MoftheH: Chapter 33 (Patreon)

Darian walked through the underbrush, keeping a sharp eye out for rabbit tracks. His bow was at the ready, an arrow nocked and waiting. Beside him, Thomas picked his way more cautiously, still not quite used to the uneven forest floor.

It had been a few days since they'd found the injured dwarf in the woods and brought him back to the cottage. Each morning, before chores, Darian checked on their unexpected guest. The dwarf was still unconscious, but Darian made sure to change his dressings and trickle water and broth down his throat.

Kalyna had come by again to examine the dwarf. "He'll wake when he's ready," she'd said. "Just keep the wounds clean and get some food in him, and he should pull through."

So that's what Darian did. In between hunting trips with Thomas and helping Talia and Thomas with their letters, he tended to the dwarf. Poor fellow, Darian thought. Wonder what happened to him out there.

A rustle in the bushes pulled Darian from his musings. He froze, bow drawn and ready. Thomas froze beside him, holding his breath. A heartbeat passed. Two.

Then a fat hare burst from the brush.

Darian loosed his arrow. It hit the mark, catching the hare mid-leap. The creature tumbled, kicking once before going still.

"Nice shot!" Thomas said, clapping Darian on the back.

Thomas had adjusted to the way of the forest, even though he let Darian do the hunting, he didn’t have any issues being at Darian’s side.

"Big enough to feed all of us, I reckon. Even our guest, if he wakes up hungry."

They collected the hare and made their way back towards home, the sun climbing higher in the sky. As they neared the cottage, the sound of laughter brought a smile to Darian’s face. Talia. She was playing in the small garden patch out back, singing a clapping rhyme to herself.

"Snap the dragon, snip snap snout, Turn around and you are out!"

On the final word, Talia spun around and spotted them. Her whole face lit up.

"Dare! Chom! You're back!" She ran to them, throwing her arms around Darian's waist.

"What mischief are you making, pipsqueak?" he teased, tugging one of her braids.

She giggled and batted his hand away. "I'm not making problems! I'm being good and practicing my clapping games, like Ma said."

"Good job, Tali," Thomas said, holding his hand up for a high-five. "Maybe you can teach me later."

Talia high-fived him enthusiastically. "Okay! Then we can play--"

She broke off with a gasp, her eyes going round as saucers. Darian whirled, putting himself between her and whatever threat had appeared.

The threat, as it turned out, was a very awake, very armed, and very confused dwarf.

He stood, wild-eyed and unsteady, in the shed doorway. In one hand he clutched the wicked-looking battle axe Darian had found with him in the woods. The other gripped the doorframe, white-knuckled, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Where...where in the nine hells am I?" the dwarf growled. "And who are you lot?"

Darian held up both hands, taking a slow step forward. "Easy there, Master Dwarf. You're safe. My friend and I found you injured in the forest. We brought you back to my family's home to heal." He gestured to the cottage, the garden, trying to project an air of calm reassurance.

The dwarf's ginger brows knotted together as he took in his surroundings. Some of the franticness left his eyes, replaced by confusion.

"Injured...aye, I reckon that's so." He looked down at himself, at the bandages covering his limbs. "Yer the ones that patched me up?"

Darian nodded. "My Ma and I, and the village healer. You were in a bad way when we found you."

The dwarf grunted. "I thank ye for the doctorin'. But I can't be stayin'. My family...my kin...they're in a pickle o' trouble."

He lurched forward, as if to set off on his quest that very moment. But his legs betrayed him. He stumbled, the axe slipping from his fingers as he foundered.

Quick as a flash, Darian was there, wedging his shoulder under the dwarf's arm to prop him up. "Whoa there! You're in no shape to be running off on a rescue mission just yet."

The dwarf grumbled but allowed Darian to support him over to a bench in the garden. As the dwarf settled, Mara came running out of the cottage, wiping her hands on her apron.

"By the gods, what's all the commotion out here?" She stopped short at seeing their guest not only conscious, but armed. "Oh. I see our visitor is awake."

"Aye, and thankful to ye," the dwarf said with a respectful nod. "Yer boy here says ye had a hand in fixin' me up."

"We did what we could," Mara said. Her eyes flicked to the discarded battle axe and back to the dwarf. "But even so, I'll not have you running off half-healed with that great bloody toothpick. You'll do your kin no good if you collapse a mile from here."

The dwarf's face fell, but he didn't argue. He seemed to recognize the wisdom in Mara's blunt words. He took a cup of water from Darian and downed it in one gulp.

When he lowered the cup, he looked a bit less like death warmed over.

"I suppose I should be introducin' myself proper-like. Name's Rondar. Of the Glintshield Clan."

"Well met, Rondar Glintshield. I'm Darian, and this is my mother Mara. That's my sister Talia and my friend Thomas." Darian pointed to each of them in turn. Talia waved shyly from behind Mara's skirts while Thomas bobbed an awkward bow.

Rondar took them in, stroking his thick beard. "Yer a brave wee lass, hidin' behind yer Ma like that," he said with a wink at Talia.

Talia stepped forward. "What happened to you, Mister Rondar? Did you fight a bear? Darian fought a bear once!"

"I did not," Darian corrected quickly, shooting Talia a quelling look. "Don't pester our guest, Tali."

But Rondar didn't seem to mind. His face darkened as he stared off into the middle distance, clearly seeing something beyond the garden gate.

"No, lass. Tweren't no bear that done this." he sighed. "Me and my kin, we'd come up from the tunnels to do some tradin', like we do every so often. Needed to restock the larder and all."

His hands, broad and cracked with scars, clenched into fists on his knees. "We got ambushed, so we did. By them damned, dirty, demon-spawned gnolls."

Darian felt a shiver work down his spine at the name. Gnolls. He'd heard tales of the hyena-headed monstrosities, of course. Everyone had. Bloodthirsty, savage, and cruel, they were the bogeyman in many a spooky story told around the hearth at night.

But for all the other creatures said to roam the wilds, gnolls were the one threat universally agreed to be all too real - and all too deadly. They ate anything they could catch...and by all accounts, they greatly preferred their prey to be thinking, talking prey.

"They came at us outta nowhere," Rondar went on, his voice hollow. "Outnumbered us two to one, at least. Maybe more, hard to get a headcount when yer hackin' and slashin' for yer life. We fought back as best we could, but..."

He trailed off, eyes going distant again. Mara laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him back to the present.

"Your family," she said softly. "Your clan. Did they...?"

"Taken," Rondar spat. "Not killed, not yet. Gnolls like their supper fresh and wrigglin', see? So they'll keep 'em alive. For a while."

Thomas made a small, horrified noise. Talia pressed closer to Mara's side. Darian felt sick. He knew the legends. Everyone did. About the gnoll feasts, how they liked to torment and "tenderize" their still-living meals beforehand...

Rondar leaned forward, his gaze boring into Darian's. "Ye have to understand. Gnolls, they got a special taste for dwarf-flesh. Been that way for an age. We're a delicacy to 'em, ye might say."

He barked a humourless laugh. "The last five clans that had truck with gnoll raids, not a one survivor was left. These flea-bitten beasts, they'll draw it out. Take their time."

His voice thickened. "They say the big feast is in a sennight's time. The equinox. All the packs gather for an almighty feed. Dozens of 'em, more maybe."

He looked down at his battered hands. "They'll keep my kin alive til then. Make sport of 'em first. And then..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

Silence settled over the garden. Darian's mind whirled. He wanted, desperately, to say something to break the tension. To offer his help, perhaps. But what good is one scrawny boy with a bow against a pack of killing machines? he thought despairingly. He wasn't a hero, no matter how he sometimes wished otherwise.

Thomas, bless him, mustered up the courage to speak. "What about the other villagers?" he asked. "Surely if we all band together--"

Mara shook her head sharply, cutting him off before he could get their hopes up. She knew as well as Darian the likelihood of Brookhaven rallying to aid a dwarf and his kin. Folks could barely stand to have Rondar under their roof for healing, let alone risk their lives for more of his kind.

Thomas deflated, but rallied. "The church, then? They're meant to help those in need, aren't they?"

Darian couldn't suppress a snort at that. He had only recently had the same trust in the church but what good did that do him?

At Thomas's hurt look, Darian’s voice softened. "Don't go pinning your hopes on the clergy, Chom," he said. "Not unless you like disappointment."

Rondar grunted agreement. "The lad's talkin' sense. Even if the goodly folk o' this town wanted to help, which - and I mean no offense - I doubt they will, what can they realistically do?"

He spread his hands helplessly. "I'm just one dwarf. My clan is small. We keep to ourselves, botherin' no one. So when the gnolls come for us..."

His voice cracked and he looked away, blinking hard. "There ain't no one goin' to come runnin' to our rescue. Ain't no one sees us as anythin' more than greedy, grasping unterfolk, comin' up from our holes to swindle honest humans outta their copper."

The bitterness in his words made Darian's heart clench. He knew that mistrust of outsiders, of anyone deemed "other", ran deep in places like Brookhaven.

Small minds and small hearts, Da used to say. Pay 'em no heed. Folk'll look for anything to set them apart and above their fellows, even something as silly as ear shape.

Darian rubbed at his own ears, imagining how it must feel to have that suspicion intensified a hundredfold. To live under its weight every day of your life. The anger that must breed, the bone deep resentment...

He shook himself. This line of thought wouldn't help Rondar or his clan. Think, Darian. There has to be something...

For a wild moment, he entertained the idea of rallying the wolf pack to the cause. Surely Aunty and her brethren could take on a few gnolls, if they worked together.

But even as the thought formed, he dismissed it. Aunty tolerated him out of some sense of obligation, but he was under no illusion that her goodwill extended to aiding virtual strangers. The pack looked after their own, and Darian was decidedly not one of them, no matter how he sometimes wished otherwise.

Lost in his own head, he barely registered Talia piping up to address Rondar.

"Can't you save them with magic?" she asked, with the easy audacity of a child who didn't know any better.

Mara sucked in a sharp breath and Darian winced. Magic was forbidden in Aeria and its territories. To even speak of it could draw the attention of the church.

Rondar smiled sadly, reaching out to pat Talia's head.

"Would that I could, lass," he said. "Would that I could."

This drew Darian's full attention. Dwarves were said to wield strange powers, it was true, abilities tied to the bones of the earth and the deep places they called home.

Could Rondar truly...?

The dwarf must have seen the question in his eyes. He shook his head, anticipating. "I got a wee bit o' craft, aye. But I ain't no battlemage or war-priest. This," he gestured at his axe, "makes me look a sight more formidable than I truly am."

Talia's face fell, but she rallied. "Then what can you do?"

Rondar considered his hands again. "I'm what ye might call a runewright. I can make...marks. Sigils. They got a bit o' juice to 'em, if I do it right."

Darian leaned forward, fascinated despite himself. "Juice? What kind of juice?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Depends on the mark, and what it's set into. I can make a blade keener, or a shield more stout. Give an extra bit o' kick to a hammer blow. That sorta thing."

Seeing that he caught Darian’s attention, a glimmer of the old pride returned to Rondar's face. "It ain't dramatic, like yer human magics. Subtle-like, is dwarf craft. Practical."

"Can you show me?" Darian blurted, unable to contain himself.

Mara tutted warningly. "Darian! You mustn't impose."

But Rondar waved her off. "It's alright, mistress. If the lad wants to see a bit o' runecraft, where's the harm?"

Rondar got back to his feet, wobbling only a little. He crossed to his battle axe and picked it up, running a finger along the curved blade.

"Now watch close, lad," he said. "This here's me favourite mark, the Tooth o' the Mountain."

He closed his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Under his breath, he muttered words in a tongue Darian had never heard before, guttural and rumbling like an avalanche. Slowly, lines began to glow along the blade, shining brighter and brighter until they almost burned Darian's eyes with their brilliance.

Rondar spoke a final word and the lines flared, solidifying into angular runes etched into the steel itself. They pulsed once, twice, and then dulled to a faint shimmer.

"There now," Rondar said. "That'll give 'er an extra bit o' chomp. Nothin' too fancy, mind, but enough to get the job done."

Darian stared at the axe, transfixed. "Rondar," he breathed. "That was...I mean, it's just..."

"Aye, it's a neat trick an' all," the dwarf allowed. "But like I said, lad, it's got limits. I'm able enough with the small stuff - tools and trinkets and such. But I ain't got the craft to be throwing around battle-runes willy-nilly. That's the purview o' the priests and loremasters."

A shadow crossed his face. "And a lot o' good it did old Shakhim, in the end. All his holy writ didn't stop the gnolls from rippin' out his throat, now did it?"

Mara cleared her throat meaningfully, with a pointed glance at Talia. "Perhaps this isn't the best talk to be having in mixed company," she said, her tone making it clear it wasn't a suggestion.

Rondar looked embarrassed. "Aye, mistress, yer right. My apologies." He set the axe down, the runes already fading.

But Darian barely heard the reprimand. His mind whirled with possibilities, a thousand questions tumbling over each other. If Rondar could make a blade sharper with a few magic words, what else could runes do? Could they make a bowstring sing truer, or an arrowhead pierce deeper? Could they grant swiftness, or resilience, or any of a dozen other battle-boons? Could they manipulate time?

He was opening his mouth to ask when Mara cleared her throat again, more loudly. Darian flushed, suddenly aware of their audience. Of Mara's pinched, worried face, and Talia's avid fascination, and Thomas's mix of fear and reluctant awe.

This was not the sort of thing to be spoken of lightly, or openly. Even here, in the safety of their own home.

Mara must have been thinking along similar lines. She turned and began ushering Talia and Thomas inside.

"That's enough dwarf-craft for one day," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Rondar needs his rest, and you two have chores that won't do themselves."

Talia pouted but allowed herself to be dragged along. Thomas cast one last, wondering look over his shoulder before going through the doorway.

Mara paused, one hand on the doorframe. She met Darian's eyes, and he saw the depth of her fear there, the worry for him.

"Don't go getting any ideas in that head of yours," she said softly. "Magic's a dangerous road, and not one I want you walking. Not for anything."

Darian swallowed hard and nodded. He understood. He did. But understanding didn't stop the itch in his fingers, the buzzing curiosity under his skin.

Mara must have seen some of his thoughts on his face. She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and old grief.

"You're so like your father," she murmured. "Always chasing after strangeness, dreaming of a bigger world."

She closed her eyes briefly, as if the memory pained her. When she opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears.

"Just...be careful, my heart. Don't go where I can't follow."

With that, she turned and went inside, leaving Darian alone with the dwarf and his spinning thoughts.

For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the weight of Mara's words hanging between them.

Finally, Rondar shifted on the bench. He looked at Darian, his orange eyes unreadable.

"Yer Ma, she's a wise woman," he said. "Ye should listen to her."

Darian bit his lip. He knew Rondar was right. Knew it in his bones. But...

"Could you teach me?" he burst out, unable to contain it any longer. "Runecraft? Not...not the big stuff, I know I'm not ready for that. But the little things? Enough so that maybe..."

He trailed off, feeling foolish. What was he thinking? He was just a boy, a human boy at that. What business did he have trying to learn dwarf secrets? It was madness.