Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 7
Braes

~

The door squawked open two inches on homemade hinges. The sound reminded me of an eagle’s challenge. A face peered out of the gloom within, long, pepper-colored beard, broad nose, dark, beady eyes like marbles nearly buried in the sand.

“What?” the dwarf barked.

“Master Coedwig, my name’s Braes. I’m the new owner of the land across the lake.”

“So? How does that affect me, elf?”

“I hope to build a cabin before the snow comes.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, slammin’ the door.

I stared at the weathered planks, mouth agape, maybe. What a way to make a livin’, drivin’ away prospective business.

I knocked again, this time with more vigor. The door swung open wider than before. The dwarf now wore a red stockin’-cap, its tail droopin’ over his shoulder like a scarf. He dangled a short-handled axe in one hand, its head as big as any I’d ever seen. The dwarf swung it a tad beside his leg, the mornin’ sun glintin’ off its razor-sharp edge.

“I already made yar acquaintance. Did ya forget somethin’?” Coedwig snapped.

“Yes, indeed.” I sensed my own grimace. Where’d I go now? “Uh. My neighbor, the ogre, said I might be able to acquire assistance in buildin’ a cabin.”

“That nosy ogre never learned to keep to his own business. If ya’re indeed a new neighbor, I hope ya learn the lesson this day. I don’t appreciate anyone pokin’ around my business. Understand?”

“I’m hardly pokin’ around,” I said. “Care to discuss business, or not?”

The axe stilled for a moment as the dwarf glared. His little eyes twitched left-to-right as though watchin’ the left-right cut of a workin’ axe. “Business is it ya’re here to discuss? Why didn’t ya say so up front? I have no time to be dallyin’ about makin’ nice with the neighbor runt. The day is short. Speak up. What’s yar offer?”

Runt? Says the kettle.

I explained the ogre’s suggestion, of tradin’ labor for loggin’ rights.

“I’ll be needin’ more specifics,” the dwarf shouted angrily. “Return when ya’re a good mind of what ya’re intendin’.”

The door slammed in my face again. I stood a moment studyin’ the planks—not that they were extraordinarily interestin’, just lost in thought. Reached up and scratched my head.

Specifics. Specifics? What does he mean?

I trudged back to my temporary lodgin’ with the trolls. When I got there I explained to Yoso and Eina what the dwarf said. Their expressions fell empty.

Yoso repeated his thoughts from the previous night. “I don’t know why anyone would prefer to live above ground anyway, when dugouts are cool in the warm months and warm in the cold.”

“Elves lived in the trees for more millennia than we can count.” I sucked on the inside of my cheek. “We’ve gotten used to the ground, but I couldn’t live under it as ya do.”

“Ya got used to the ground, ya’d get used to livin’ under it,” Yoso said. “We could dig out a home for ya, have rye growin’ over the thatch roof in no time.”

“I need a window to look out, even if it’s night. The stars winkin’ at me and the silhouettes of the trees ticklin’ the sky is as important to me as the bright sun and azure sky durin’ the day.”

“Ya wanna look out over the frightenin’ blackness of Black Lake?” Eina asked.

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head. There wasn’t much that didn’t seem to put fear in the timid troll hen’s mind.

~

The dwarf didn’t answer his door the next mornin’, but axe-work echoed far in the woods behind his cabin. I followed the sound until I found my neighbor, whackin’ meanly at wedges held against the spine of a log. A number of gnomes worked with the dwarf. I watched as the team efficiently split the log they worked.

“Mr. Woodsman. I have more specifics about our business arrangement,” I said, before they could start to work on the next split.

“I don’t have all day. Spit it out.”

I told him my new thoughts. “Master Yoso suggests a stone footin’. Windows would be nice. Nothin’ fancy mind ya.”

The dwarf glared a moment before he shook his head and returned to work.

What’ll it take to strike a deal with this nasty old dwarf?

I sat on a nearby stump and considered what the dwarf might want to hear. When the woodsman finished the next split, I walked to him and explained what more I had come up with. “With the granite quarries nearby, understand trolls split dandy slate for a roof.”

The dwarf shook his head. He said nothin’, as though discussion would be a waste of his time. I returned to my stump to cogitate. Continued my interruptions throughout the mornin’ until the dwarf broke for lunch. Still, I failed to come up with the detail the short little brute wanted. Smoothly planed boards to fit snugly together, and a fair-sized hearth was about all I added to my specifications.

“What more detail can I give ya?” I asked, as the dwarf gathered his tools, concludin’ his day.

The woodsman was obviously tired of hearin’ from me. Dwarf Coedwig stood and glared past me, before flickin’ splinters off his sleeve. “I can only use my imagination for what ya may wish to build. My vision may not be anythin’ like ya expect. I don’t want anyone I do work for talkin’ badly behind my back once the job is finished.”

“Fr—from what the ogre tells me, I trust ya’ll do right by me,” I said.

“Each day I work for ya, I work another in yar woods fellin’ timber for myself. Whatever I cut and split on my days will be my own.” The dwarf poked a fat, stubby finger at me, as though to challenge me to refuse the offer.

“I—I accept,” I said, not sure if I was acceptin’ too much on faith.

“I’ll be there at first light,” the dwarf said.

The gnomes chattered away, their high-pitched voices gratin’ on my nerves. Why do we elves have to have such good hearin’? Didn’t look forward to the irritatin’ little creatures crawlin’ all over my property.

~

I only saw the dwarf and his tiny comrades as they disappeared into my woods at sunrise. Later, far off in the forest, axe-work rang, but I had my own tasks to complete. I toiled on a chicken coop and a pen for livestock. The days passed and I saw nothin’ more of the dwarf. I went about my business. I had grass to cut for winter fodder. I fished, hunted, and smoked the meat, to be hung in a cold cellar Yoso helped me to build.

I found the troll didn’t appear to work energetically, but his stamina and efficiency made up for it twofold.

I left for a fortnight to buy stock, a pair of goats, pigs, and sheep, and a milkin’ cow, and herded them home. Half the summer was gone. I was beside myself when I saw not a single log in place when I returned. My good friend the troll was there though, with three others of his kind, diggin’ in the turf.

“What?” I shouted at Yoso. I walked into the pit which was five times deeper than I am tall. “What is this for?”

“No idea,” Yoso answered. “Assumed ya’d know. The dwarf staked off this area and told us to dig it so.”

I paced it off—two-hundred east-west, and seventy north-south. I climbed out, sat in the grass, and plunged my face into my hands. What? Was I bein’ taken advantage of? Had we been so discombobulated in our relative ideas of a cabin?

The next several days brought no improvement in my mood as the trolls carted in cleaved chunks of cliff.

Why did a wood cabin need a mountain of granite?

When the dwarf finally showed up one day draggin’ a log, I jumped up and down. “The snows will be here in weeks, yet ya haven’t laid two logs together. Ya promised to be complete by the time the cold came.”

The dwarf looked at me, silently seethin’ maybe, beady eyes twitchin’. “Ya told me ya trusted me! Now ya question my integrity as though I’m a convicted thief.” He hoisted his axe as though he considered usin’ it in less than a noble manner.

I puckered up my face and strode away, returnin’ to my own work. I looked over my shoulder from time-to-time and watched the dwarf directin’ the trolls in layin’ the huge slabs of granite as he wished, among endless measurin’ and scowls.

This continued for two days as a giant hearth formed and its flume rose into the sky. The sun fallin’, I returned to Yoso and Eina’s and cried.

What have I gotten into?

Yoso helped little. “I warned ya about dwarves, as did that ogre friend of yars. The dwarf is obviously a better bargainer than ya expected.”

~

“Master Coedwig. Can we have a word?” I called to my neighbor the next day.

The dwarf glared at me, pointed his axe inches from my nose. “I won’t be interrupted. Leave me be. I have work to do. Ya waste yar own time if ya wish.” He stomped away.

Trolls must have been endowed with all the conversation skills dwarves lacked.

~

The sun already rose late, and yielded the sky early. I stood by the long, granite-lined pit and shook my head. I held no clue what it was about. Not a plank yet rested in place. The trolls disappeared, their work done, maybe, but logs collected in piles nearby. Stack upon stack, higher than three trolls standin’ upon each other’s shoulders, split in ever-finer finish, appeared beside the pit.

I had enough. I was bein’ taken advantage of. The summer is done. The air never warmed as the sun rose and set. That day I was gonna tell the dwarf there would be no more wood cuttin’. I washed my hands of the affair. Of our agreement.

As I walked from Yoso and Eina’s home that mornin’, I found dozens of additional dwarves preparin’ to set to work. Gnomes popped in from nowhere by the hundreds.

I watched dumbstruck as they attacked the lumber, Coedwig pointin’ and gruntin’, but mostly followin’ behind his troupe, seein’ that every task was completed as he demanded.

That mornin’ the heavier logs were fit snugly together formin’ a foundation that quickly grew into broad frames. The next stack of timber disappeared as inner walls took shape. The sun lowered to the tree line, and only two stacks of lumber remained, the finest cut.

The workers disappeared quietly as they arrived, and I walked through the colossal structure. I had in mind a one-room cabin for himself.

Had I indeed failed so miserably to explain my wishes? What is this monstrosity?

I had agonized night after night thinkin’ I would have nothin’ in the end. I looked up into the joists far overhead, unclear if it was a good thin’ or bad. I wasn’t known within my clan for bein’ the most astute, or for havin’ the greatest imagination. At best I was an average student, midlin’ administrator for the council. I believe Uncle Estn bequeathed his land to me out of sympathy. I sat on the enormous, cold granite hearth, and my shoulders slumped with an unknown weight.

~

The axes worked long before the sun rose above the eastern treetops. By midmornin’ another stack of timber made its way into the construction. By mid-afternoon a grand staircase spiraled up through four levels. Tinkers showed up with wagon upon wagon of window casements, with beautiful, color-poured glass. Gnomes attacked the crates and swarmed about. By the time the sun set, it glinted off a hundred glazed panes facin’ Black Lake.

I found dwarf Coedwig standin’ between the lake and his design, takin’ it in with a critical eye. I stood beside him, in my own thoughts, overwhelmed by the sight.

“Is it not as beautiful as ya imagined?” the dwarf asked.

“I could never have imagined anythin’ so beautiful,” I told him.

For the first time, the dwarf looked at me as though he wasn’t disgusted. “Then I’m doin’ an acceptable job,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll be done with everythin’ but the finishin’ touches. Ya’ll have all winter to complete the rest, before yar guests arrive.”

“G—g—guests?” I asked.

“Black Lake is well known. Ya’ll need a good barn to house the horses and buggies carryin’ the folk who’ll be flockin’ to yar inn, yar cabyne.”

I felt the blood flood my face. Cabin. Cabyne? Inn?

“If ya’re satisfied with my work thus far, perhaps ya’d like me to strike yar barn?” the woodsman asked.

I struggled to find my voice. “If—if I—fail to give ya the detail of what I want, I know I can trust yar imagination.”

“That ya may, lad. Ya’re gonna be needin’ help with yar cabyne. I can make recommendations, if ya wish.”

“I’m sure I can trust anyone ya recommend, as well.”

Coedwig turned to face me, heftin’ his axe as he often did. For the first time since I met him, a smile crossed the dwarf’s face.

“I’ll send ya an ogre I know who can fire the earthenware ya’ll need. He’s a fine craftsman. But take care. Those ogres are crafty devils. They’ll steal the shine off yar axe if ya turn yar back on ’em.”

~