before the blood starts flowing."
"Should it come to that, it will be clear where my loyalties lie."
Khotar shrugged and said, "Well, you've given me your warning and I've given you mine. What more can friends do for each other?"
"Not do things that would vex those they would call friend," Barthrud said.
Khotar grinned broadly.
"Well then, I must settle for being an imperfect friend."
"The most imperfect," Barthrud replied, returning Khotar's grin in spite of himself.
"I'll drink to that," Khotar said. "How about it? Will you join me?"
"Perhaps another time," Barthrud said. "I have other business to attend to."
Khotar shrugged again and said, "It may be the last time we can enjoy a drink in peace, but as you will. Until we meet again, Barthrud Modrakni."
"Farewell, Khotar Khotrakni."
* * *
Barthrud walked into the workshop of his brother Barthak, where he and and some twoscore apprentices were busy at work on everything from humble cooking utensils to ceremonial armor for the lord of some great house. The workshop was where all the delicate craftsmanship was done. Polishing and engraving, gemcutting and filigree, all the work of the skillful hands that was the pride of their people.
Barthak was arguably the greatest smith in all Arkh Vesun. There were no more than four others who might reasonably be judged as rivals, but he had a touch of magic none of them did and that was why he was the most sought-after and why he had more than double the apprentices of those rivals. If you wanted a Dwerkh who was worthy of the name of Vesu, there was no other.
Barthrud did not say anything as he went to a familiar crate and pulled out a couple bottles of moss beer, then took a seat at the end of Barthak's workbench. Barthak did not turn his head away from his work, but he paused to hold up a hand and snapped his fingers. His apprentices immediately stopped what they were doing and quietly filed out of the workshop. Anyone who was not so well-trained would not be counted among Barthak's apprentices for long.
"You gonna take my beer an' not even share it?" Barthak asked.
Somewhat grudgingly, Barthrud took one of the bottles and set it down near his brother. A single bottle apiece was not nearly enough, but he could get more later. Barthrud uncorked his bottle, raised it to Barthak in a silent toast, then began to drink. Barthak continued to work a while longer before reaching a stopping place, so that he could drink as well. It must have been an easy day for him as he only drank about a quarter of the bottle in his first draught.
Barthak belched, then said, "Well, the honored Lord Seneschal doesn't tend to pay a visit to his humble brother unless something has gone wrong, so what is it now?"
"Arkh Vesun is on the verge of collapse," Barthrud replied. "Is that not reason enough to drive a Dwerkh to drink?"
"Drinkin's the only reason a Dwerkh needs to drink, Brother. Ha!"
Exasperated, Barthrud asked his brother, "Could you be serious for a moment, even one moment?"
Barthak took another swig from his bottle and said, "Mines're runnin' dry and it won't be long before folks start noticin'. Them's what know're gettin' the itch. Whether it be Grub-folk or the humans, they've got holes we could use. An' if that great mound of flesh on the throne—or rather the Lord Chamberlain what does his thinkin' for him—doesn't act, maybe it's time for a new arse to be sittin' in that chair. What, Khotar been fittin' himself for the Crown of Vesu or somethin'? He ain't the only one."
"I warned him of as much," Barthrud said. "The bloody fool... We can barely hold ourselves together as it is. The last thing we need is to be fighting among ourselves. If the Grub-folk were to attack while we were too busy bleeding each other... Or worse, the humans..."
"Don't worry 'bout the humans," Barthak said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They've got water for blood."
"We underestimate them at our peril. They may not spawn like the Grub-folk or have our craft, but they're not so far behind on either count. Let them think there's something to gain by wiping us out..."
"Listen to me, Brother," Barthak said. "You worry about keeping the peace here in Arkh Vesun. Do what you can to keep the great houses from going at each other's throats. Use your control of the mines as leverage if you need it. We need more time."
Barthak only abandoned his slovenly speech when he was at his most serious and these were the times Barthrud would sit up and take notice.
"What are you talking about?" he asked. "What do you know?"
"Things will get better for us soon, but we can't afford any unnecessary disturbances. You'll see. Just rein in these fools until then."
It seemed he was intent on being cryptic. Barthrud did not always understand his brother, but he had never led him astray.
"I will do what I can," Barthrud said. "Whatever it is that is happening, if it's truly for the benefit of our people, then I pray it comes soon."
"Save your prayers," Barthak replied. "Jus' focus on doin' what needs doin'."
"You ask me to tame a pack of wild beasts."
"Then tame 'em," Barthak said with a grin. "That's the only way they're good for anythin'." He raised his bottle. "For now, drink."
Barthrud did not need to be told twice. He threw his head back and drank deeply from the bottle. He feared he would need much more than a single bottle of moss beer before all this was over.