“Faster when it’s this significant.” Stonehammer glanced at the other dwarves, who were clearly curious, whispering among themselves as they eyed the village and its inhabitants. “They say you had help. From one of their own kind.”
Before Boarstaff could respond, they reached the village’s central area where a great fire pit had been prepared. Logs arranged in a circle served as seating for the council, with additional spaces added for the dwarven representatives. Above them, the Heart Tree’s massive presence dominated the space, its sealed entrance visible to all.
The dwarven gazes were drawn repeatedly to the Tree, their expressions a mixture of awe and wariness. While the alliance between orcs and dwarves had endured for generations, the secrets of the Heart Tree were not shared with outsiders. Yet Boarstaff could tell, they sensed something unusual in its sealed state.
After the ceremonial sharing of food and drink, a grizzled dwarf with an intricate iron fist worked into his beard clasp leaned forward. “I am Ironfist, tactical advisor to the Iron Holds.” His eyes, sharp and assessing, fixed on Boarstaff. “Is it true? You harbor a vampire within your walls?”
A tense silence fell over the gathering. Orc council members exchanged glances, some wary, others defiant. Boarstaff felt the weight of their collective gaze.
“Sebastian de la Sang aided our escape from the vampire citadel,” he said carefully. “He chose to help us at great personal cost.”
“A vampire cannot be trusted,” said one of the younger dwarves, his brown beard barely reaching his chest. “Their nature is deception. Their loyalty is to blood alone.”
Moonsinger rose from her seat. She gestured toward the sealed Heart Tree with a gnarled hand. “He killed his own brothers to save our warchief. Now he resides within our most sacred place, by the Tree’s own choice.”
The revelation sent murmurs rippling through the dwarven contingent. Boarstaff watched their expressions shift from skepticism to astonishment.
“To kill one’s own blood…” Ironfist said slowly. “Among vampires, there is no greater betrayal. No one has ever turned against House de la Sang and lived to speak of it.”
“Which means Cornelius will stop at nothing to reclaim or destroy his remaining son,” added Stonehammer, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “This is no longer just about border disputes or hunting grounds.”
As the meeting progressed, maps were brought out and laid on rough wooden tables erected for the purpose. Torches were lit as the day’s light began to fade, casting long shadows across the gathered faces. Storm clouds continued to build on the horizon, mirroring the tension in the discussion.
The dwarves shared what intelligence they had gathered about House de la Sang’s activities in recent months. Trade routes disrupted, settlements abandoned, strange lights seen in remote mountain passes.
“Zarek and Dominic were Cornelius’s favored weapons,” said an older dwarf with a pale scar running from temple to jaw. “I encountered all three brothers decades ago when they raided one of our mining outposts. Sebastian was there too, drenched in blood like the others.” His gnarled fingers traced the scar on his face. “This came from his blade.”
Boarstaff felt the council’s gazes shift to him, questioning.
“Sebastian has centuries of blood on his hands,” Boarstaff acknowledged, meeting the scarred dwarf’s gaze without flinching. “He served his house faithfully. He killed alongside his brothers.”
“Then why turn against them now?” asked Gemcutter, the youngest of the dwarven leaders.
The scarred dwarf studied Boarstaff carefully. “I’ve heard that Cornelius was never satisfied with his eldest son. Sebastian executed his duties, but lacked the creativity for cruelty that his brothers possessed. Still a monster, but one that sometimes remembered what it was to be human.”
“Perhaps that’s what the Tree saw in him,” Moonsinger said quietly. “Not innocence, but possibility.”
“You’ve cut off two of the serpent’s heads,” Ironfist said grimly, “but the father is the most venomous of all. And now you’ve taken his last son.”
As he spoke, the crystal light embedded in the Heart Tree’s bark pulsed more intensely, a momentary flare that caught the attention of the more observant council members. Moonsinger’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but she said nothing.
After the strategy discussion concluded, Boarstaff led the dwarven leaders on a tour of the village’s defenses. The eastern wall had been reinforced with new wooden buttresses. Trenches had been dug at strategic approach points. Arrow slits had been cut into existing structures to create fallback positions.
Throughout the tour, questions about Sebastian persisted.
“Where is he now, this vampire ally?” asked Stonehammer as they inspected a newly constructed watchtower.
Boarstaff gestured toward the sealed Heart Tree, visible from every part of the village. “He’s within the Heart Tree. None may enter. He asked for solitude to heal, and we’ve respected his wishes.”
This revelation caused fresh murmurs among the dwarves. That a vampire would be granted such sacred privilege clearly unsettled them.
“Is it true they have mechanical parts inside them?” Gemcutter asked, his craftsman’s curiosity evident. “I’ve heard they replace parts of themselves with gears and metal.”
Boarstaff thought of the unfamiliar textures beneath his fingers when he’d touched Sebastian’s hips, the evidence of extensive self-surgery visible in the shadowy silhouette. “They did,” he said carefully. “Sebastian has… removed much of what his father put inside him.”
As evening fell, the dwarves set up their portable forges in the designated area of the village. The familiar sounds of metal being worked filled the air, a counterpoint to the ongoing preparations elsewhere. Boarstaff moved among the different groups, checking progress, answering questions, resolving minor disputes.
Everywhere he went, he overheard fragments of conversation about Sebastian. Among regular dwarf soldiers and orc warriors gathered around smaller fires throughout the village, stories were already growing and changing.
