Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 20
Eina

~

I chased the dwarf through the rock-strewn clearin’, beatin’ him over the head with my broom, none too lightly. The alto voices of a half-dozen other dwarves made a din, but bein’ a troll hen, they were easily ignored, and they kept their distance, wantin’ nothin’ to do with my ire. Stinkin’ dwarf. I stated my instructions often enough to be remembered. No longer would I be disregarded.

The dwarf climbed between the huge blocks that were ready to be fit into place as the foundation. I pounded the tops of the stones as though they were the dwarf’s head, even if he was safely out of reach.

“I told ya there will be a wood floor, not granite! I told ya there will be four fireplaces, one in each bedroom, one each in the livin’ chamber, and the kitchen! Those bedrooms will be larger! Do ya hear me?”

I stopped poundin’ with the broom and peered between the cracks of the massive stones, at the beady eyes glarin’ back at me. I pointed a thumb at him.

“Do ya hear me?” I demanded again.

He spoke in Dwarfish, I assumed another argument, and I returned to my poundin’.

“I’m gonna chop ya into little pieces for fish bait,” he bellowed. Found a few words in Standish. The twerp.

There was a rumble of trollen laughs from the onlookers deliverin’ the granite blocks. Wasn’t quite sure how to take that. But they better not get in my way.

“I’ll see ya eatin’ yar axe!” I shouted.

The dwarf mumbled in his own language again. The watchin’ trolls wobbled their heads with humor.

“Orcs can’t take the cold as ya little runts can! Ya’ll build this as I say.” I growled, showin’ my canine teeth prominently. The cold made my breath mist. That should add to my look.

The runt’s an idiot to defy me. I’ll have my way! Gave him another growl.

“What’s that human woman feedin’ ya? I liked ya better when ya were a fearful thin’ who huddled in her dugout,” the dwarf walkin’ up the hill said.

I turned slowly after slammin’ the top of the stones one last time with my broom. A last bit of straw exploded into the air, and rained down on the hidin’ dwarf. I faced Master Coedwig.

“I never did like ya much one way or the other either,” I said. “But I would rather ya were buildin’ this home. Are ya sure ya can’t free yarself up?”

“I was foolish enough to promise Master Braes, even with the snow and short days, to have his new wing up by mid-summer. I’m gettin’ too old to make those kinds of promises. I should have known better.”

“I need somethin’ sturdier than a broom,” I grumbled.

“Ya can’t use my axe.” Coedwig peered at the ruined broom.

I glared. “I don’t think this other runt understands Standish.” I let my shoulders slump in frustration, only to snap around and whack the other dwarf’s hidin’ place with the stick that used to be a broom.

“Calm yarself, hen, or ya won’t find any dwarf who’ll work for ya.”

“I may go find humans in a Northern village to come and do this,” I challenged.

Coedwig lifted his chin. The hidin’ dwarf poked his head up between the blocks. Both of their expressions showed their respective disgust with that idea.

“Ya don’t have to get nasty, now,” Coedwig said. “Let me speak with Rynauld and see if I can help him get started in a more productive mood.”

“Ya do that and I’ll prepare ya a fine meal,” I told Coedwig. But I turned toward the other dwarf and eyed him with the meanest expression in my arsenal, and bared my teeth again.

“How goes the plannin’ for the orcin weddin’?” Coedwig asked.

I turned back, maybe a bit of suspicion tintin’ my glare. What was on the dwarf’s mind? Coedwig isn’t a gossiper. Took a rock pick to pry news out of his hide. Acted as though he cared little about the goin’s-on of The Hamlet. That’s exactly what it is, an act. But what’s he doin’ askin’ about the orcs?

“Don’t give me that evil eye, hen,” Coedwig grumbled.

I stood erect. Ouch. May have pulled a muscle. “It’s a fairly private ritual for orcs it seems. Folks won’t get much excuse for dancin’ and carryin’ on.”

The dwarf stroked his long beard and studied the toes of his boots. “Ya trolls appreciate an excuse to carry on, doncha?”

I grinned, knowin’ he had to be distracted with one thought or another. He well knows Yoso and I aren’t big on shindigs. “What’s on yar little mind, ya devious little runt?”

“Yar kind is twice too suspicious for yar own good,” he said. “Why doncha see to yar own business and let me straighten out Rynauld for ya before we’re covered in snow too deep for a dwarf to traipse about. Or ya start another war.”

“Ya shooin’ me off, runt?”

“Stop callin’ me runt.” He hefted his axe toward me. “I don’t have to worry about bein’ overly subtle with ya, do I?” he growled.

I raised my one-time-broom handle and snapped it in two. Shook the two pieces at the hidin’ dwarf. “It won’t be an insult I’ll be givin’ that one,” I said, noddin’ over my shoulder, “if he doesn’t do what I say.”

“Ya trolls are fast with a threat.”

“Faster to follow through with our ire,” I countered.

Coedwig laughed. I peered at him, more than a little suspicious, maybe. Dwarves are no more known for their humor than they are their humility or patience. I nodded to the small creature, picked up my skirt a tad to wade through the frost nipped grass, and headed for the inn.

What did the dwarf mean with his comment? Odd it is for me to act as I do now. Five years ago I could hardly look my own mate in the eye, much less chase a dwarf in anger. I imagined the surprise on my daughter’s face when I told her, “It’s nice to have ya visit, but ya’ll return to yar mate and resolve what there is between ya. There will be no hangin’ me or yar papa over his head.”

A bit of warmth billowed about me that belied the season. My new sense of—is it confidence—is more than emotionally liberatin’. When I don’t immediately agree to my mate’s every whim, Yoso often says, “That human woman has ruined ya,” before smilin’ and sayin’, “I’m very glad.”

The big grin risin’ on my face wore welcome. I clomped up the steps of the inn’s veranda. Out of habit I turned and looked at the slate-colored water of the Lake reflectin’ the dreary clouds that would cover the highlands for the next seven months. The water looked tired. I lifted my chin. After a decade in the dark of my dugout, now I revel in the light of day, even an overcast, near-wintery one. My eyes are mostly adjusted to the glare, too. Five decades of livin’ with a troll who loves the sky hadn’t given me that love. I’m at a loss to explain what did. The experiencin’ of it, surely. The old goat had somethin’ right goin’ on in his mostly-empty head.

I turned, but didn’t enter the inn. Crossed the veranda instead and followed the boardwalk to Janding’s gallery. I opened the door and the three orcs standin’ before the front counter turned and bared their needle-like teeth in their kinds’ smile.

“Good day, Mistress Eina,” the matriarch called with a lilt she’d discovered the past month or so. Almost sounded proper Southern.

How much of her bliss was from the soon-to-come matin’ of Kincere and the loyal Kelhin? Pazeta had worked past plenty of demons herself to become the confident leader of her small pod of orcs. While she automatically deferred to her son to make the day-to-day decisions as the formal leader, Janding would smile and nod to her, allowin’ her the privilege. The four of them worked and lived side-by-side seamlessly. I marvel at the velvet continuity of their peace. Orcs. Certainly not the savages depicted in trollkind stories.

“Good day to all of ya,” I growled.

The three replied in kind, and between the gentle tappin’ of mallet on chisel, a voice echoed a hello from the far corner, where the light is best.

“I’m glad there’s one orc here-about workin’ hard,” I called.

“The late-summer rush of visitors kept the others toilin’,” Janding called. “They’re due their rest.”

“He must get these shelves restocked, or Master Braes will have us out in the cold,” his hen siblin’ teased.

I had to smile at the nervous look that came over Kelhin’s face. His eyes twitched left and right as though he searched for somethin’ productive to do. Pazeta reached out and placed a gentle hand on the young bull’s shoulder.

“Don’t even think about tryin’ to help with the construction again,” she said. “They might not be so delicate the next time.”

“Delicate? The dwarf picked me up and threw me ten feet.” Kelhin’s mouth formed a big circle, demonstratin’ the insult he still felt from the way the other runt-kind treated him. Very funny.

“He was holdin’ his axe in his other hand,” Kincere joined in. “He could have easily used that to get ya out of his way.”

“That’d ruined a perfectly good matin’ ritual to-come,” Pazeta said with a straight face.

“Indeed,” Kincere agreed, matchin’ her mama’s stoic expression.

Her future mate squinted his eyes in a feigned glare.

“Watch out, Kelhin,” Janding called to his friend from the other side of the shop without lookin’ up from the carvin’ he worked on. “The hens will tear ya apart if they join forces.”

“Yes, why doncha go off and find ya somethin’ to do,” I suggested. “I’ll have a word with Pazeta and Kincere.”

The bull lad pursed his lips, but dutifully crossed the galley to join Janding.

“What’s on yar mind, Mistress?” Pazeta asked.

I scrunched my face up, maybe, questionin’ my own meddlin’ for a moment. I took a step closer to the two orcs and leaned over deeply to bring my face closer to theirs. Worried expressions painted the faces of the two orc hens, and I allowed a grin to cross mine to alleviate their concerns. A pain pinched at my old troll’s back. Shruggin’ it away, I leaned down onto one knee to get closer to the level of the much shorter orcs.

“Ya’re scarin’ me, Eina,” Pazeta said.

“I’m just a-gossipin’, nothin’ more,” I said. “The dwarf, Coedwig, inquired most peculiarly of the weddin’ ceremony. Most odd for a dwarf.” I pursed my lips and squinted.

“I’ll take yar word for it, ma’am,” Pazeta said, an obvious question on her face.

“He’s eager to have us out of his home.” Kincere grinned.

I growled—a troll chuckle version. “He grumbles like all dwarves do, but he’s takin’ to bein’ around folk, since he’s been stayin’ at the inn. I think he tired of the long hike from the other side of the cove, even before he gave ya the use of his cabin.”

“Master Braes has kept him busy over here,” Kincere added, with a nod.

The gossipin’ was rudely interrupted, as the target of our conspirin’ unexpectedly entered the shop. After the greetin’s, Coedwig got directly to business, as one would expect for a no-nonsense dwarf.

“Eina, I’ll have a word with the orcs,” he said.

I smiled, and rose, back crackin’ and snappin’ a half dozen times. But instead of leavin’ I walked to the near wall and snatched a little-people chair, pullin’ it near, and sat on the edge of the thin’. My knees poked up into the air, and I leaned my arms on them. I would be part of this conversation. Gladys would never forgive me, returnin’ without some kind of juicy information. So, I must be on a mission of sorts, this mornin’.

After an irritated glance my way, Coedwig grumbled, but impatiently proceeded. “I’ll give ya the proposal for the four of ya to discuss. Get back to me when ya wish.”

Very polite for a dwarf.

“My place is too big for me, with the younglin’s off, and their younglin’s busy with their own interests. Kincere and Kelhin will need space as they start spawnin’ little ones. The place ya’re buildin’ won’t do for all of ya in the long haul. It’d be good for ya and Janding alone.”

I sensed a big grin crossin’ my face. Pazeta caught my eye for a moment.

“Has a spacious shed that’ll make a perfect studio for Janding. We can come to terms that are fair,” he continued. “A family needs room to stretch its arms. Ya know where to find me.”

Coedwig turned and left as brusquely as he arrived. Embarrassed, maybe? Not an emotion one normally associates with dwarf kind.

“Ahhhhh.” I rubbed my hands together. “This is a wonderful way to break up the cold autumn. When my brood was home, we passed half a season without sharin’ a word with our only two neighbors. I wouldn’t consider movin’ to the mines now, even if Yoso demanded it.”

I reached out and patted Pazeta’s hand, which lay on the countertop, twitchin’ nervously. I rose and replaced the chair without another word, and left the gallery. Time for the two hens to cluck.

The chill breeze comin’ up the slope off the Lake took my breath away for a moment. I stood on the boardwalk lookin’ out at the Lake, breathin’ in the sea-like quality of the air. I could make out ice crystals formin’ in the air and floatin’ to the ground. It wouldn’t be long before ice a foot thick covered the surface of the Lake.

To the west, a patch of blue sky opened up, but the haze quickly covered it back up. The far off trumpet of Mo’sale carried over the water, announcin’ his return to the lair, no doubt with a morsel for the hungry clutch of five.

Oh, the day the bull-dragon landed near the inn. His eyes whirled in pride, joy, to announce the hatchin’ of his brood.

“A queen,” he beamed. “Four bulls.”

Coedwig had marched down the long steps with Master Braes to congratulate the struttin’ creature. Gnomes blinked in and out around the dragon. Mo’sale’s head weaved left and right like a flag in a midlin’ breeze. All the races took the news much differently than they would have the previous year.

“They will all be named in honor of the Lake, this community,” Mo’sale said, before takin’ to the air.

When I shared my thoughts about the clutch with Gladys, the woman uncharacteristically said nary a word. Just smiled. I thought anyone would think her daft for feelin’ the clutch would be our protectors. It made sense to fear them. They were, after all, dragons. Their kind pitted the races against one another, generations ago. So the stories go. But I’ve learned, since comin’ to what’s become The Hamlet, maybe the old stories aren’t—entirely accurate.

The day had come that a proud dragon could announce his good news to all.

I took in a deep gulp of cold air and blew it out in a rush. There’s still the mystery of the bull dwarf’s curiosity about the orc matin’ ritual. Too funny. Just wait til Gladys hears. She won’t be denied. She’ll learn what’s on the bull’s itty bitty mind.

I sighed deeply. Mind traipsin’ on. Who might have more wins at the checker boards this mornin’—troll, human, or elf?

~