“You won’t need it. They wouldn’t let you in no matter what kind of papers you brought. None but dwarves and those who serve them are allowed entrance to Grommveldir. Just play along at the gate.”
Just as I was about to ask what that meant exactly—was I to play at being his servant?—I was interrupted by the grinding of stones on the ground as the constructs, standing as tall as the silver aspen trees growing along the base of the Witherhorns, yanked on two thick metal handles and pulled open the doors. The gates opened slowly, the hinges silent, obviously well-oiledand maintained. A wide wagon, empty, rolled through. The gates were then pushed closed by the automatons. The next wagon moved up, the one before us, with the enthralled female. I smiled softly at her. She spat on her fingers and wiped it on the sleeping babe’s brow before turning about to stare at the guards.
“She thinks you might be some sort of fiend. There are tales of elves with red hair and eyes that suck the life from sleeping babes,” Dulgar informed me.
“How stupid,” I barked, hating myself for speaking so loudly, and then grimaced at Click, shouldering his way into my head.
Click is hungry. Still hungry. Feed Click.
Click is pushy and loud.
I stomped away from my group to where the raven was hopping about on the slushy road, wings out, head twisting this way and that. The starving raven dance.
I dug into a pouch on my belt to offer him some moldy berries. The gates opened behind us.
This is all the food I have. You may have them.
He flew up to land on my forearm, the one that was not strapped to my chest. Tipping his head left then right, he chose not to eat the little blackberries.
Those are bad berries. Click wants more dwarf stick.
I cannot give you dwarf stick. I do not have dwarf stick. I am not a dwarf.
The dwarf has dwarf stick. Ask the dwarf. Ask the dwarf. Ask the dwarf.
No, I am not asking the dwarf. You will have to find your own food then.
Click is mad. Click is hungry. Click wants dwarf stick. If Click is hungry and weak, Click cannot fly.
I stared at the bird on my arm in shock. “Are you blackmailing me?” I asked out loud, stunned to my very core. I knew this raven was intelligent, but extortion was…well, it was outstanding. He began doing the starving raven dance on my arm. “No, do not dance about until you answer the question. Are you blackmailing me?”
Click danced gaily, flapping about, cawing now to ensure he was not ignored.
“Chirp!” Asdren bellowed. I spun about, dancing raven on my left forearm, to find my group, a goat cart behind us with one old dwarf in the seat, and the four guards staring at me as if I were not wholly here mentally. My cheeks flamed. “You think you want to join us?”
“Yes, yes.” I turned to look at the raven eyeing me. “Meet us at the tundra gate. I know not how long it will be. There is food on the tundra. Eat there.” He called me a mean elf before taking to wing. I hurried over to the gate.
“Sorry about that. He’s real pretty, but his light don’t shine all the way to the bottom of his shaft if you know what I mean,” Asdren informed the guards. My mouth fell open. “Anyways, so this here elf is my personal attendant. I bought him down on the flats from a whoremaster who was tired of him talking to every damn bird he come into contact with. I liked his looks, the ginger root hair and them freckles, so I gave the madame two silver for him.”
“Two silver?!” I asked in outrage. Asdren patted my rump affectionately.
“Yep, two whole silver,” he said to me before returning his attention to the guards. “Chewed her down from three on account he talks to birds. Named him Chirp since he looks like a red bunting. Also because of his bird shit. But he’s harmless. Good in the sack. Got no paperwork or nothing, but I can vouch for him. He’s too daft to steal anything, and I don’t plan to lethim out of my room while we’re here.” Everyone tittered as I coughed and sputtered. “So, think we can get inside? It’s been a long ride up the mountain. Damn elf fell off his pony and wrenched his arm bad. Can’t feel his fingers well, and that’s his good hand.” Asdren winked at guard one as guard two studied me intently. I bit down on my tongue so hard it was a wonder I did not bite it in two.
“You ever think of renting him out?” guard two asked. Smuta and the twins were just going through the doors on their steeds, smirking at us over their shoulders. “I’d toss you a couple of coppers for an hour or two.”
My eyes flared.
“Nah, he’s not built for more than one dwarf at a time. Two rowdy stone sons might snap him in two. He’s got bones like an old woman.”
“Pity.” The guard sighed as he waved us along.
“Come along, Chirp, you got trousers to mend and other things to tend to,” Asdren said, giving me a soft shove into the freshly opened gates. How tedious it must be to do nothing all day but open and close ancient gates. Fortunately, the constructs did not feel boredom. They felt no emotions at all. Which was the opposite of what I was experiencing at the moment. We stepped through the massive doors at speed, Asdren keeping a hand at my back to propel me forward. He probably sensed an incoming barrage of indignation, so he wanted to press me along. Twisting from his unsettling touch on the small of my back, I had great intention to whip around and give the pompous arse a good tongue-lashing when my angry words fizzled on my tongue.
We stood in a cave the size of the Temple of Celear, the ceiling craggy rock that held enormous chandeliers secured to the rock with chains forged of mighty links as large as an elf. The room was silent, aside from the low hum of prayers beingoffered up by dwarves in dark brown robes kneeling before four statues hewn from the very mountain itself. The air here was warm, much warmer than outside, and thick with smoke from a dozen or so stone braziers.
“These here are the four main gods and goddesses of my people, Chirp,” Asdren whispered as we slowly made our way past the homages, two on each side of the busy walkway. We paused in front of a towering male dwarf with a beard of gray rock that touched his bare toes. He stood behind a large anvil. On the plinth the god stood upon was an anvil atop a mountain carved into the rock. “This is the Stonefather, father of the forge. These priests are the keepers of the sacred tongs as well as the overseers of all stone lore. By Stonefather’s strike, let strength be true.”
I nodded in silence, pushing my ire at Asdren aside until we were alone. It would be disrespectful to shout curses at the shithead here in what seemed to be a holy place.
