Chapter 14
Coedwig
~
I snarled, turned, and flung my axe into the trunk of a tree thirty feet away. The vibration of the axe handle filled the air around us twenty silent dwarves with a high-pitched hum for several moments. We stood starin’ at the axe until it stopped quiverin’.
“Actin’ the angry, spoiled tyke isn’t gonna make me change my mind,” the elder snapped.
I’d made every argument I knew to make. There was no more to say. They should know better. That the dragons never signed the Covenant meant nothin’ to them. One had even joked, that it would have been difficult for them to sign it, considerin’ their taloned paws.
Imbeciles! They’ve become complacent after generations of peace.
I remembered well the stories my grandsire passed down, of when the races battled each other for survival. Dwarfkind would have perished if we hadn’t been supported by the majical gnomes, to warn us when attacks were imminent, to lead us through ambushes, even aidin’ our hunts for food. I was part of the first generation that made our way out of the trolls’ abandoned mines, where we fled to escape the horrors of the wars.
Those freezin’, sunless, wet caverns were miserable places. The generations that survived barely hung on to start the next. From the constant, moldy cold—our lives were cut short by the lung disease that made us cough until the phlegm turned bloody. It was a more gruesome death than bein’ caught in the open by one of the lesser races.
That motivated us to seek out the elves to begin with. The two nations struggled to bring the other races together, to share words of reconciliation. By then, we all had experienced enough sufferin’. It had taken too long, by anyone’s countin’. It was time for peace. Then, by separatin’ the races.
“Grandpapa. Let’s go. We’re done here,” Morelrod said.
I looked at the young dwarf’s hand on my shoulder, into the lad’s face, the scarlet beard, sky-blue eyes, before I covered the younglin’s hand with my own.
“The decision is final,” the elder repeated. “Will not hear another word on the matter.”
I ripped a glare at my clan leader.
“Don’t give me that stink eye.” The dwarf thrust his chin forward, pointin’ at me with his axe.
A grumble of irritation mingled among my peers. The fools.
“I hope we don’t live to rue this day,” I growled.
“I hope we live to celebrate a continuin’ peace,” the elder snapped.
A round of deep throated, “Aye, ayes,” rumbled from the other elders.
“Come, Papa,” Emenroth said. “Morelrod and I have long hikes home.”
I growled and fell into the circle to shake hands and make farewells. The council rarely gets together anymore. There’s little business to discuss. The community of dwarves had thinned the past century. As the Wildes got safer, the younglin’s moved farther and farther south, and developed their own councils. The remainin’ old dwarves had little to snarl at each other about. We minded our business, interactin’ with the increasin’ plethora of lesser races that moved nearby. It had been a long time since humankind visited Black Lake. But they appeared peaceful enough. The council never even mingled to discuss their reemergence.
It took the presence of the dragons, Ash’et and Mo’sale, to bring us together. I doubt they will live in harmony as they claim. If they indeed raised a brood, it meant more of the beasts to contend with. I can’t imagine the disaster if the hen, Ash’et, managed to bring new queens into the world. The only positive, there would be peace until the brood fledged. For harmony to continue after that, I’m much less optimistic.
I admitted to my relief that I wouldn’t soon be leadin’ my own younglin’ and his younglin’ into the mountains to hunt out the dragons. But fear nagged at me. The day was not far in the future that we had more than two dragons to contend with, to battle.
The circle broke and Morelrod walked to the old oak to retrieve my axe. He couldn’t reach it. Leapt in the air several times before his fingers glanced off the handle.
“The humans call us toads.” Emenroth chuckled. “If they observed yar hoppin’ about they’d find an even more condescendin’ term for us.”
“Very funny,” the lad said.
Emenroth gave his younglin’ a slap on the shoulder. “Take a knee.”
The whiskers on Morelrod’s upper lip stuck straight out as he puckered up his face, clearly none-too happy what that might mean. His papa slapped him on the back, and the reluctant lad bent over on all fours, to form a dandy stepstool. The shorter Emenroth still couldn’t quite grab the handle of the axe, and I rewarded him with a derisive snicker.
Emenroth shot me an irritated glance. “We can easily leave it here to rust.”
I waved dismissively. “Imagine the stories that will give me, of my younglin’ and grandyounglin’ who couldn’t get an axe out of a tree.”
Morelrod grunted. “Whatever ya’re gonna do, do it. Yar killin’ me.”
Emenroth squatted down and leapt up to grab the handle, as Morelrod shouted in pain melodramatically. He fell to the ground and rolled away, scrambled up and stood beside me. We stood there, lookin’ at Emenroth danglin’ in the air, swingin’ his stubby legs.
“Aghhhhh,” Emenroth groaned, and added a dwarf oath his mama would have pelted him for, to emphasize his frustration.
“Well?” I challenged my younglin’. “Ya just gonna hang there until the council’s next gatherin’?
“Well, what? Have ya got any ideas?” he said, kickin’ his feet. “This is all yar doin’.”
“I’m gonna walk to Black Lake Inn and enjoy one of Gladys and Eina’s fine dinners.”
“Ya old coot.”
After discussion about namin’ the axe Excaliber, Emenroth finally got his feet set against the tree to gather his leverage, and extracted the thin’ after much gruntin’ and sweatin’. He somersaulted backward, landed on his head and a shoulder, miraculously avoided rollin’ into the blade of the axe. Amazin’ he didn’t cleave his chest open before he hit the ground.
After much complainin’ and condemnin’, I led them to the inn for a dinner, disinclined to think overly much about the near-disaster of my younglin’s tumble with a razor-sharp axe. Still, Emenroth had to endure a load of teasin’ from the two of us.
~
When Emenroth and Morelrod left for their own homes, I stood on the inn’s veranda watchin’ them until they were out of sight. I studied the unfinished boardwalk that snaked sinuously from the pier toward the inn, my latest project for elf Braes. With a melancholy sigh I walked inside and found Braes at the front counter.
“I’ll be away for several days,” I said. Maybe forever. “Got business at the edge of the Wildes.”
Braes peered over the counter at me, pursin’ his lips tightly. He read my lie as clearly as me. “Ya take care, my friend.” Somethin’ other than he said, mirrored in the elf’s eyes.
No discussin’ what was truly passin’ between us. “That I will,” I growled.
I got a bag of Eina’s biscuits to take with me, and headed home for a bedroll and a pack for other necessities, for a few nights in the forest. Definitely not a kit that would take me all the way to the Wildes.
I hiked west. Would have a long walk around the far-side of the lake, but it gave me an opportunity to watch the skies and, hopefully, get a glimpse of dragon silhouettes from time to time. To aid me in findin’ their whereabouts.
In my youth, I explored the broader lands around the lake, illegally, before the Covenant expired. But since, there hadn’t been much need nor desire to trace my old steps. The wildlife that made it to my table was never far afield. But I figgered I knew where Ash’et and Mo’sale would prepare their lair. Their kind preferred above the tree line, with a view unrestricted for the approach of a foe, and where they could look down upon the rest of the world as though they owned it, as dragons believed they did.
I found the absence of the gnomes troublin’. Impossible to keep them out of my kitchen. Underfoot with nearly every swing of my axe. Other dwarves often commented I had to be a favorite. Yet not one had blinked in since the elders meetin’. As often as I wished for privacy through the seasons, their defection burned odd, like not swingin’ an axe from my hand as I walked.
~
The sun fell below the far peaks and I collected enough scattered small limbs to make a comfortin’ fire, not to cook, but for flames to stare into, to reflect upon what I’m in the woods for. The smoke helped keep away the mosquitoes. The fire’s glow sent the dragons the message that there was another skulkin’ the forest, if they were keepin’ watch. Which they would be. Few days had passed since they introduced themselves on the pier. They were given no love that day. They would be watchin’ their back.
~
I rose before the new sun, no more confident in what my trek is about. I gnawed on a thick strip of jerky and one of Eina’s biscuits, starin’ at the brightenin’ sky.
No matter what I do, at least enjoy the hike. Haven’t seen this part of the Range in five decades. I may never see it again. For more than one reason.
I rolled up my fur, tied it to my pack, which I swung upon my back, and headed south, steelin’ myself to cross one of the tributaries that feed Black Lake. Not a river, more a creek, but for a critter barely taller than a marmot is long, who doesn’t appreciate gettin’ wet even on Saturday bath night, I’m willin’ to hike out of my way to find a crossin’ where I could tip toe over rocks that are high and dry.
After my uneventful crossin’ late that afternoon, I headed north, toward the ominous lookin’ peaks, still askin’ myself why I’m here, other than to re-live my prideful explorin’, when my beard shone as red as my grandyounglin’s.
The first remnant campfire I crossed was days old. I thought little of it.
“Inevitable that adventurous souls would settle the backside of the valley,” I grumbled to myself. “Even the Wildes aren’t as wild as they once were.”
But as the day proceeded, evidence of recent, successful hunts had me studyin’ the footprints. These were no Westerner’s tracks. Boot heels tamped the pine needle cover, but they weren’t human steps—they weren’t big enough. They belonged to critters more used to the rocky trails east, or the sand of the deserts between. My mind fluttered back to the dragon queen’s words. She spoke of seein’ orcs and goblins.
I assumed she lied—to rattle us.
“I hate to think of a dragon tellin’ the truth. If ya can’t assume every word they utter is a fallacy, it makes them even more treacherous,” I said, studyin’ the evidence of wolves feedin’ upon the scraps left from the current butcherin’.
I stood straight and peered around, suddenly warier of this new threat than of the dragons I came to spy on, if that is indeed what I was about.
I held my breath a moment, and closed my eyes. Not a footstep interrupted the wind whisperin’ a warnin’ through the tops of the pines, and the crows and jays debatin’ what trees they held right to claim as theirs. No murmured words from two-legged folk. I leaned over and again studied the prints that affronted my forest floor, to determine what direction they retreated. I eyed the woods nervously, before followin’ the trail southeast.
~
As the sun threatened to set, I watched for oak to interrupt the pines, sign of runnin’ water nearby. My flask was dry and I’d welcome a spot of hot tea to take the edge off my mood. I entered a clearin’, scannin’ the slope I’d next traverse. The thicker undergrowth gave the best hope for a camp with runnin’ water. I trudged on.
I took my fill from the trickle that made it over the polished stones before pullin’ out several larger stones to create a pool to fill my flask in the mornin’. By then, the silt I disturbed would wash away. I collected wood for my fire, but before I struck a spark, the scent of another fire in the distance jolted me alert.
It was faint, but I wasn’t imaginin’ it. I stood, wrinkled my nose a-smellin’, to get a fix on where the whiff came. I decided upon a direction and debated upon settin’ out directly. The thought of walkin’ alone in the dark, with possible foes in my way, was not one I relished.
Whoever it be, they’ll be there in the morn.
~
After a restless night I broke camp early and struck out, south. I found the remains of the others’ fire, too quickly. The idea I slept so closely to whomever it was, made my nape tingle. The coals had been quenched only minutes earlier. I studied the prints in the new light and followed their trail south. They turned east as the land gently dropped away.
~
I fell upon the huntin’ party, most clumsily on my part, as the forest opened upon a plateau. I’d assumed they’d be movin’ more briskly. As it turned out, they were heavily laden with the spoils of their efforts. I braced myself for a charge, raised my axe high. I’d never seen their kind in person, but easily recognized them from sketches in books, the descriptions of them, as my papa and grandpapa told tales at the fire at night.
Blood-thirsty orcs of lore. The race that lathered the goblins into a frenzy for battle. But the five pairs of starin’, coal-black eyes were fearful, not threatenin’.
They were a head taller than a dwarf, but spindly creatures, with a neck that didn’t look as though it could hold a proper head, shoulders and arms that would never lift a dwarf’s axe. All that made them the least bit scary lookin’ was the sharp pointed teeth they bared as they turned on me.
Ya’re outnumbered. Take the element of surprise. Attack them—quick. It’s yar only hope.
But I stood, studyin’ them. They shook in their boots. Their obvious fear made my skin crawl.
“What are ya?” the youngest of the five asked in proper Standish. He didn’t move to put down his burden—to prepare for battle, as he should.
They’re little more than younglin’s. Should be holdin’ onto their mama’s skirts, not stragglin’ a half continent away from home. “Dwarf,” I said. “Ya’re orcs?”
The lad, of maybe ten years, nodded.
“Ya break the Covenant enterin’ the Range,” I said.
The orc who looked the eldest blinked, swallowed hard, edged forward to stand before the others. I think he might have shuddered.
“We volunteered to search out food for our clan,” the orc said. “We were told our lives would be forfeited if we were discovered. We had little choice.”
“The desert and prairie are full of antelope and sheep. Why do ya travel so far to our forests?” I challenged.
“Maybe they were when the Covenant was signed,” the lad mumbled. “But rain hasn’t fallen there in a century. The prairie is desert. What was desert is dunes.”
“Are ya gonna kill us?” asked the youngest-lookin’ lad of the five.
“Hush, Janding,” hissed the elder orc standin’ next to him.
“I’ve heard stories that the desert has become—” I stopped. Didn’t know what to say, or whether I wished to speak it. The ramification was more dangerous than dragons comin’ to Black Lake.
As though my thoughts majically conjured the beast, a flash of movement in the sky made me look up. The five orcs followed my glare.
“It doesn’t matter now,” the elder orc said. “We’re all done for now.”
“Should we run?” the orclin’ named Jandin’ asked.
“Go ahead if ya think ya can outrun that,” one of the other orclin’s mumbled, pointin’ into the air.
I lowered my axe to rest my shoulder, expectin’ I may need all of my strength in a moment. I waited as the dragon soared near. Every minute hardened my chest. What should be my strategy for fightin’ the beast? Hope for a second swing, go at the extended talons, or throw the axe for the dragon’s well protected heart?
The queen neared, streamlined to strafe the group. I faced the creature, heftin’ my axe, but she retracted her legs, and flung her wings downward to push her back into the sky. The five orclin’s stood bravely, fightin’ the gust and debris that blasted us.
Ash’et took a tight turn and came around, settlin’ twenty feet before me. The thrust of her wings that brought her to a comfortable landin’ threw more sand and pine needles into the air, which I closed my eyes against.
The queen drew in her enormous wings. “Ya’re the dwarf I met on the pier days ago.”
“I am,” I replied.
She thrust her snout toward the orcs, studyin’ them. Gave them a long sniff. “I didn’t think yar two races put up with each other.”
The five moved more closely together. The four older lads encircled the one named Jandin’. The young orc struggled to see between his friends.
“There’s somethin’ ya aren’t the expert in, then,” I challenged the queen dragon.
“I see not havin’ the support of twenty friends doesn’t make ya less free with yar tongue.” Ash’et pulled her head back and let go a short trumpet, enjoyin’ her own sarcasm. She extended her neck, immense head the size of ten dwarfs, lowerin’ near, and peered closely at the five orclin’s again. “Not much of a raidin’ party.”
“W— We aren’t a-raidin’,” the elder said with a raspy voice.
Ash’et swung her head toward me. “No wise remark, dwarf?”
She seemed to tire of my glare. “Yar kind never were very sharp witted.” She turned back to the orcs. “If it weren’t for the goblins, the humans would have wiped ya off the plains without much effort. The world woulda been a better place.” She turned back to me. “Ya can take their deer, dwarf. I prefer my meat breathin’ as I take my first taste. I’ll drag them along. The five skinny runts will give Mo’sale and me a snack.”
“Ya won’t be takin’ any snacks today, at least not on this plateau,” I said.
The dragon’s neck arched, like a snake recoilin’. She cocked her head, studyin’ me. After a moment, she looked toward the trees, fifty yards away, perhaps as though she feared she may have missed somethin’. She must have satisfied her fears and turned back.
“I didn’t think ya western races ate yar enemies,” she said. “There’s too much meat here for ya to carry home, dwarf.” Her voice vibrated as she lowered it an octave.
“Indeed, we don’t eat our foes, dragon.” I slurred the name of her race as though it was somethin’ I didn’t want in my mouth.
“Ya would waste their carcasses simply to keep me from them?” Ash’et asked. “So be it. They don’t have enough across their bones to warrant arguin’ over. I told ya I wish to live here in peace.”
“Then ya’ll leave their huntin’ parties be as well, those who honor us by makin’ themselves known to us.”
Ash’et stilled for a long moment. “Odd ya didn’t mention the other day on the pier that ya’d aligned with their kind.” She paused. “An ogre and troll peace is believable. Findin’ dwarf and orc speakin’ civilly—” The dragon’s head cocked left then right. “Thin’s have certainly changed since we flew south.”
“Ya’re invited to return there,” I said. “Sure it would suit ya better.”
The dragon cocked her enormous head to the side again. “Yar rudeness will be tolerated only so long, dwarf. Stand warned.”
“Then, ya’ll feel the sting of my axe, queen,” I answered.
Her eyes narrowed. She raised a taloned paw and closed it tight, as though squeezin’ the life out of somethin’. She sprung into the air without warnin’, her wings blastin’ us, makin’ me and the five stagger.
Blinkin’ away the dust, I watched her ascend.
The youngest orc interrupted my thoughts. “Why didn’t she kill ya—all of us?”
I laughed, a dry, humorless one. “Times have changed, like yar prairie.”
“Will ya let us go, with our haul?” the lad pressed, bravely enough.
“Yar name is Janding?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Ya’re quick to speak before yar elders,” I challenged.
“I’m a prince among my clan,” he said. “I speak for my friends.”
I studied him a moment—funny, maybe a bit like the dragon had—glanced at the other four, before turnin’ back to Jandin’. “Send yar elders to meet with the councils of Black Lake. If ya continue to poach our forests there can be no peace. But if ya starve, there’s certainly no justice. Perhaps we can find concord together.”
The lad didn’t speak. Merely nodded, almost a bow. Turned and walked east, and the four followed. I watched them trudgin’ under their burden. The elf knockin’ on my door years ago had irritated me. Humans followed the elf. Now, I dared welcome orcs.
I survived another conversation with a dragon queen. Doubly surprisin’.
Oh. I jolted. Shook my head as a covey of gnomes appeared. I glanced around at the majical ones, but they were reserved, unmoved, as though they hadn’t been absent for the better part of three days. The pudgy-cheeked majies silently watched the orcs walkin’ away for their sand and cactus.
~
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